Kitabı oku: «Fickle Fortune», sayfa 6

'No,' said Oswald coldly; 'not in the least. But in any other profession I should have been compelled to go on for years accepting–accepting benefits I have hitherto enjoyed; and to this I will not consent. The path I have chosen is the only one that leads to freedom and independence, and to gain these I willingly sacrifice all else.'

The words told of a resolve which was not to be shaken, but at the same time they were barbed with a reproach which the Countess understood but too well.

'You have accepted these benefits so long that you can now conveniently do without them,' she remarked.

The tone of this observation was even more insulting than the words. Oswald's composure seemed to be giving way at length. His quick, short breathing betrayed his emotion, as he replied in accents to the full as biting as hers had been:

'If I have hitherto been held fettered by the chain of my dependence, that assuredly has not been my fault. It was not considered fitting for an Ettersberg to go out into the world and seek his fortune, as a man of humbler origin might have done. I could but yield to the traditional prejudices of my family. I have had to wait on and on for this hour when at length–at length I can take my future into my own hands!'

'Which you seem inclined to do in the most offensive manner possible,' said the Countess, with increasing warmth. 'With the utmost indifference to those family traditions of which you speak, in open opposition to the friends to whom you owe everything. Could my husband have foreseen this, he never would have directed that you should be brought up with his own son, and treated as a child of the house you now disown in this manner. But, indeed, gratitude is a word which seems to have no meaning for you.'

A dangerous light kindled in Oswald's eyes, and they flashed upon the speaker a glance of menace and evil portent.

'I know, aunt, what a heavy burden my uncle laid on you by those directions, but, believe me, I have suffered beneath it even more severely than yourself. It would have been better for me to have been driven out into the world and brought up among strangers, than to pass my life amid splendid surroundings, in a sphere where I have daily, hourly been reminded of my nothingness, where the proud Ettersberg blood in my veins had but to show itself to be instantly repressed. My uncle carried his point, and had me received into this house; beyond that, he made no attempt to shield or protect me. To you I was, from the first, simply a troublesome legacy left by an unfriendly and detested brother-in-law. I was accepted with disinclination, and endured with absolute dislike, and the consciousness of this has sometimes well-nigh driven me desperate. But for Edmund, the one person who showed me any affection, the one who held faithfully by me, in spite of all that was done to estrange us, I could not have borne the life. Gratitude! You require gratitude at my hands? I have never felt any, I never shall feel any towards you; for there is a voice within me which says I am not benefited, but injured. I need not thank, but might … accuse!'

He flung the last word at her with loud and threatening emphasis. The dykes were broken down, and all the hatred, the bitterness he had secretly borne within him for years flowed out in a stream of fierce rebellion against this woman who, outwardly at least, had been as a mother to him. She had risen in her turn, and they now stood face to face. So might two deadly enemies have measured each other's strength before the fray; the next word would perhaps have led to an irreparable breach, had not Heideck intervened.

'Oswald, you forget yourself!' he cried. 'How can you venture to address such language to your aunt?'

The keen, cold tones of his voice brought reflection to both at the same moment. The Countess sank slowly back into her seat, and her nephew retreated a step. For a few seconds a painful silence reigned. Then Oswald spoke in a changed voice, in a tone freezing as ice:

'You are right; I have to apologize. But at the same time I must beg of you to allow me henceforth to go my own way unhindered. The path I shall follow will, in all probability, take me from Ettersberg for ever, and all further connection may cease between us. I think this is what we all should wish, and it will certainly be best for the family, collectively and individually.'

Then, without waiting for an answer, or any sign of dismissal, he turned and left the room.

'What did that mean?' asked the Countess in a low voice, when the door had closed upon him.

'It meant a threat,' said Heideck. 'Could you not understand it, Constance? It was, I think, plainly enough expressed.'

He sprang up, and paced several times uneasily up and down the room. Even the bureaucrat's cold and measured calm was not proof against such a scene as this. Presently he halted before his sister.

'We must give way. The matter has now assumed a different aspect–a very different aspect. Active resistance on our part might lead to serious trouble–the last few moments have made that evident to me.'

'You really think so?'

The Countess spoke these words almost mechanically. She was still gazing fixedly over at the door through which Oswald had departed.

'Decidedly I think so,' said Heideck, in a determined tone. 'The fellow suspects more than is good for any of us. It would be dangerous to irritate him–besides which, we have no longer any power to control his acts. By this masterly scheme of his, he has secured for himself an unassailable position. I certainly was not prepared for it, but at least we now know what lies hidden beneath that calm, indifferent exterior.'

'I have long known it,' declared the Countess, who seemed only now to be recovering the full use of her faculties. 'Not without reason have I feared those cold, searching eyes. From the very first time I saw that boy's face and met his look, a sort of presentiment awoke within me that he would work ruin to me and to my son.'

'Folly!' said Heideck. 'Whatever Oswald may suspect, it never can or will be more than a suspicion; and he will take good care not to put it into words. It was only in the great excitement of the moment that he allowed that hint to escape him; but no matter, there must not be a renewal of this scene. He is right in one thing at least–it will be better for him in future to avoid Ettersberg; thus the connection with Edmund will cease. In our own interest, we must let him pursue the career he has chosen.'

Meanwhile Oswald had passed rapidly through the Countess's apartments, and was about to turn from them into the corridor, where he met Edmund on his way to his mother. Gay, lighthearted, and careless as usual, the young Count stopped at once, caught his cousin by the arm, and proceeded to interrogate him.

'Well, Oswald, how did the judgment-scene in there go off? We must hold firmly together now, you know, for we are both in the same boat–only my case smacks of romance, whereas yours has a dry legal savour. I underwent a sort of preliminary examination in the carriage just now, and am about to appear before the high tribunal of justice. Is my uncle in a very ungracious humour?'

'He will hardly be ungracious to you,' was the laconic reply.

'Oh, I am not in the least afraid!' cried Edmund, laughing. 'I should have won my mother over long ago, if I had had her alone. She knows it, and that is why she summoned my uncle to her aid. He is just a trifle more difficult to manage, though I don't suppose even he will bear too hardly on me. But you, Oswald'–he came close up to his cousin, and looked him searchingly in the face–'you have that frown on your brow again, that bitter expression of countenance I dislike so much. They have been tormenting you, I am afraid.'

'You know these things cannot be settled without some rather warm discussion,' replied Oswald evasively. 'But I have gained my end, notwithstanding. One word more, Edmund. I shall probably leave Ettersberg sooner than I at first intended–perhaps in the course of a few days.'

'Why?' exclaimed the young Count. 'What has happened? You had determined to stay until the autumn. Has my uncle offended you, that you now talk of leaving at once? I shall stand no nonsense of that sort, as I shall let him know on the spot–'

'I tell you everything is arranged and settled,' Oswald interrupted. 'Nothing whatever has happened. My aunt and her brother are naturally rather incensed against me, but they will place no further obstacles in my way.'

'Do you mean it in earnest?' asked Edmund in surprise. He evidently could not understand this sudden strange compliance.

'In right good earnest. You will hear it from themselves by-and-by. Now go and stand your trial. They will not be too hard on you. You have only to appeal to your mother's love–whereas I had to invoke fear to my aid.'

Edmund stared at him in amazement.

'Fear? Fear of what–of whom? You really do sometimes use the most extraordinary expressions.'

'Never mind, go now,' insisted Oswald. 'I can give you an account of our interview later on.'

'All right.' Edmund turned to the door, but paused again on the threshold. 'I must say one thing more, though, Oswald. I will not hear of this sudden departure of yours. You promised to stay until the autumn, and nothing shall induce me to let you go before. It will be bad enough for me to have to do without you then for months–for you will hardly get to Ettersberg before that abominable examination is over. I know that beforehand.'

With these words he departed. Oswald looked after him moodily. 'For months? Ah, we must learn to do without each other for good and for all,' he said. Then in a lower voice he added, 'I did not think I should have felt it so keenly.'

CHAPTER VI

More than two months had elapsed. Midsummer had arrived, but the houses of Ettersberg and Brunneck were still, as Count Edmund expressed it, playing the Montague and Capulet game. Neither the Countess nor Rüstow had yielded an inch. They were vigorous as ever in their opposition to the projected marriage between their children, but these latter only clung the more tenaciously to their plan. In spite of prohibitions they met often, and wrote to each other still more frequently. To manage the first, it had been found necessary to include Aunt Lina in the plot, and that good lady thought it better that the meetings, which certainly would have taken place under any circumstances, should be held with her sanction and in her presence. She had long ago been won over to the young people's side, and the lovers themselves took matters very easily. It was not in the nature of either Hedwig or Edmund to take a sentimental or tragic view of their temporary separation. A love affair, the course of which had constantly run smooth, would no doubt have appeared to them excessively tame and wearisome. Parental opposition gave to this courtship the necessary spice of romance. They revelled in the situation with all the eagerness of their youthful years, and looked on themselves and their true love as intensely poetical and interesting. Neither felt any uneasiness as to the final issue; they knew too well that they, their parents' spoilt and petted darlings, would ultimately carry their point. Meanwhile the Countess posed as the inexorable mother, and the Councillor was fiercer and more prone to ire than ever. Signs, however, were not wanting that the fortresses were not quite as impregnable as they pretended to be, that they would finally succumb to the daily assaults to which they were subjected.

The dénoûment came more speedily than any of the parties concerned had expected. Fräulein Lina Rüstow had been absent for a few days staying in town, where she had purchases to make. She came back to Brunneck suspecting nothing, and prepared to find the old feud with Ettersberg raging fiercely as when she left. Rather surprised at being received on her arrival by her cousin alone, she made inquiries after Hedwig, who was nowhere to be seen.

'Hedwig?' stammered Rüstow, looking half embarrassed, half wrathful. 'She is not here just now; you will see her by-and-by.'

Aunt Lina inquired no further. There had probably been some fresh discussion on the subject of the projected marriage, a circumstance which never promoted the comfort of any member of the household, for the Councillor was in the habit of venting his anger on all about him, his daughter only excepted. On this occasion, however, the traveller felt herself to be in possession of a piece of intelligence which would scare away ill-humour. They had hardly got into the parlour when she burst forth with it.

'I have brought you some news, Erich. Your solicitor wanted to send you a telegram, but I begged him to let me convey the pleasant tidings. You have won your suit in the first instance. Dornau has been adjudged to Hedwig.'

'I am glad of it, glad of it, in spite of all that has come and gone. But I wish the judgment had been given a few weeks back; now my pleasure in it is spoiled, completely spoiled! So we have won the suit?'

'Subject to appeal, of course–though our solicitor seems confident about the final issue. No doubt the opposite party will do everything in their power to contest the victory with us.'

'They will do nothing of the kind,' grumbled Rüstow, still with the same queer, embarrassed look.

'Of course they will; there can be no doubt of that. The lawyer has already taken his measures in view of an appeal to a higher court.'

'He may save himself the trouble,' Rüstow broke forth. 'Nobody is thinking of appealing. The lawsuit is over and done with, and the end of the story is that Dornau will go to Ettersberg after all.'

'To Ettersberg? Why, don't I tell you … But, good heavens, Erich, what makes you look so black and miserable, and why is Hedwig out of the way? What has happened? Is she ill, or–'

'Now, don't get excited,' said Rüstow, interrupting the flow of questions. 'Hedwig is quite well and in excellent spirits, and at the present moment is staying over at Ettersberg with her future mother-in-law. That is right, Lina, sit down. I shan't take it amiss if you show some surprise. I showed and felt not a little myself at first.'

Aunt Lina had indeed dropped on to a seat, and was staring at her cousin in speechless, petrified amazement. He went on again:

'These young people have really had the most wonderful luck! You were within a hair's-breadth of finding us all dead and gone, Lina. The Countess was as nearly drowned as could be, and we were within an ace of having our necks broken.'

'Merciful powers! And you call that luck?' exclaimed the old lady, in a tone expressive of horror.

'I said "nearly" and "within an ace," did not I? Well, the upshot of it all was a betrothal on the spot. The whole business went upon wheels; deadly peril, consequent emotion, embracing of the lovers! We were in the midst of it all, and found ourselves giving our parental benediction almost before we knew what had happened. Oh, those confounded black Ettersberg beasts! Why do my horses never run away, I wonder?'

'What in the world are your horses to me at this moment?' broke in his cousin, half desperate with the prolonged suspense. 'If you go on in this way, I shall never hear what has happened. Do try and tell the story rationally.'

'Yes, yes, you are right. I must tell you all about it calmly and quietly,' said the Councillor, inaugurating the promised calm by pacing violently up and down the room, as was his wont when much excited. 'Well, then, the day before yesterday I drove over with Hedwig to pay a visit to Neuenfeld. You will remember that the road lies over that steep Stag's Hill, where just at the summit the path is so narrow that great caution is required for two vehicles to pass side by side. Precisely at this spot, what should we meet but the Ettersberg carriage with the Countess in it! We, of course, took no notice, pretended not to know each other; but our coachmen, instead of not noticing, rushed together like mad. I shouted to Anthony to stop, but the other idiot came tearing on, until the animals brushed against each other. The high-spirited Ettersberg steeds took this amiss. They reared and plunged and kicked, and finally set off at furious speed, almost smashing our wheels for us as they passed. The coachman tried all sorts of foolish manœuvres in the hope of checking them, upon which they took to their heels and ran away with him in good earnest. Springing out of the carriage, I saw at a glance that it was too late–they were spinning down the hill as fast as a top. The coachman flew off the box; the footman, instead of seizing the reins, clung to his seat with might and main. The Countess screamed for help, and so they went on, straight down towards the pond which lies at the foot of the hill, and is so admirably situated for drowning purposes.'

Aunt Lina was listening in breathless suspense.

'Frightful! Horrible! Was there no help at hand?'

'Certainly; I was at hand,' said Rüstow drily; 'and at need I can play the angel of rescue, though it is not my habitual occupation. There was not time for much reflection, and I soon gave up running after the carriage. Happily we had halted close to that steep footpath which shortens the way down by one half. How I got to the bottom I don't know. Anyhow, I was there as soon as the carriage, and just contrived to stop it as it reached the pond.'

'Thank God!' cried the old lady, with a sigh of relief.

'So said I, a little later on–just at that moment I was furious. There I stood with the Countess in my arms, and no one to give me any assistance. She had gone off into a swoon, and that fool of a man was so bewildered and scared, that he was nearly as unconscious as his mistress. Now, a pair of restive horses I can manage at a pinch, but fainting ladies are altogether out of my line. Presently, however, Hedwig came flying down the footpath, and then Anthony, and then the man who had been thrown–he was limping terribly, and had a famous bump on his forehead, but that served him right. It was his folly and reckless driving which had caused all the mischief.'

'And the Countess?' interposed his listener eagerly.

'Well, happily the Countess had escaped uninjured. We carried her into a neighbouring house belonging to one of the rural police, and here she partly recovered from her fright. The gentle, well-mannered horses, besides running away, had accorded to themselves the special pleasure of breaking their carriage-pole and of so injuring our wheels in the rencontre, that we could not move the landau from the spot. So I sent the footman over to Ettersberg to fetch another vehicle, despatched Anthony and the policeman, who happened to be at home, to the scene of the disaster, and dismissed the coachman with his black monsters, which he conducted home in safety. We three remained alone–it was a pleasing moment, as you may suppose.'

'I do hope and trust, Erich, that you did not behave with rudeness,' said Aunt Lina reproachfully.

'No, rudeness was out of the question–unfortunately!' replied Rüstow, in a tone of sincere regret. 'The Countess was still as pale as death and half fainting. I had received a slight memorial of the affair myself, a mere scratch on the arm, which, however, bled rather profusely; and the poor child, Hedwig, ran from one to the other, not knowing whom she should help first. In such a situation politeness comes as a thing of course. We were therefore intensely polite to each other, and intensely anxious about each other's welfare. I hoped the matter would blow over with an expression of thanks and a courteous farewell, and I was looking out, longing for the arrival of the Ettersberg carriage, when suddenly, instead of it. Count Edmund came up at a tearing gallop. From the footman's confused report he had thought that his mother was injured or half dead, and he had not waited for the carriage to be got ready, but had jumped on the first horse that came to hand and had ridden over as though his own life had been at stake. I should not have believed the young jackanapes had so much heart. He rushed into the house and into his mother's arms like a madman, and for the first moment or so he evidently saw and thought of no one but her. I must say that pleased me–pleased me much. He seems to be passionately attached to his mother.'

At this point the narrator's voice softened a little. Unfortunately his cousin took it into her head to produce her handkerchief and press it to her eyes, which at once roused the Councillor to a contrary humour.

'I do believe you are going to cry,' he said, turning upon her sharply. 'Let us have no nonsense of that sort, pray. There has been emotion enough and to spare. Well, of course there now ensued a string of questions and explanations,' he went on, taking up again the thread of his narrative; 'a lively description, in which, in spite of my protests, I was made to figure as a sort of hero and knight-errant. The Countess overflowed with gratitude, and all at once Edmund threw his arms round my neck, declaring I had saved his mother's life, and that he would rather owe such a debt to me, the father of his Hedwig, than to anyone in the world.' Here Rüstow's strides grew longer and his countenance more wrathful. 'Yes, that is what he had the coolness to say, "the father of his Hedwig"! I tried to shake him off; then Hedwig got the other side of me, and began the same story about the mother of her Edmund. Presently the Countess stepped up, and held out her hand to me–well, you can imagine the rest. As I said before, a general embracing and reconciliation went on, and we only came to our senses when the carriage, which had followed the Count, drove up to the door. As it further appeared that ours was totally disabled, we had no alternative but to mount all together and drive over to Ettersberg. It was agreed ultimately that Hedwig should remain with the Countess, who was really much upset by the fright she had had, and I … well, here I am, left by myself in my own house, without a soul to keep me company.'

'Please to remember I count as somebody,' said Aunt Lina, a little piqued. 'You don't seem to reckon me at all.'

Rüstow grumbled something that was unintelligible. At this moment a servant came in, and announced the pastor of Brunneck, who was a friend of the house.

'There!' cried the master, in a tone of desperation. 'There! he has come over to congratulate us on the approaching marriage–he has, as sure as I stand here. The story is going the round of the neighbourhood already. Each time I have shown my nose outside the door to-day, somebody has come up to me with a smirk and a smile, and some hint about the "happy event." But I can't stand it yet. I must collect my thoughts and get used to the idea first. Lina, you'll do me the favour to receive the parson. In my present frame of mind, I tell you, I am capable of chucking anyone out of the window who should come to me with his congratulations!'

So saying, the Councillor ran out of one door just as the pastor was admitted by the other. This was fortunate, for the worthy man had no sooner entered than he proceeded solemnly and with much unction to offer to the old lady his heartfelt congratulations on the coming 'happy event,' the news of which had, he said, filled him with genuine delight.