No Surrender. E. Werner
I find myself for the time being compelled to silence and obedience."
"For the time being?" echoed the Doctor, sarcastically. "I tell you, he means to teach you lasting silence and obedience, and if you do not show yourself teachable he will crush and ruin you. That is his way, as it is the way of all such despicable parvenus."
George shook his head gravely,
"You go too far. The Baron has many enemies, and I do not doubt that in secret much hatred and bitterness are entertained towards him, but as yet no one has ventured to speak his name with contempt."
"Well, I venture it then," said the Doctor, with sudden vehemence; "and, truly, not without good grounds."
The young man looked at him in silence, then, after a pause of a second, he laid his hand on his arm.
"Dr. Brunnow, forgive me if I ask you a question which may, perhaps, seem indiscreet. What is this matter between you and my chief? Whenever his name is mentioned, you betray an amount of bitterness which cannot possibly have its origin in mere political opposition. You seem to know him intimately."
Brunnow's lips twitched:
"We were friends once," he answered, in a low voice; "young men together."
"Impossible!" exclaimed George. "You and----"
"His Excellency Baron Arno von Raven, Governor of the Province of R----, and closest friend and confidant of our present rulers," completed the Doctor, laying a sharp, scornful emphasis on each word. "That surprises you, does it not?"
"Certainly. I had no notion of any such acquaintance between you."
"How should you? it dates almost half a generation back. In those days he was only plain Arno Raven, and as poor and unknown as myself. We learned to know each other in stormy, troubled times, meeting in the ranks of the party to which we both belonged. Raven with his splendid talents and restless energy soon worked to the front, and became leader of us all. We followed him with blind confidence--I more especially, for I loved him as I have loved no human being since, not even my wife or child. All the enthusiasm of my youth was lavished on him. He was my hero, to whom I looked up with ardent admiration--my ideal, my pride--until the day when he betrayed and deserted us all, when he sacrificed honour to ambition, and sold himself body and soul to our enemies, giving us up at the same time to perdition. They call me 'misanthropic,' those wise folk who have never had their illusions rudely dispelled--who have never met despair face to face. If indeed I am a misanthrope, my nature was warped to bitterness on that day when, losing my friend, I lost with him all faith in mankind."
He turned away in great agitation. Evidently the memory of that long bygone event still shook the man's whole being to its depths.
"So there is some foundation for those reports which hint at a dark spot in the Baron's past," remarked George, thoughtfully. "I have heard rumours and vague allusions, but no one ever appeared to have any positive knowledge on the subject. The matter must always have escaped publicity, for Raven is only known as the energetic, unyielding representative of the government."
"Renegades are ever the most untiring persecutors of the faith they have abandoned," said Brunnow, gloomily; "and there was always a dangerous element at work in Arno Raven, a fierce, consuming, all-mastering ambition. This was his ruling passion, the true mainspring of his actions; and this it was which finally brought about his fall. His thoughts were constantly running on power and greatness to be achieved in the future; he longed to govern, to command, cost what it might, and he has obtained his heart's desire. His career is absolutely unexampled. From poverty and obscurity he has risen step by step from one dignity, from one high distinction to another. On becoming the son-in-law of the minister whose acknowledged favourite he had ever been, he was exalted to the rank of Baron, and at this moment he is the well-nigh omnipotent governor of one of the principal provinces of the land. He stands on the lofty pinnacle whereof he used to dream; but I, whom he drove into prison and into banishment, who can look back only on a weary course of years full of the most bitter disappointments, and who, standing now on the threshold of old age, have still to wrestle with the material cares of life--I would not exchange my lowly lot for his greatness. He has paid for it a heavy price--the price of his honour."
The speaker was terribly agitated. He broke off, and, turning, strode a few times up and down the veranda, striving to conquer his emotion. After a while he came back to George, who was standing silent and full of thought.
"I have not touched on this subject for years," he began again; "but I owed it to you to speak frankly. You are no blind, ductile instrument, such as Raven requires, such as alone he suffers about him; and I fear an hour may come when you will find yourself compelled to refuse him obedience, if you wish to remain true to your principles, and to quit yourself as an honourable man. What your after-fate may be beyond that turning-point is indeed another question. Stand fast, George! Through all the dislike and antagonism you nurture in your heart towards him, there runs a subtle, secret vein of admiration for this man, and I can understand it but too well. He has ever exercised a really magic influence over all who have come into contact with him. You yourself cannot altogether escape it, and for this reason I have thought it necessary to enlighten you on the subject of Baron von Raven. You know now what manner of man he is."
"I thought so, I declare! There they are again in the thick of their politics, or immersed in some other interminable debate," said a voice behind them. "I have been hunting for you all over the house, George. Good-morning, father."
The speaker, who now stepped into the veranda, was, apparently, George's junior by some years, but taller and of stronger build than his friend--a fresh-looking, vigorous young man, with a frank open face, clear eyes, and a plentiful crop of curly light hair. He cast one scrutinizing glance at his father's face, still crimsoned by agitation, and then went on:
"You should not excite yourself so much with your discussions, father. You know how injurious it is to you; moreover, you have been hard at work already this morning, I see."
So saying, he walked up to a table covered with books and papers, which stood at a little distance, and began turning over some written pages.
"Let that alone, Max," said his father, impatiently. "You will disarrange the manuscript, and you take no interest in these abstruse scientific studies."
"Because I have no time for them," answered Max, quietly laying down the papers. "A young assistant-surgeon at a hospital cannot sit all day poring over his books. You know I have my hands pretty full."
"Time might be found," remarked Brunnow. "What you lack is inclination."
"Well, inclination too, if you like. Practice is my study, and I dare say it will get me on as far."
"As far as your ambition takes you, no doubt." There was an unmistakable slight in the father's tone. "You will very probably found an extensive practice, and look on your calling altogether in the light of a lucrative profession. I do not question it in the least."
At this Max evidently had to fight down some rising irritation, but he answered with tolerable calm:
"I shall certainly found a practice of my own at the earliest opportunity. You might have done the same twenty years ago, but you preferred to write medical works which bring you in very little money, and, at the best, only obtain recognition from some few choice spirits among your colleagues. Tastes differ."
"As our conception of life differs. You do not know what it means to sacrifice yourself--to live for science."
"I sacrifice myself for nobody," said Max, defiantly. "I intend conscientiously to fulfil my duties in life, and shall think that, in so doing, I have done enough. You have a fancy for useless self-immolation, father. I have none."
"Leave this incorrigible realist to his errors, Doctor," struck in George, who from the irritated tone of both men began to fear a scene, such as was not unfrequent between father and son. "I have long given up all attempt to convert him. But now we will neither of us disturb you any longer. Max promised to go for a walk with me to the wood this morning, as soon as he returned."
"Now,