Kitobni o'qish: «Clear the Track! A Story of To-day»

CHAPTER I.
THE FEAST OF FLOWERS AT NICE

A spring day at the South! Sky and sea are radiant in their deep blue, flooded with light and splendor, the waves breaking gently upon the shores of the Riviera, to which spring had already come in all its glory, while, at the North, snow-storms are still raging.

Here rests golden sunshine upon the white houses and villas of the town, that embraces the shore within the radius of a vast semicircle, adorned by lofty palms, and embowered in the green of the laurel and myrtle. Among thousands of shrubs, the camellia is conspicuous from its wealth of bloom, in every stage of perfection, its colors ranging from pure white to richest crimson; and could anything excel the richness of its glistening foliage? From the adjacent hills hoary monasteries look down, and modern churches surrounded by tall cypress trees; friendly orchards stand out from pine and olive groves, and in the distance the blue Alps, with their snow-crowned summits, are half hidden in sunny mist.

Nice was celebrating one of its spring-and-flower festivals, and the whole city and its environs had turned out in gala-attire, whether stranger or native-born. Gayly-decked equipages passed by in endless procession, every window and balcony being filled with spectators, and on the sidewalks, under the palms, thronged a merry multitude, the brown and picturesque forms of fishermen and peasants being everywhere conspicuous.

The battle of flowers on the Corso was in full swing, the sweet missiles being constantly shot through the air, here hitting their mark, there missing it: blossoms, that are treasured at the North as rare and expensive, were here scattered heedlessly and lavishly. Added to this, there were everywhere waving handkerchiefs, shouts of joy, bands of music playing, and the intoxicating perfume of violets,–the whole of this enchantingly beautiful picture being enhanced by the golden sunshine of spring with which heaven and earth was filled.

Upon the terrace of one of the fashionable hotels stood a small group of gentlemen, evidently foreigners, who had chanced to meet here, for they conversed in the German language. The lively interest with which the two younger men gazed upon the entrancing scene betrayed the fact that it was new to them; while the third, a man of riper years, looked rather listlessly upon what was going on.

"I must go now," said he, with a glance at his watch. "One soon gets tired of all this hubbub and confusion, and longs after a quiet spot. You, gentlemen, it seems, want to stay a while longer?"

His companions certainly seemed to have that intention, and one of them, a handsome man, with slender figure, evidently an officer in civilian's dress, answered laughingly:

"Of course we do, Herr von Stettin. We feel no need for rest whatever. The scene has a fairy-like aspect for us Northmen, has it not, Wittenau?–Ah! there come the Wildenrods! That is what I call taste; one can hardly see the carriage for the flowers, and the lovely Cecilia looks the very impersonation of Spring."

The carriage that was just driving by was indeed remarkable through its peculiarly rich ornamentation of flowers. Everywhere appeared camellias, the coachman and outriders wore bunches of them in their hats, and even the horses were decked with them.

On the front seat were a gentleman of proud and noble bearing, and a young lady in a changeable silk dress of reddish hue, her dark hair surmounted by a dainty little white hat trimmed with roses. Upon the back seat a young man had taken his place, who exerted himself to take care of the heaps of flowers that were fairly showered upon this particular equipage. Among them were the costliest bouquets, evidently given in compliment to the beautiful girl, who sat smiling in the midst of all her floral treasures, and looking with great, beaming eyes upon the festive scene around her.

The officer, also, had taken a bunch of violets, and dexterously flung it into the carriage, but instead of the lady, her escort caught it, and carelessly added it to the pile of floral offerings heaped up on the seat beside him.

"That was not exactly meant for Herr Dernburg," said the dispenser of flowers rather irritably. "There he is again in the Wildenrod carriage. He is never to be seen but when dancing attendance upon them."

"Yes, since this Dernburg has put in his appearance, the attentions of all other men seem superfluous," chimed in Wittenau, sending a dark look after the carriage.

"Have your observations, too, carried you so far already?" said the young officer tauntingly. "Yes, millionaires; alas! are always to the fore, and I believe Herr von Wildenrod knows how to appreciate this quality in his friends, for I hear that luck sometimes deserts him over yonder at Monaco."

"You must be mistaken; there can be no talk of any such thing as that," replied Wittenau, almost indignantly. "The Baron produces the impression that he is a perfect gentleman, and associates here with our very first people."

The other laughingly shrugged his shoulders.

"That is not saying much, dear Wittenau. Just here, at Nice, the line separating the élite from the world of adventurers is strangely lost sight of. One never rightly knows where the one ceases and the other begins, and there is some mystery about this Wildenrod. As to whether his claim to nobility is altogether genuine–"

"Undoubtedly genuine, I can certify as to that," said Stettin, who had hitherto been a silent listener, but now came forward and joined in the conversation.

"Ah, you are acquainted with the family, are you?"

"Years ago, I used to visit at the house of the old Baron, who has died since, and there I also met his son. I cannot pretend to have any particular acquaintance with the latter, but he has a full right to the name and title that he bears."

"So much the better," said the officer, lightly. "As for the rest, it is only a traveling acquaintance, and no obligation is incurred."

"Assuredly not, if one lays aside such relations as easily as they are assumed," remarked Stettin with a peculiar intonation. "But I must be off now–I hope to meet you soon again, gentlemen!"

"I am going with you," said Wittenau, who seemed suddenly to have lost his appetite for sight-seeing. "The rows of carriages begin to thin out already. Nevertheless, it will be a hard matter to get through."

They took leave of their comrade, who was not thinking of departure yet, and had just supplied himself with flowers again, and together left the terrace. It was certainly no easy thing to make one's way through the densely-packed throng, and quite a while elapsed ere they left noise and stir behind them. Gradually, however, their way grew clearer, while the shouts of the multitude died away in the distance.

The talk between the two gentlemen was rather monosyllabic. The younger one, particularly, appeared to be either out of sorts or absent-minded, and suddenly remarked, quite irrelevantly:

"It seems that you know all about the Wildenrods, and yet mention it to-day for the first time. And, moreover, you have had nothing to do with them."

"No," said Herr von Stettin coolly, "and I should have preferred other associates for you. I several times intimated as much to you, but you would not understand my hints."

"I was introduced to them by a fellow-countryman, and you said nothing decided–"

"Because I know nothing decided. The associations of which I told you, a while ago, date twelve years back, and many changes have taken place since then. Your friend is right, the line of demarcation between the Bohemian and man of society gets strangely confused, and I am afraid that Wildenrod is on the wrong side of the barrier."

"You do not believe him to be wealthy, then?" asked Wittenau, with some emotion. "He lives with his sister, in high style, being apparently in the easiest circumstances, and, at all events, has command of abundant means, for the present."

Stettin significantly shrugged his shoulders.

"Inquire at the faro-bank of Monaco; he is a regular guest there, and is said, too, to have good luck in play, for the most part–so long as it lasts! One hears, too, occasionally of other things, that are yet more significant. I have not felt disposed to renew the former acquaintance, although our intercourse had been rather frequent, for what used to be the Wildenrod possessions lay in the immediate neighborhood of our family property, that is now in my hands."

"What used to be?" asked the young man. "Those possessions have been sold, then? I perceive, however, that you do not like to speak on the subject."

"To strangers, most assuredly not. I shall give what information I have to you, though, because you have a real interest in the matter. Remember, however, that what I say is strictly confidential!"

"My word upon it, that nothing you tell me shall go any farther."

"Well, then," said Stettin gravely, "it is a brief, melancholy, but, alas! not an unusual story. Although the estate had long been heavily encumbered with debt, the establishment was maintained upon a most expensive scale. The old Baron had contracted a second marriage, in later life, long after his son was a grown man. He could not thwart his young wife in a single wish, and her wants were many, very many. The son, who was in the diplomatic service, was also accustomed to high living; various other losses ensued, and finally came the catastrophe. The Baron suddenly died of a stroke of apoplexy–at least so it was said."

"Did he lay violent hands on himself?" asked Wittenau in a whisper.

"Probably. It has not been ascertained for certain, but it is supposed that he was not willing to survive the misery and disgrace of his ruin. Disgrace was certainly averted, for the family still holds the most honorable position. The Wildenrods rank with the highest nobility in the land, and the name was to be shielded at any price. The castle and lands adjacent became a royal domain, so that the creditors could be pacified at least, and, by the general public, the sale was deemed a voluntary one. The widow with her little daughter would have been given over to utter poverty if, by the king's grace, she had not been allowed a home in the castle and had an annuity settled upon her. As for the rest, she died soon afterwards."

"And the son? The young Baron?"

"Of course he resigned his position, had to do so, under the circumstances, for he could not be attaché of affairs without some fortune of his own. It must have been a severe blow upon the proud, ambitious man, who had, most likely, been kept in utter ignorance of the state of his father's affairs, and, now, all of a sudden, found himself stopped short in his career. To be sure, many another honorable calling stood open to him; friends would doubtless have secured some situation for him, but this would have necessitated descent from the sphere in which he had hitherto played a chief part; necessitated sober, unremitting toil in an obscure station, and those were things that Oscar Von Wildenrod could not brook. He rejected all offers of employment, left the country, and was no more heard of in his native place. Now, after the lapse of twelve years, I meet him here at Nice with his young sister, who, meanwhile, has come to woman's estate, but we prefer, it seems, on both sides, to treat each other as strangers."

While this narration was being made, 'Wittenau became very thoughtful, but made no comment whatever. Noticing this, his friend laid his hand upon his arm, and said gently:

"You should not have given young Dernburg such angry glances, for it has been his appearance upon the scene, I fancy, that has saved you from committing a folly–a great folly."

A glowing blush suffused the young man's face at this intimation, and he was evidently much embarrassed.

"Herr von Stettin, I–"

"Now, do not understand me as reproaching you on account of looking too deeply into a pair of fine eyes," interposed Stettin. "That is so natural at your age; but in this case, it might have been fatal. Ask yourself, whether a girl thus brought up, who has grown up amid such influences and surroundings, would make a good farmer's wife, or be happy in a country neighborhood. As for the rest, you would hardly have found acceptance as Cecilia Wildenrod's suitor, because her brother will give the decisive voice, and he wants a millionaire for a brother-in-law."

"And Dernburg is heir to several millions, people say," remarked Wittenau with undisguised bitterness. "So, he will be the one upon whom this honor is to be bestowed."

"It is not mere say so, it is fact. The great Dernburg iron and steel works are the most important in all Germany, and admirably conducted. Their present chief is such a man as one rarely meets. I speak from personal knowledge, having accidentally made his acquaintance a few years ago. But see, there are the Wildenrods coming back again."

There, indeed, was the Baron's equipage, which had left the Corso a little while ago, and was now on its way back to their hotel. The fiery horses, which had with difficulty been curbed in, so as to keep step with a procession, were now going at full speed, and rushed past the two gentlemen, who had stepped aside, and looked upon the cloud of dust that had been raised.

"I am sorry about that Oscar Wildenrod," said Stettin earnestly. "He does not belong to the ordinary herd of mankind, and might perhaps have accomplished great things, if fate had not so suddenly and rudely snatched him away from the sphere for which he had been born and reared. Do not look so downcast, dear Wittenau! You will get over this dream of your youth, and after you get home to your fields and meadows, will thank your stars that it was nothing but a dream."

The carriage, meanwhile, had gone on its way, and now stopped before one of those grand hotels, whose exterior sufficiently showed that it was only at the disposal of rich and distinguished guests.

The suite of rooms occupied by Baron von Wildenrod and his sister was one of the best, and, of course, most expensive in the house, and lacked none of the conveniences and luxuries to which pampered guests lay claim. The rooms were splendidly furnished, but there was about them that air of the public-house that takes away, in large measure, any sense of genuine comfort.

The gentlemen were already in the parlor. Cecilia had retired in order to lay aside her hat and gloves, while her brother, chatting pleasantly, conducted their visitor to the veranda, whence was to be seen a fine view of the sea and a portion of Nice.

Young Dernburg appeared to be twenty-four or five years old, his looks making an impression that was insignificant rather than disagreeable. His diminutive figure, with its somewhat stooping carriage and pale complexion, with that peculiar tell-tale flush upon the cheeks, betrayed the fact that he had sought the sunny shores of the Riviera, not for the sake of pleasure, but out of regard for health. His face had its attractive features, but its lineaments were much too weak for a man, and this weakness culminated in the dreamy, somewhat veiled, look of his brown eyes. The self-consciousness of the rich heir seemed to be entirely lacking in this young man, his manners being unassuming, almost shy, and had not the name he bore everywhere procured him consideration, he would have been apt to be overlooked by the generality of the world.

The Baron's personality was in every respect the reverse. Oscar von Wildenrod was no longer young, being already not far from fifty years old.

There was something imposing in his lofty stature, and his clean-cut, regular features could but be regarded as handsome still, in spite of the sharp lines engraven upon them, and the deep furrow between the brows, that lent a rather sinister aspect to his countenance. Only a cool, considerate calm seemed perceptible in his dark eyes, and yet they flashed occasionally, with a fierceness that betokened the existence of a passionate, unbridled nature. As for the rest, there was something thoroughly distinguished in the Baron's whole appearance, his manners united the complaisance of a man of the world combined quite naturally with the pride inalienable from the scion of an ancient stock of nobility, which was manifested, however, in a manner by no means offensive.

"You are not seriously thinking of taking your leave of Nice?" asked he, in the course of conversation. "It would be much too early, for you would just be in time for that season of storms and rain, which they honor with the name of spring, in that dear Germany of ours. You have spent the whole winter in Cairo, have been just six weeks at Nice, and should not expose yourself now to the asperities of that harsh Northern climate, if you would not imperil the health that is restored to you, but can hardly be established as yet."

"The question is not one of to-day or to-morrow," said Dernburg, "but I cannot defer too long my return home. I have been more than a year in the South, feel perfectly well again, and my father urgently requests that I return to Odensburg as soon as possible, provided that the doctors give me their permission."

"That Odensburg must be a grand creation," remarked the Baron. "According to all that I hear from you and others, your father must almost occupy the position of a small potentate; only his authority is more unlimited than that of a prince."

"Certainly, but he has also the whole care and responsibility of his station. You have no idea what it is to be at the head of such an undertaking. It requires a constitution of iron, such as my father possesses; the burden that he carries on his shoulders is that of a very Atlas."

"Never mind, it is power, and power is always a delight!" said Wildenrod, with flashing eyes.

The young man smiled rather sadly.

"To you, and very likely to my father, too–I am differently constituted. I should prefer a quiet life, in a modest home, located in such a terrestrial paradise as this delicious climate supplies; but it is not worth while to talk; as an only son, it must one day devolve on me to superintend the work at Odensburg."

"You are ungrateful, Dernburg! A good fairy endowed you, when in your cradle, with a destiny such as thousands aspire to, with eager longing–and I verily believe you sigh over it."

"Because I feel that I am not qualified for it. When I behold what my father accomplishes, and reflect that one day the task will devolve upon me, of filling his place, there comes over me a sense of discouragement and timidity that I cannot control."

Wildenrod's eyes were fastened, with a peculiar expression upon the diminutive figure and pale features of the young heir.

"One day!" he repeated. "Who cares now about the distant future. Your father is still living and working in the plenitude of his powers, and in the worst case he will leave you capable officers, who have been trained in his school. So you will actually stay no longer at Nice? I am sorry for that; we shall miss you a great deal."

"We?" asked Dernburg softly. "Do you speak in your sister's name also?"

"Certainly, Cecilia will be very sorry to lose her trustiest knight. To be sure, there will be plenty to try and console her–do you know, yesterday I had a regular quarrel upon my hands with Marville, because I offered you the seat in our carriage, upon which he had surely calculated?"

This last remark was apparently made carelessly, without any design, but it had its effect. The young man's brow became clouded, and with unmistakable irritation, he replied:

"Vicomte de Marville constantly claims a place by the Baroness, and I plainly perceive that he would like to supplant me in her favor altogether."

"If you voluntarily resign your vantage-ground–very likely. So far, Cecilia has continually manifested a preference for her German compatriot, and yet there is no doubt but that the amiable Frenchman pleases her, and the absent is always at a disadvantage, especially where young ladies are concerned."

He spoke in a jesting tone, as though no weight were to be attached to his words, since he did not look upon the matter at all in a serious light. This only made Dernburg more solicitous to come to an understanding. He made no reply, he was evidently struggling with himself, and finally began, unsteadily and with hesitation:

"Herr von Wildenrod, I have had something on my heart–for a long while already–but I have not ventured until now–"

The Baron had turned and looked at him wonderingly. There lurked in his dark eyes a half-mocking, half-compassionate expression, the look seeming to say: "You have millions to offer and yet hesitate?" but aloud he replied: "Speak out, pray; we are no strangers, and I hope that I have a claim to your confidence."

"It is, perhaps, no longer a secret to you that I love your sister," said Dernburg almost timidly. "But allow me to say to you, that I should account myself the happiest of men, if I could hope to win Cecilia–that I would do everything to make her happy–may I hope?"

Wildenrod did not indeed affect any surprise at this confession, he only smiled, but it was a smile that was full of promise.

"First of all, you must address your question to Cecilia herself. Young ladies are rather self-willed on such points, and my sister peculiarly so. Perhaps I am too considerate of her, and she is completely spoiled in society now, how much so you saw for yourself again to-day, during our ride on the Corso."

"Yes, I saw it," and the young man's tone showed deep depression, "and just on that account, I have never before been able to find the courage to speak of my love."

"Really? Well, then, I shall have to come to the help of your timidity. It is true that our whimsical little princess is not to be counted upon, but, to speak confidentially, I have no fear of your being rejected by her."

"Do you really think so?" exclaimed Dernburg rapturously. "And how as to yourself, Herr von Wildenrod?"

"I shall gladly welcome you as a brother-in-law, and see my sister's happiness entrusted to you without a qualm of anxiety. My sole desire is to see this child happy and beloved, for you must know that my relation to her has always been that of a father rather than a brother."

He extended his hand, which was grasped by the young suitor, and warmly pressed.

"I thank you. You make me very, very happy by this consent, by the hope that you give me, and now–"

"You would like to hear this consent spoken by other lips," said Wildenrod, laughingly finishing his sentence for him. "I'll gladly give you the opportunity to speak, but you must plead your own cause. I allow my sister entire freedom to act as pleases her best. I think, however, my blabbing has inspired you with courage, so venture boldly, dear Eric."

He gave him a friendly nod, and went. Eric Dernburg also returned again to the parlor, and his glance took in the quantities of flowers that the servant had brought up and piled upon the table. Yes, indeed, Cecilia Wildenrod was petted and spoiled as is the lot of few of her sex. Again to-day how had she been overwhelmed with flowers and tokens of homage! She had only to choose: dared he indulge the hope that her choice would fall upon one like him? He had wealth to offer, but she was rich herself, for her brother's style of living left no doubt on that head, and moreover she came of an ancient and noble family. As he thus pondered, the scale oscillated painfully. In spite of the encouragement that he had received, the young man's face showed that he feared just as much as he hoped.

Wildenrod, meanwhile, had passed through the adjoining apartment, and now entered his sister's chamber.

"Ah, is that you, Oscar? I am coming directly. I only want to stick another flower in my hair."

The Baron looked at the magnificent bunch of pale yellow roses that lay half-loosened upon the dressing-table, and asked abruptly:

"Are those the flowers that Dernburg gave you?"

"Certainly; he brought them to me, when he came for the drive on the Corso."

"Good! adorn yourself with them!"

"And I should have done so all the same without your most gracious permission," laughed the young lady, "for they are the loveliest of all."

She selected one of the roses, and held it, experimentally, against her hair: there was an uncommon, but indeed very conscious, grace in this movement: the slender girl of nineteen resembled her brother little, if at all: at first sight they seemed to have nothing in common but the dark color of their hair and eyes, otherwise hardly a feature betrayed the nearness of their relationship.

Cecilia Wildenrod had that style of appearance which seems to have an irresistible fascination for the opposite sex. Her features were more irregular than those of her brother, but their mobility and variety of expression gave them a peculiar charm that never wore out. Her dark hair, that was so abundant as not to be always brought down to the requirements of the latest fashion, and complexion, that was of the clear brunette type, made one suspect that she could not be of purely German origin; and from beneath long black eyelashes gleamed a pair of lustrous eyes, that allured one who looked deeply into them with all the fascination of a riddle to be solved. In these mysterious depths, too, glowed a spark that might well be fanned into a flame; they, too, having some of that glow of passion, which in Oscar's case was hidden under a semblance of excessive coldness. This constituted the sole resemblance between the brother and sister, but it was a resemblance that stood for much.

Cecilia still wore the silk dress in which she had appeared on the Corso, already a few pale yellow, half-open, rosebuds adorned her bosom, and now she placed a full-blown rose among the dark waves of her hair. Nature's adorning became her wondrously, and her brother's glance rested upon her with evident satisfaction. He had closed both doors carefully behind him, nevertheless he now lowered his voice and said in a whisper:

"Eric Dernburg has something besides roses to offer you–his hand. He has just had a talk with me, and is now going to address himself to you."

The young lady likewise heard this news without any surprise.

She turned her head to one side, that she might see how the flower looked in her hair, and asked with apparent indifference:

"So soon?"

"Soon? Why, I have been expecting a declaration from him this long while, and he would have made it, too, only you seem to have given him poor encouragement."

A fold appeared between Cecilia's brows, exactly in the same spot where a deep furrow had seamed her brother's.

"If he were only not so abominably tiresome!" murmured she.

"Cecilia, you know that I am anxious for this marriage, exceedingly anxious, and I hope that you will regulate your conduct accordingly."

His tone was very positive, seeming to preclude any chance of opposition on the part of his sister, who now pushed away the rest of the roses with a gesture of impatience.

"Why had it to be this Dernburg, and no one else? Vicomte de Marville is much handsomer, much more agreeable–"

"But is not thinking of offering you his hand," interposed Wildenrod. "He, just as little as all the other triflers who swarm around you. You need not put on that injured air, Cecilia, you may rely implicitly upon my judgment: I know men, I tell you, girl. Now this union with Dernburg secures to you a brilliant destiny; he is very rich."

"Well, so are we, for that matter."

"No," said the Baron shortly and sharply.

The young lady looked at him in amazement: he stepped up to her and laid his hand upon her arm.

"We are not rich! I am obliged to tell you this now, that you may not ruin your future prospects, through caprice or childishness, and I confidently expect you to accept this offer."

Cecilia still looked at her brother, half shocked, half-incredulous, but she was evidently accustomed to submitting to his will in silence, and attempted no further opposition.

"As if I should dare to say 'no,' when my stern brother dictates a 'yes,'" pouted she. "But I can tell Dernburg one thing, he need not flatter himself with the idea that I am going to bury myself with him in that horrid Odensburg. To live among droves of day-laborers, at those iron works, full of dust and soot–it makes me shudder just to think of it."

"All that can be accommodated afterwards," said Wildenrod calmly. "As for the rest, you have no idea what it is to be some day master of the Odensburg works, and what a stand you will take in the world, by his side. When you do come to comprehend the situation fully, you will be grateful to me for the choice that I have made. But come, we should not keep your future husband waiting any longer."

He took her arm, and led her to the parlor, where Dernburg was awaiting them in restless suspense. The Baron pretended not to observe his uneasiness, and chatted unrestrainedly with him and his sister about their drive on the Corso, and various little incidents that had occurred, until it suddenly occurred to him to admire the sunset, that promised to be particularly beautiful this evening. He stepped out upon the veranda, as if undesignedly, let the glass doors fall to behind him, and thus gave the young couple an opportunity to be alone.

"Why, it looks just like a flower-market!" exclaimed Cecilia laughingly, as she pointed to the table that was overladen with bouquets. "Francis has, of course, piled them up with a reckless disregard of taste: I must really arrange them better. Will you not help me to do so, Herr Dernburg?"

She began to divide out the various sorts and put them in vases and bowls, and with the remainder to decorate the hearth. Dernburg helped her, but he was not a very efficient helper, for he could not take his eyes off the slender form, flitting to and fro, in dainty garb, with that lovely rose in her dark hair.

At the first glance, he had perceived that those were his roses that she wore, and a happy smile played about his lips. He wondered if her brother had already given her a hint? She was so free from embarrassment, laughed so heartily at his absence of mind, and treated him with the same pretty insolence as usual–she could not possibly know that he meant to address her!