Tell me not of it--I could ne'er abide
The mummery of all that forced civility.
"Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams
The speech is spoken, and, with bended knee,
Heard by the smiling courtier.--"Before you, sir?
It must be on the earth then." Hang it all!
The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion
Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom.
_Old Play._
Up stairs and down stairs tripped Annette Veilchen, the soul of all
that was going on in the only habitable corner of the huge castle of
Arnheim. She was equal to every kind of service, and therefore popped
her head into the stable to be sure that William attended properly to
Arthur's horse, looked into the kitchen to see that the old cook,
Marthon, roasted the partridges in due time (an interference for which
she received little thanks), rummaged out a flask or two of Rhine wine
from the huge Dom Daniel of a cellar, and, finally, just peeped into
the parlour to see how Arthur was looking; when, having the
satisfaction to see he had in the best manner he could sedulously
arranged his person, she assured him that he should shortly see her
mistress, who was rather indisposed, yet could not refrain from coming
down to see so valued an acquaintance.
Arthur blushed when she spoke thus, and seemed so handsome in the
waiting-maid's eye, that she could not help saying to herself, as she
went to her young lady's room,--"Well, if true love cannot manage to
bring that couple together, in spite of all the obstacles that they
stand boggling at, I will never believe that there is such a thing as
true love in the world, let Martin Sprenger say what he will, and
swear to it on the Gospels."
When she reached the young Baroness's apartment, she found, to her
surprise, that, instead of having put on what finery she possessed,
that young lady's choice had preferred the same simple kirtle which
she had worn during the first day that Arthur had dined at Geierstein.
Annette looked at first puzzled and doubtful, then suddenly recognised
the good taste which had dictated the attire, and exclaimed,--"You are
right--you are right--it is best to meet him as a free-hearted Swiss
maiden."
Anne also smiled as she replied,--"But, at the same time, in the walls
of Arnheim, I must appear in some respect as the daughter of my
father.--Here, girl, aid me to put this gem upon the riband which
binds my hair."
It was an aigrette, or plume, composed of two feathers of a vulture,
fastened together by an opal, which changed to the changing light with
a variability which enchanted the Swiss damsel, who had never seen
anything resembling it in her life.
"Now, Baroness Anne," said she, "if that pretty thing be really worn
as a sign of your rank, it is the only thing belonging to your dignity
that I should ever think of coveting; for it doth shimmer and change
colour after a most wonderful fashion, even something like one's own
cheek when one is fluttered."
"Alas, Annette!" said the Baroness, passing her hand across her eyes,
"of all the gauds which the females of my house have owned, this
perhaps hath been the most fatal to its possessors."
"And why then wear it?" said Annette. "Why wear it now, of all days in
the year?"
"Because it best reminds me of my duty to my father and family. And
now, girl, look thou sit with us at table, and leave not the
apartment; and see thou fly not to and fro to help thyself or others
with anything on the board, but remain quiet and seated till William
helps you to what you have occasion for."
"Well, that is a gentle fashion, which I like well enough," said
Annette, "and William serves us so debonairly, that it is a joy to see
him; yet, ever and anon, I feel as I were not Annette Veilchen
herself, but only Annette Veilchen's picture, since I can neither
rise, sit down, run about, nor stand still, without breaking some rule
of courtly breeding. It is not so, I dare say, with you, who are
always mannerly."
"Less courtly than thou seemest to think," said the high-born maiden;
"but I feel the restraint more on the greensward, and under heaven's
free air, than when I undergo it closed within the walls of an
apartment."
"Ah, true--the dancing," said Annette; "that was something to be sorry
for indeed."
"But most am I sorry, Annette, that I cannot tell whether I act
precisely right or wrong in seeing this young man, though it must be
for the last time. Were my father to arrive?--Were Ital Schreckenwald
to return"--
"Your father is too deeply engaged on some of his dark and mystic
errands," said the flippant Swiss; "sailed to the mountains of the
Brockenberg, where witches hold their sabbath, or gone on a
hunting-party with the Wild Huntsman."
"Fie, Annette, how dare you talk thus of my father?"
"Why, I know little of him personally," said the damsel, "and you
yourself do not know much more. And how should that be false which all
men say is true?"
"Why, fool, what do they say?"
"Why, that the Count is a wizard,--that your grandmother was a
will-of-wisp, and old Ital Schreckenwald a born devil incarnate; and
there is some truth in that, whatever comes of the rest."
"Where is he?"
"Gone down to spend the night in the village, to see the Rhinegrave's
men quartered, and keep them in some order, if possible; for the
soldiers are disappointed of pay which they had been promised; and
when this happens, nothing resembles a lanzknecht except a chafed
bear."
"Go we down then, girl; it is perhaps the last night which we may
spend, for years, with a certain degree of freedom."
I will not pretend to describe the marked embarrassment with which
Arthur Philipson and Anne of Geierstein met; neither lifted their
eyes, neither spoke intelligibly, as they greeted each other, and the
maiden herself did not blush more deeply than her modest visitor;
while the good-humoured Swiss girl, whose ideas of love partook of the
freedom of a more Arcadian country and its customs, looked on with
eyebrows a little arched, much in wonder, and a little in contempt,
at a couple who, as she might think, acted with such unnatural and
constrained reserve. Deep was the reverence and the blush with which
Arthur offered his hand to the young lady, and her acceptance of the
courtesy had the same character of extreme bashfulness, agitation, and
embarrassment. In short, though little or nothing intelligible passed
between this very handsome and interesting couple, the interview
itself did not on that account lose any interest. Arthur handed the
maiden, as was the duty of a gallant of the day, into the next room,
where their repast was prepared; and Annette, who watched with
singular attention everything which occurred, felt with astonishment
that the forms and ceremonies of the higher orders of society had such
an influence, even over her free-born mind, as the rites of the Druids
over that of the Roman general, when he said,
I scorn them, yet they awe me.
"What can have changed them?" said Annette. "When at Geierstein they
looked but like another girl and bachelor, only that Anne is so very
handsome; but now they move in time and manner as if they were leading
a stately pavin, and behave to each other with as much formal respect
as if he were Landamman of the Unterwalden, and she the first lady of
Berne. 'Tis all very fine, doubtless, but it is not the way that
Martin Sprenger makes love."
Apparently, the circumstances in which each of the young people was
placed recalled to them the habits of lofty and somewhat formal
courtesy to which they might have been accustomed in former days; and
while the Baroness felt it necessary to observe the strictest
decorum, in order to qualify the reception of Arthur into the interior
of her retreat, he, on the other hand, endeavoured to show, by the
profoundness of his respect, that he was incapable of misusing the
kindness with which he had been treated. They placed themselves at
table, scrupulously observing the distance which might become a
"virtuous gentleman and maid." The youth William did the service of
the entertainment with deftness and courtesy, as one well accustomed
to such duty; and Annette, placing herself between them, and
endeavouring, as closely as she could, to adhere to the ceremonies
which she saw them observe, made practice of the civilities which were
expected from the attendant of a baroness. Various, however, were the
errors which she committed. Her demeanour in general was that of a
greyhound in the slips, ready to start up every moment; and she was
only withheld by the recollection that she was to ask for that which
she had far more mind to help herself to.
Other points of etiquette were transgressed in their turn, after the
repast was over, and the attendant had retired. The waiting damsel
often mingled too unceremoniously in the conversation, and could not
help calling her mistress by her Christian name of Anne, and, in
defiance of all decorum, addressed her, as well as Philipson, with the
pronoun _thou_, which then, as well as now, was a dreadful solecism in
German politeness. Her blunders were so far fortunate that, by
furnishing the young lady and Arthur with a topic foreign to the
peculiarities of their own situation, they enabled them to withdraw
their attentions from its embarrassments, and to exchange smiles at
poor Annette's expense. She was not long of perceiving this, and half
nettled, half availing herself of the apology to speak her mind, said,
with considerable spirit, "You have both been very merry, forsooth, at
my expense, and all because I wished rather to rise and seek what I
wanted, than wait till the poor fellow, who was kept trotting between
the board and beauffet, found leisure to bring it to me. You laugh at
me now, because I call you by your names, as they were given to you in
the blessed church at your christening; and because I say to you
_thee_ and _thou_, addressing my Juncker and my Yungfrau as I would do
if I were on my knees praying to Heaven. But for all your new-world
fancies, I can tell you, you are but a couple of children, who do not
know your own minds, and are jesting away the only leisure given you
to provide for your own happiness. Nay, frown not, my sweet Mistress
Baroness; I have looked at Mount Pilatus too often, to fear a gloomy
brow."
"Peace, Annette," said her mistress, "or quit the room."
"Were I not more your friend than I am my own," said the headstrong
and undaunted Annette, "I would quit the room, and the castle to boot,
and leave you to hold your house here, with your amiable seneschal,
Ital Schreckenwald."
"If not for love, yet for shame, for charity, be silent, or leave the
room."
"Nay," said Annette, "my bolt is shot, and I have but hinted at what
all upon Geierstein Green said, the night when the bow of Buttisholz
was bended. You know what the old saw says"----
"Peace! peace, for Heaven's sake, or I must needs fly!" said the young
Baroness.
"Nay, then," said Annette, considerably changing her tone, as if
afraid that her mistress should actually retire, "if you must fly,
necessity must have its course. I know no one who can follow. This
mistress of mine, Seignor Arthur, would require for her attendant, not
a homely girl of flesh and blood like myself, but a waiting-woman with
substance composed of gossamer, and breath supplied by the spirit of
ether. Would you believe it--It is seriously held by many, that she
partakes of the race of spirits of the elements, which makes her so
much more bashful than maidens of this every-day world."
Anne of Geierstein seemed rather glad to lead away the conversation
from the turn which her wayward maiden had given to it, and to turn it
on more indifferent subjects, though these were still personal to
herself.
"Seignor Arthur," she said, "thinks, perhaps, he has some room to
nourish some such strange suspicion as your heedless folly expresses,
and some fools believe, both in Germany and Switzerland. Confess,
Seignor Arthur, you thought strangely of me when I passed your guard
upon the bridge of Graffs-lust, on the night last past."
The recollection of the circumstances which had so greatly surprised
him at the time so startled Arthur that it was with some difficulty he
commanded himself, so as to attempt an answer at all; and what he did
say on the occasion was broken and unconnected.
"I did hear, I own--that is, Rudolph Donnerhugel reported--But that I
believed that you, gentle lady, were other than a Christian
maiden"----
"Nay, if Rudolph were the reporter," said Annette, "you would hear
the worst of my lady and her lineage, that is certain. He is one of
those prudent personages who depreciate and find fault with the goods
he has thoughts of purchasing, in order to deter other offerers. Yes,
he told you a fine goblin story, I warrant you, of my lady's
grandmother; and truly, it so happened, that the circumstances of the
case gave, I dare say, some colour in your eyes to"----
"Not so, Annette," answered Arthur; "whatever might be said of your
lady that sounded uncouth and strange, fell to the ground as
incredible."
"Not quite so much so, I fancy," interrupted Annette, without heeding
sign or frown. "I strongly suspect I should have had much more trouble
in dragging you hither to this castle, had you known you were
approaching the haunt of the Nymph of the Fire, the Salamander, as
they call her, not to mention the shock of again seeing the descendant
of that Maiden of the Fiery Mantle."
"Peace, once more, Annette," said her mistress; "since Fate has
occasioned this meeting, let us not neglect the opportunity to
disabuse our English friend of the absurd report he has listened to,
with doubt and wonder perhaps, but not with absolute incredulity.
"Seignor Arthur Philipson," she proceeded, "it is true my grandfather,
by the mother's side, Baron Herman of Arnheim, was a man of great
knowledge in abstruse sciences. He was also a presiding judge of a
tribunal of which you must have heard, called the Holy Vehme. One
night a stranger, closely pursued by the agents of that body, which"
(crossing herself) "it is not safe even to name, arrived at the castle
and craved his protection, and the rights of hospitality. My
grandfather, finding the advance which the stranger had made to the
rank of Adept, gave him his protection, and became bail to deliver him
to answer the charge against him, for a year and a day, which delay he
was, it seems, entitled to require on his behalf. They studied
together during that term, and pushed their researches into the
mysteries of nature, as far, in all probability, as men have the power
of urging them. When the fatal day drew nigh on which the guest must
part from his host, he asked permission to bring his daughter to the
castle, that they might exchange a last farewell. She was introduced
with much secrecy, and after some days, finding that her father's fate
was so uncertain, the Baron, with the sage's consent, agreed to give
the forlorn maiden refuge in his castle, hoping to obtain from her
some additional information concerning the languages and the wisdom of
the East. Dannischemend, her father, left this castle, to go to render
himself up to the Vehme-gericht at Fulda. The result is unknown;
perhaps he was saved by Baron Arnheim's testimony, perhaps he was
given up to the steel and the cord. On such matters, who dare speak?
"The fair Persian became the wife of her guardian and protector. Amid
many excellences, she had one peculiarity allied to imprudence. She
availed herself of her foreign dress and manners, as well as of a
beauty which was said to have been marvellous, and an agility seldom
equalled, to impose upon and terrify the ignorant German ladies, who,
hearing her speak Persian and Arabic, were already disposed to
consider her as over closely connected with unlawful arts. She was of
a fanciful and imaginative disposition, and delighted to place herself
in such colours and circumstances as might confirm their most
ridiculous suspicions, which she considered only as matter of sport.
There was no end to the stories to which she gave rise. Her first
appearance in the castle was said to be highly picturesque, and to
have inferred something of the marvellous. With the levity of a child,
she had some childish passions, and while she encouraged the growth
and circulation of the most extraordinary legends amongst some of the
neighbourhood, she entered into disputes with persons of her own
quality concerning rank and precedence, on which the ladies of
Westphalia have at all times set great store. This cost her her life;
for, on the morning of the christening of my poor mother, the Baroness
of Arnheim died suddenly, even while a splendid company was assembled
in the castle chapel to witness the ceremony. It was believed that she
died of poison, administered by the Baroness Steinfeldt, with whom she
was engaged in a bitter quarrel, entered into chiefly on behalf of her
friend and companion, the Countess Waldstetten."
"And the opal gem?--and the sprinkling with water?" said Arthur
Philipson.
"Ah!" replied the young Baroness, "I see you desire to hear the real
truth of my family history, of which you have yet learned only the
romantic legend.--The sprinkling of water was necessarily had recourse
to, on my ancestress's first swoon. As for the opal, I have heard that
it did indeed grow pale, but only because it is said to be the nature
of that noble gem, on the approach of poison. Some part of the quarrel
with the Baroness Steinfeldt was about the right of the Persian
maiden to wear this stone, which an ancestor of my family won in
battle from the Soldan of Trebizond. All these things were confused in
popular tradition, and the real facts turned into a fairy tale."
"But you have said nothing," suggested Arthur Philipson, "on--on"----
"On what?" said his hostess.
"On your appearance last night."
"Is it possible," said she, "that a man of sense, and an Englishman,
cannot guess at the explanation which I have to give, though not,
perhaps, very distinctly? My father, you are aware, has been a busy
man in a disturbed country, and has incurred the hatred of many
powerful persons. He is, therefore, obliged to move in secret, and
avoid unnecessary observation. He was, besides, averse to meet his
brother, the Landamman. I was therefore told, on our entering Germany,
that I was to expect a signal where and when to join him,--the token
was to be a small crucifix of bronze, which had belonged to my poor
mother. In my apartment at Graffs-lust I found the token, with a note
from my father, making me acquainted with a secret passage proper to
such places, which, though it had the appearance of being blocked up,
was in fact very slightly barricaded. By this I was instructed to pass
to the gate, make my escape into the woods, and meet my father at a
place appointed there."
"A wild and perilous adventure," said Arthur.
"I have never been so much shocked," continued the maiden, "as at
receiving this summons, compelling me to steal away from my kind and
affectionate uncle, and go I knew not whither. Yet compliance was
absolutely necessary. The place of meeting was plainly pointed out. A
midnight walk, in the neighbourhood of protection, was to me a trifle;
but the precaution of posting sentinels at the gate might have
interfered with my purpose, had I not mentioned it to some of my elder
cousins, the Biedermans, who readily agreed to let me pass and repass
unquestioned. But you know my cousins; honest and kind-hearted, they
are of a rude way of thinking, and as incapable of feeling a generous
delicacy as--some other persons."--(Here there was a glance towards
Annette Veilchen.)--"They exacted from me, that I should conceal
myself and my purpose from Sigismund; and as they are always making
sport with the simple youth, they insisted that I should pass him in
such a manner as might induce him to believe that I was a spiritual
apparition, and out of his terrors for supernatural beings they
expected to have much amusement. I was obliged to secure their
connivance at my escape on their own terms; and, indeed, I was too
much grieved at the prospect of quitting my kind uncle to think much
of anything else. Yet my surprise was considerable, when, contrary to
expectation, I found you on the bridge as sentinel, instead of my
cousin Sigismund. Your own ideas I ask not for."
"They were those of a fool," said Arthur, "of a thrice-sodden fool.
Had I been aught else, I would have offered my escort. My sword"----
"I could not have accepted your protection," said Anne, calmly. "My
mission was in every respect a secret one. I met my father--some
intercourse had taken place betwixt him and Rudolph Donnerhugel, which
induced him to alter his purpose of carrying me away with him last
night. I joined him, however, early this morning, while Annette acted
for a time my part amongst the Swiss pilgrims. My father desired that
it should not be known when or with whom I left my uncle and his
escort. I need scarce remind you, that I saw you in the dungeon."
"You were the preserver of my life," said the youth,--"the restorer of
my liberty."
"Ask me not the reason of my silence. I was then acting under the
agency of others, not under mine own. Your escape was effected, in
order to establish a communication betwixt the Swiss without the
fortress and the soldiers within. After the alarm at La Ferette, I
learned from Sigismund Biederman that a party of banditti were
pursuing your father and you, with a view to pillage and robbery. My
father had furnished me with the means of changing Anne of Geierstein
into a German maiden of quality. I set out instantly, and glad I am to
have given you a hint which might free you from danger."
"But my father?" said Arthur.
"I have every reason to hope he is well and safe," answered the young
lady. "More than I were eager to protect both you and him--poor
Sigismund amongst the first.--And now, my friend, these mysteries
explained, it is time we part, and for ever."
"Part!--and for ever!" repeated the youth, in a voice like a dying
echo.
"It is our fate," said the maiden. "I appeal to you if it is not your
duty--I tell you it is mine. You will depart with early dawn to
Strasburg--and--and--we never meet again."
With an ardour of passion which he could not repress, Arthur Philipson
threw himself at the feet of the maiden, whose faltering tone had
clearly expressed that she felt deeply in uttering the words. She
looked round for Annette, but Annette had disappeared at this most
critical moment; and her mistress for a second or two was not perhaps
sorry for her absence.
"Rise," she said, "Arthur--rise. You must not give way to feelings
that might be fatal to yourself and me."
"Hear me, lady, before I bid you adieu, and for ever--the word of a
criminal is heard, though he plead the worst cause--I am a belted
knight, and the son and heir of an Earl, whose name has been spread
throughout England and France, and wherever valour has had fame."
"Alas!" said she, faintly, "I have but too long suspected what you now
tell me--Rise, I pray you, rise."
"Never till you hear me," said the youth, seizing one of her hands,
which trembled, but hardly could be said to struggle in his
grasp.--"Hear me," he said, with the enthusiasm of first love, when
the obstacles of bashfulness and diffidence are surmounted,--"My
father and I are--I acknowledge it--bound on a most hazardous and
doubtful expedition. You will very soon learn its issue for good or
bad. If it succeed, you shall hear of me in my own character--If I
fall, I must--I will--I do claim a tear from Anne of Geierstein. If I
escape, I have yet a horse, a lance, and a sword; and you shall hear
nobly of him whom you have thrice protected from imminent danger."
"Arise--arise," repeated the maiden, whose tears began to flow fast,
as, struggling to raise her lover, they fell thick upon his head and
face. "I have heard enough--to listen to more were indeed madness,
both for you and myself."
"Yet one single word," added the youth; "while Arthur has a heart, it
beats for you--while Arthur can wield an arm, it strikes for you, and
in your cause."
Annette now rushed into the room.
"Away, away!" she cried--"Schreckenwald has returned from the village
with some horrible tidings, and I fear me he comes this way."
Arthur had started to his feet at the first signal of alarm.
"If there is danger near your lady, Annette, there is at least one
faithful friend by her side."
Annette looked anxiously at her mistress.
"But Schreckenwald," she said--"Schreckenwald, your father's
steward--his confidant.--Oh, think better of it--I can hide Arthur
somewhere."
The noble-minded girl had already resumed her composure, and replied
with dignity,--"I have done nothing," she said, "to offend my father.
If Schreckenwald be my father's steward, he is my vassal. I hide no
guest to conciliate him. Sit down" (addressing Arthur), "and let us
receive this man.--Introduce him instantly, Annette, and let us hear
his tidings--and bid him remember, that when he speaks to me he
addresses his mistress."
Arthur resumed his seat, still more proud of his choice from the noble
and fearless spirit displayed by one who had so lately shown herself
sensible to the gentlest feelings of the female sex.
Annette, assuming courage from her mistress's dauntless demeanour,
clapped her hands together as she left the room, saying, but in a low
voice, "I see that after all it is something to be a Baroness, if one
can assert her dignity conformingly. How could I be so much frightened
for this rude man!"