Debit and Credit Part 56

"G.o.d preserve me from all suspicion!" continued the landlord, horrified at the idea. "And Mr. Wohlfart, if you will allow me to tell you my opinion, why should you go and suspect any one either? You will have enough to do on the property here, and will need the gentry round in many ways. Why should you make enemies for no purpose? This is a country where the gentlemen ride in parties, and then divide, put their heads together, and then start off in different directions. He is wisest who does not trouble himself about them."

When the landlord was gone, Anton said gloomily to Karl, "I am afraid that, besides our trouble with the property, much of a different nature is going on around us, which all our skill will not be able to set right."

This singular circ.u.mstance set the whole country in a ferment. Anton was often summoned to Rosmin in the course of the next few weeks, but his depositions led to no result, the authorities not succeeding in discovering the offenders, or in getting hold of the abducted steward.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Our two colonists spent the next few weeks in such active pursuits, that every night, when they threw themselves upon their beds, they were quite exhausted.

Karl had been duly installed as bailiff, and held the reins of management with a firm hand, and Anton had committed the care of the house and kitchen to a hard-working woman, whom he found in one of the German settlements around. The most difficult matter had been to establish tolerably satisfactory relations with the adjacent village; but Anton's calm decision had at all events prevented any outbreak of opposition. One of his first measures had been to appeal, in all cases of breach of trust or dereliction of duty, to the proper authorities.

Karl's cavalry cloak attracted a few men who had served; and through these, the most civilized part of the community, the settlers gained some influence over others. At length, several voluntarily offered to become servants at the castle, or day-laborers on the estate.

Anton had written to the baroness, not disguising from her the state of the property, nor the unfriendly feeling of the district, and his own anxiety about the family moving thither in the course of the next winter. He had asked whether she would not prefer to remain till spring in the capital. In reply, he received a letter from Lenore, in which she told him, on the part of her parents, that they abode by their former resolve to leave the town, which had now become a painful residence to them all. She therefore begged him to have the castle put into a habitable condition as soon as possible.

Anton called out to his ally, "They are actually coming."

"They are, are they?" said Karl. "It is fortunate that we have heard of workmen--masons, joiners, locksmiths, glaziers, potters, and so on. If you will allow me, I will at once send a messenger off to Rosmin. If I could only get off this ugly brown paint from the door--it hides the beautiful oak carving. But lye won't stir it. And then how many stoves shall we want?"

An important conversation now began. "We must leave the whole lower floor unoccupied," Anton said, "closing up the windows with thick boards; but we shall have to put up a strong door in the hall, because one is constantly pa.s.sing through it. These walls, too, can not remain as they are, and we have no one to trust to but the Rosmin mason."

"Since that is the case," said Karl, "I propose that we paint the walls ourselves. I am a dab-hand at marbling."

"You are?" replied Anton, looking at him with some anxiety. "No; I think we had better make all the rooms one color. What do you think of brown?"

"Hum--not bad," said Karl.

"I know it is a favorite color of Fraulein Lenore's. It must not be too dark, though, but a bright mixture of yellow, gray, red, and green, with, perhaps, a little black in it."

"Aha!" said Karl, disconcerted; "a peculiar sort of brown, I suppose."

"Of course," continued Anton, eagerly drawing his chair nearer; "we will mix it ourselves."

"That's my way," said Karl; "but I tell you beforehand, these chalk colors are the very deuce! You paint a blue, the next day you have white; you have the most beautiful orange in your brush, and when it has dried on the wall it is a dirty yellow."

"Between ourselves," replied Anton, "we shall not succeed very perfectly, but I think we shall manage to make things look tolerably comfortable."

The following day the hammering and painting began. The joiner and his men set up a workshop on the lower floor; above, the great brush of the painter kept unwearyingly pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing over the walls, and white figures, with great ap.r.o.ns, carried buckets now up, now down. As for Karl, he seemed to have a dozen hands. Whenever he could get away from the farm, he painted woodwork and walls with all sorts of brushes.

He ran round with a foot-measure, drove in nails and hooks for curtains, and the very next moment there he was again in the field or the stable, but every where whistling his soldier's songs and urging on the laborers. As the arrangements of the house progressed, his love of beautifying became more and more developed. He bought a quant.i.ty of oil-paint, which he found excellent, and displayed a decided talent for the art. He now ventured to give to several objects, which seemed to him qualified to receive it, the appearance of finely-polished wood, and, with the aid of a soft brush and a bunch of feathers, succeeded in producing wonderful effects. He even carried his brush and his beautifying into the farm-yard, and teased Anton into consenting to a general whitewas.h.i.+ng of the mud walls. "They will dry in this weather just as well as in summer," said he. "My only regret is, that I can't wash the straw thatch." To make up for that, however, he was determined to give the two new potato-carts and the best plow a coating of beautiful blue oil-paint. "One must have something pleasant for the eye to rest on here," said he, by way of apology. "And it will pay for itself, for these Poles get on better with gayly-colored things."

The castle was temporarily arranged, and the arrival of the family expected on a cold December day. The sky had carried out Karl's wishes, most effectually covering the earth with a pure white mantle, and hiding many an eyesore from the expected party. The snow lay thick on pasture and sands, the summits of the pines wore white crowns, and the leafless shrubs glittered with frost-crystals. The ugly straw thatches were whitewashed to some purpose, the broken parapets of the bridge filled up. Each projection of the castle walls, the top of the tower, the whole roof, was capped with dazzling white, while the red-brown walls stood out in bold relief below. Within, it was a busy and exciting day. Wagons of furniture and stores were unpacked, and all arranged as well as the haste allowed. The farmer's wife and the housekeeper wove great garlands of fir-branches, and decorated the hall and the room doors. The sun set, and the silver landscape turned to gold, till the rising moon suffused it with a mysterious blue light. Several lamps were lit in the house, as many candles as possible placed in the apartments, the stoves all burned cheerily, and the fir-twigs filled the air with their fragrance. The gay curtains were drawn, and the open suite of rooms looked so habitable, that Anton asked himself in amazement how the labors of a few weeks could have wrought such a change as this. Karl had placed pitch-pans on both sides of the castle, and they shed a cheerful glow around.

Meanwhile all the dependents a.s.sembled in the hall--the forester in a new green coat, the memorial of his battles on his breast, a deer-hound at his side, stood in military att.i.tude next to the German farmer and the shepherd. The housekeeper and the farmer's wife had put their best ribbons on their caps, and tripped to and fro in restless expectation.

Karl, too, appeared in his hussar's frock.

Meanwhile Anton went once more through the rooms, and listened for the crack of the whip that should announce the baron's arrival. His own heart beat: for him, too, a new era was about to begin. After all, his life here had been a pleasant one enough hitherto: he and his trusty ally had felt themselves the masters of the castle, and had got through their anxieties cheerfully together. Now, however, Karl must take up his quarters in the farm-yard, while Anton, according to the wish of the baroness, was to occupy a room in the castle, so that he must come into daily relations with the family, and he now asked himself of what nature these would be. The baron was almost a stranger to him: how would he suit this baron? And he was blind too--yes, blind. Lenore had written him word that the surgeon gave no hope of the injured optic nerve ever recovering. This had been kept back from the sufferer, who comforted himself with the hope that time and skill might yet remove the dark cloud from his eyes. But Anton confided the truth to Karl, and was obliged to tell all the dependents that the baron was at present suffering from his eyes, and obliged to wear a bandage over them; and he read upon the faces of all that they felt this was a misfortune for the property. And his heart beat unquietly, too, when he thought of Lenore, with whom he should now be brought into constant contact. How would she and her mother treat him? He determined carefully to suppress what he now felt to have been idle claims, and so to behave from the first as to afford them no cause for mortifying his self-respect. And yet he could not help wondering whether they would treat him as a friend and an equal, or make him feel that he was a hired dependent. It was in vain that he said to himself that his own feelings made the latter arrangement desirable; he could not check the delightful visions that would arise of life led with Lenore on equal terms.

The crack of the whip was now heard in the village, and soon the family and establishment arrived. The farm-servants, the landlord, and a few of the villagers were grouped around the pitch-pans. The farmers rushed forward to open the carriage-door, and as Lenore jumped out, and her face was seen, the women pressed nearer, and the men broke out into loud acclamations. All looked in eager expectation at the carriage. But the welcome met with no return. The baron was got out with some difficulty, and with sunken head, supported by his wife and daughter, he toiled up the steps. The pale face of the baroness from behind him had only a mute glance for the tenants and servants--only a short nod of recognition for Anton, who proceeded to lead them to their suite of rooms.

"All very nice, Mr. Wohlfart," said she, with quivering lips; and as he remained standing and waiting for his first orders, she dismissed him with a wave of the hand, and the words, "I thank you." When the door had closed upon Anton, the baron stood helpless in the strange room, and the baroness broke out into loud weeping. Lenore leaned against the window, looking out into the snow-covered plain, with its black wall at the horizon, and great tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It was with a heavy heart that Anton returned to tell the people a.s.sembled that the family were fatigued and overcome, and would not be seen by them till the morning. Karl had the carriage unpacked, and led the old cook, who wept like her mistress, into the underground kitchen. None of the family reappeared that evening, and the light was soon put out in their rooms; but the pitch still glowed and flickered in the wind, and a black cloud rose above the window where the baron sat hiding his face in his hands.

Such was the entrance of this family upon their new estate.

"How beautifully Wohlfart has arranged every thing!" said Lenore to her mother the following day.

"These high rooms are dreadful," replied the baroness, wrapping her shawl around her; "and the monotonous brown of the walls makes them still more desolate!"

"It is surely time to send and ask him to come here and speak to us?"

suggested Lenore, timidly.

"Your father is not yet in a mood to speak to him."

"Do not leave my father alone with Wohlfart," implored Lenore. "It would be horrible if he were to treat him rudely."

The baroness sighed. "We must accustom ourselves to pay to a stranger in our house a degree of attention and observance which will be irksome both to your father and to us."

"How will you arrange about the housekeeping?" asked Lenore, again.

"Wohlfart will, of course, have his meals with us?"

"Impossible!" said the baroness, firmly. "You know what a melancholy thing our dinner is. Your father is not yet calm enough to be able to bear the daily presence of a stranger."

"Is he to eat with the servants, then?" asked Lenore, bitterly.

"He will have his table laid in his own room, and on Sundays we shall always invite him, and, if he is not disagreeable to your father, often in the evenings also. More would be troublesome to all parties. It is desirable to reserve at first a comfortable amount of freedom. Your father's state will be sufficient excuse."

She rang, and Anton was summoned. Lenore went to meet him, and with tearful eyes silently held out her hand. Anton was moved when he saw the traces of suffering in her mother's face. The baroness prayed him to be seated, and in well-chosen words expressed her grat.i.tude for all he had done, and asked him both for information and advice. Then she went on to say, "My husband wishes to speak to you. I earnestly beg you to remember that the baron is an invalid. He has suffered fearfully in mind and body. He is never free from pain, and his helplessness distresses him inexpressibly. We are careful to avoid whatever may excite him, and yet we can not avert dark hours, nay, days. You, sir, will be considerate if his gloomy mood should affect you disagreeably. Time, they say, heals all. I hope it will restore him to peace."

Anton promised all possible consideration.

"My husband will naturally wish to be placed in possession of all the facts connected with this property, and yet I dread any painful impressions for him. Therefore, whenever you have any thing important to communicate, try to make the matter intelligible to me in the first instance. I may thus spare you much that is disagreeable. I shall have my writing-table carried into one of the rooms near yours, and I shall daily spend part of my mornings there. Lenore is her father's private secretary. And now, be kind enough to wait till I have announced your visit to the baron."

The baroness left the room. Anton looked down gravely. Lenore went up to him and said, as cheerfully as she could, "Brown walls, Wohlfart! my favorite color. You are not glad we are come, you ungallant man!"

"Only on your own account," replied Anton, pointing to the snowy plain.

"Whenever I walked through the fields, I have always thought how lonely you would be here, and when I paced these great rooms of an evening, I have feared that your time would hang very heavily. The town is more than six miles distant, and even there you will find but little; the wretched lending-library will hardly satisfy you."

"I will draw," said Lenore; "I will do fancy work. Alas! I shall find it difficult, Mr. Wohlfart, for I am not skillful. I do not care for lace on either cuff or collar; but mamma, who is accustomed to have every thing so beautiful, and in such order--oh, how sorry I am for mamma!"

Anton tried to comfort her.

"We were obliged to leave the capital," cried Lenore; "we should all have perished if we had remained in that dreadful _entourage_. Our own property in other hands, cold, distant faces on all sides, every where false friends, smooth words, and a pity which maddened. I am delighted that we are alone here. And even were we to suffer cold and hunger, I could bear it better far than the shrugging of Madame Werner's shoulders. I have learned to hate my fellow-creatures," said she, vehemently. "When you have been with papa, I will come down, and then you must show me the house, the farm, and the village. I want to see where my poor pony is, and what the people about look like."

The baroness now returned, and led Anton into her husband's room.

Helpless and confused, the baron rose from his chair. Anton felt the deepest compa.s.sion for him. He looked at his sunken face, bent figure, and the black bandage over his eyes. He warmly declared his ardent wish to be of use to him, and begged his indulgence if he had in any way erred in judgment hitherto. Then he proceeded to tell him how he found the estate, and what had been done up to the present time.

The baron heard the report almost in silence, only making a few short observations in return. But when Anton proceeded, with the utmost delicacy indeed, but still with the precision of a man of business, to state the obligations under which the baron at present lay, and his inadequate means of fulfilling them, the n.o.bleman writhed in his chair like a victim on the rack. And Anton keenly felt how painful it must needs be to him to have a stranger thus introduced into his most secret affairs--a stranger anxious to spare his feelings, it is true, but at every moment betraying that anxiety, and so giving fresh offense. The baroness, who stood behind her husband, looked on nervously at the attempts he made to control his irritation, but at length she waved her hand so significantly that Anton had abruptly to break off his report.