Imbibing somewhat of the spirit of the age whereof I write, I have,
perhaps, in this true history, neglected to a certain degree the
inferior persons of the tale, keeping myself among lords and ladies,
counts and barons, to the exclusion from consideration of not less
worthy and serviceable people; but the events at which I am now
arrived, require me absolutely to descend from this high elevation,
and to notice the fate of one whom, in a former part of the story, I
have spoken of with some partiality.
It will not be difficult for the reader to recollect, that when
Adelaide of Ehrenstein fled in terror towards the woodman's shed, she
imagined that her maid Bertha was following as fast as 'the four legs
of her horse would carry her, and that soon after she discovered, to
her consternation and surprise, that such was not the case. What
became of Bertha in the mean time? In truth, the good gay girl had
every inclination in the world to do as she was told; but,
nevertheless, she did not follow her mistress ten steps; for, in the
hurry and confusion of the moment, while endeavouring to extricate
herself from the men and horses that were pressing to the front in
order to favour the lady's escape, the long nun's gown, with which she
was covered, caught in one of the large stirrup-irons of those days,
and pulled her from her horse, as the beast hurried on in the
direction which had been given to it.
She fell heavily, and was somewhat confused and stunned by the
concussion, so that a moment or two went by without her being aware of
anything that passed around. She felt herself raised from the earth,
however, heard a number of voices speaking, saw various indistinct
objects moving quickly about, and, as sense began to return fully,
beheld a party of armed men surrounding her companions of the way and
herself, although the body which had quitted the abbey in the morning,
seemed to be diminished by two or three.
The first words which she heard clearly, were pronounced in a loud but
melodious tone, and were as follows:--"Pursue them quickly, and bring
them back. Seek for the girl's horse also. We must know what all this
means."
Looking up in the direction of the sounds, Bertha beheld a tall,
powerful man on horseback, some five or ten yards before her, with
fifteen or sixteen other gentlemen; some fully armed according to the
custom of the day, but others in the garb of peace. Round about, and
in the open space behind, were not less than two or three hundred
soldiers, but the principal personage of the whole, he who had spoken,
displayed no arms whatever, except the ordinary sword and dagger. He
was clothed in a loose coat of buff leather, trimmed with rich fur,
and embroidered with gold thread in various quaint devices. Some
careful and laborious needle had worked all over it the figures of
birds, and flowers, and leaves, of syrens and armed men, and stags,
and hounds, and mermaids; and on his head he wore a bonnet of crimson
velvet, and a high plume of feathers, white as snow. His age might be
between forty and fifty, but his beard and hair were black as jet, and
his teeth white and fine. His countenance was pleasing, though there
was something of a cold and sarcastic smile upon it, and the air with
which he sat his horse was graceful but somewhat haughty. For a minute
or two he said no more; but continued to gaze over the heads of those
before him down the road into the wood, then turning his horse with a
light hand, he exclaimed: "Wait, Rudolph, till they have brought those
men back, then follow me, bringing them with you."
Leading the way onward at the head of the troop, the person who had
spoken pursued the same course which the party at the abbey had been
taking. About fifty of his followers remained behind, guarding those
who might now be considered prisoners; and though a deep silence
succeeded to the great man's departure, Bertha, whose tongue was not
under the most strict control, ventured at length to ask the man next
her, "Who was that who has just ridden away?"
The person she addressed was one of her fellow-captives, and he
answered in a low voice, "The Emperor, going to Spires, they say."
He immediately relapsed into silence, and Bertha's brain began to
revolve the circumstances in which she was placed, and to inquire
whether there was no chance of her being able to extract good out of
evil, and to turn her captivity to some advantage. There were
difficulties, however, which she saw not how to overcome: for, in the
very first instance, she knew not what to do in regard to her fair
mistress. "If I leave her in the wood, poor simple thing," said Bertha
to herself, "Heaven only knows what will become of her. She has not
wit nor experience enough to get herself out of a difficulty, and,
like a bird fresh from a cage, she will go fluttering about hither and
thither till she is starved to death, or pecked to pieces by birds of
prey. Then, again, if I tell these people where she is to be found, a
thousand to one they will send her back at once to her father, and
that will be worse than all. I wish to Heaven I could get a word with
the man he called Rudolph, just to see what stuff he is made off."
A moment or two after, the sound of horses coming up the road was
heard, and Bertha, looking round, perceived several of the Emperor's
soldiers, bringing with them two of the men of the abbey, who had fled
some minutes before. The leader of the party which had remained to
guard the prisoners, saw the same objects, and pushed his horse a
little forward, till he was nearly by the girl's side. Taking
advantage of the opportunity, which she thought might not occur again,
Bertha drew near to him, saying: "My lord, I wish to speak with you."
The only answer she obtained, however, was,--"Hold your tongue, pretty
mistress; I have nothing to do with this business. You must speak with
the Emperor, if you have anything to say."
"But how can I speak with him, when he is not here?" cried the girl,
impatiently.
"Oh, he will talk with you at Spires," replied the officer; "he never
objects to see a pretty face, and I will tell him you want to speak to
him--there, hold your tongue now, for I cannot attend to you."
In a few minutes after, the horse which Adelaide had ridden was
brought forward, and Bertha lifted on it without question or ceremony.
The men of the abbey were arranged in a line, a part of the Emperor's
guard went before, and the rest followed; and at a quick pace, they
pursued their way toward Spires, consoling themselves as best they
could.
Night came on, not long after, and under the influence of darkness and
fatigue, Bertha's good spirits began to fail her sadly, and her light
heart to sink. Nevertheless, hour by hour went by, and it was not till
near midnight that the rising moon showed her some tall towers and
steeples, which indicated they were approaching Spires. By this time,
however, all power of talking had left her, and she could hardly sit
her horse. The gates of that large and then splendid city were closed
when the party reached them, and the few minutes that passed before
they were opened, seemed to poor Bertha an hour. Then came the long
and melancholy streets, lighted alone by an occasional moonbeam, or
the torch or lantern carried before some knight or citizen on his way
homeward from a late meeting. But at length a redder glare was seen at
the end of the streets by which they passed, and the watch fire of a
large party of soldiers showed the tall towers and massive walls of
the stupendous cathedral, with the cupola long since destroyed,
standing out harsh and severe against the starry sky.
"I can go no farther," said Bertha, in a faint voice to one of the men
who rode beside her; "I shall drop off my horse."
"'Tis not far, 'tis not far to the Retscher," answered the man,
good-humouredly; "bear up a little, poor maiden, till you reach the
palace, and there you will be lodged comfortably, and well treated. I
will speak with Count Rudolph, who has a kind heart, though a rough
tongue."
Thus saying, he rode on; and in a few minutes after, the large massive
building called the Retscher, which served as the Imperial palace when
any of the Emperors visited Spires, appeared lighted by innumerable
flambeaux, stuck in large stone stands before the steps. Though the
hour was so late, all the courtly world seemed awake and busy; guards,
attendants, pages were moving about; persons in rich dresses were seen
coming in and going out of the various doors, and the weary head of
poor Bertha seemed to whirl in the midst of a gayer scene than she had
ever witnessed before, as she was detained for a few minutes before
the principal entrance, while the leader of the party, and one or two
of his companions went in.
At length, however, Count Rudolph, as he was called, appeared again,
and approaching the side of the tired girl's horse, lifted her off
himself, and aided her up the steps, saying, "You must repose and
refresh yourself to-night, fair lady; and the Emperor will see you
early to-morrow."
Bertha could only reply by bowing her head; and, accompanying him into
the palace, was led up several flights of steps, and through numerous
passages, amidst servants and officers, till at length her conductor
stopped before an elderly man, who had been sitting playing at tables
with a page in one of the vestibules, but who instantly rose and bowed
respectfully.
"Where is the room for the lady?" asked the Count, quickly.
"The page will show it, my lord," answered the old man; and given over
to the guidance of a gay-looking good-humoured youth, Bertha was led
on to a small but comfortable chamber at the end of the gallery. She
saw that the young gentleman gazed at her, with a look of interest,
from time to time; and fully conscious of her own good looks, the
pretty maiden might not at any other time have failed to encourage his
young gallantry, but she was too weary even for a light word; and when
at length he lighted the lamp upon the table, and asked if he could do
aught else to serve her, she only answered, "I am very faint."
"I will bring you some wine in an instant, beautiful lady," he said;
and running away before she could decline, he soon returned with some
wine and bread, and dried fruits.
He lingered as long as she would let him, pressed her to eat and
drink, and seemed very willing to assist at her toilet also; but at
length she contrived to send him away; and going back to his old
companion, he declared with all the wild enthusiasm and glowing
imagination of youth, that she was the loveliest creature that had
ever been created.
Bertha slept well, and slept long; nor was it till some one tried to
open her door, which she had wisely locked, that she awoke on the
following morning. The early visitor who thus roused her, proved to be
a woman sent to give her assistance, but she was hardly dressed when
one of the attendants came to summon her to the Emperor's presence.
Bertha would fain have had more time to consider what she should say
or do, but none was allowed her; and, trusting to woman's ready wit,
she followed the man, who showed her a degree of deference and respect
which somewhat surprised her. Descending two flights of steps, she was
led to a door before which stood some armed men, and in a moment after
was introduced into a small cabinet, where sat the same high person
she had seen the day before, but with his head now uncovered, and a
loose robe of rich fur cast negligently over his shoulders. He rose as
she entered, and when the attendant had retired, advanced a step,
saying, "You wished to see me, lady.--But first tell me, is it true
that I see the daughter of my noble acquaintance, the Count of
Ehrenstein?"
Bertha's heart sank; for if the Emperor were indeed a friend of the
Count of Ehrenstein, how would he judge, she asked herself, his
daughter's escape from her father's roof?--and what would be his
dealings with one who had aided and accompanied her in her flight? She
had but a moment to ask herself the question, for the Emperor
continued gazing on her, and then repeated the question almost
sternly.
Bertha cast herself at his feet, and, giving way to awe and
apprehension, burst into tears, sobbing forth, "No, mighty Sir."
"Who are you then, pretty maiden?" asked the monarch, raising her, and
forcing her to sit down. "These men who were with you have been
telling my people a strange tale of doings somewhat rash and unruly in
the castle of Ehrenstein. I understood from them that you were the
Count's daughter; and, although it were not quite politic in me,
placed as I am, to countenance disobedience in a child towards a
parent, yet, in favour of your bright eyes, I would certainly
endeavour to mediate between you and the Count, should you be really
his daughter, and, at all events, would protect you from hardship or
violence; for I know that he is somewhat stern and severe, and has
little indulgence even for beauty and gentleness."
His words gave new life to poor Bertha, who from time to time had
given the monarch a furtive glance through the tears, from a pair of
dark lustrous eyes, which might well win the admiration they seemed to
have excited; and seeing both that she had gained some advantage, and
that the Emperor was not in a mood, or of a character, to deal hardly
with her fair mistress, even if she were in his power, she resolved to
give him her own version of the story of Adelaide of Ehrenstein.
"I am not fit, Sire," she replied, rising, "to sit in such a presence
as this. Your officers have made a mistake in thinking that I am the
Lady Adelaide: I am but a very poor and humble companion of that lady,
and my proper place is at your Majesty's feet."
She spoke gracefully and well; and, as she again knelt, the monarch
felt somewhat like the page, and thought he had seldom seen a lovelier
creature.
He would fain have raised her again, however, saying, "Nay, nay: I
cannot bear you kneeling, pretty maid; and I must have a fair and free
confession of all that has past."
"You shall have one as true as if this were a confessional, Sire,"
replied Bertha, raising her eyes, with a ray of her old merriment
brightening her look; "but ere I rise, I must be promised absolution
full and entire."
Woman accommodates herself to new scenes and circumstances more
quickly than man, and Bertha had already lost just sufficient of her
awe to leave her wits free to act, without diminishing in the least
her tone of respect. She had become familiarized with the presence of
the Emperor, without for a moment forgetting his station or her own;
and there are few things more engaging to that curious being, man,
than an air of confidence in his kindness and forbearance. I believe
the natural heart of man would lead him, like other beasts, to pursue
whatever flies--to crush whatever dreads him.
The Emperor was like the rest of his species, and he was pleased with
the gay look that crossed the sad one, and with the confidence that
brightened the awe. "Well, well," he said, "you shall have full pardon
and absolution for all your pretty little sins, whatever they may
be--but rise, maiden, rise."
"I would fain kneel still, Sire," answered Bertha: "I feel that it is
my right place in every way--as a humble subject in so high a
presence, as a penitent, as a petitioner."
"Nay, then," cried the monarch, taking her by both hands, and raising
her with gentle force, "I must make myself obeyed. Now tell me all
truly, and I promise you that if I can aid or befriend you, I will."
Bertha did tell him all, sometimes in low tones of entreaty and
deprecation; sometimes with a gay smile, subdued and chastened by a
tear; sometimes an irrepressible jest at herself, at the world, at
woman's nature and weakness, half coquettish, half sad, would break
the even course of her tale; and while she went on, the monarch
listened thoughtfully, and with interest in the tale itself, but more
in the person who told it.
When she had done, he answered, "I must think over this; but for your
sake, sweet one, it shall have kind consideration, and I will keep my
promise by those bright eyes." As he spoke, he took both her hands in
his, and kissed her cheek; meditated for a moment, and still holding
her firmly. But then he suddenly released her, saying, "No," as if to
himself.
At that moment there was a knock at the door of the cabinet, and the
Emperor said, "Come in." An attendant instantly entered, and gave him
a large sealed packet, saying, "The messenger said it was of instant
importance, Sire, from the Count of--."
"Well, well," cried the Emperor, waving his hand; and then, turning to
Bertha, he added, "Now go back to your chamber, fair lady, where you
shall be well taken care of. I will give _your_ business full and kind
thought, and will come and tell you the result."
"Good Heaven!" thought Bertha, as she quitted the cabinet, "What will
become of me?"
But the Emperor's thoughts were salutary, and he forbore.