"Then hear what I have to say to you. Incline your ear close to me, for

you alone must hear me. When the physician comes, take good care not to

repeat to him what you said just now to the chamberlain. He and all the

world must think that it is actually nothing but wine which has made me

sick. He will prescribe medicine for me. Have it prepared forthwith. You

alone must stay with me. Tell them I have ordered it, and Götz must return

to the banquet and tell them it was nothing but wine. Dietrich, do not

give me the medicine, but throw it away. There is only one kind of physic

for me--milk, only milk, that is my cordial. Give me milk, Dietrich, milk

directly, for the pains are coming on again, so dreadfully, oh, so

dreadfully! But do not tell anybody. Nobody must know what I suffer! It

burns like fire! Milk, Dietrich, milk!"

IX.--LOVE'S SACRIFICE.

As if borne on the wings of the wind, Gabriel Nietzel had flown through

the streets to his own abode. It lay in a quiet, retired quarter of the

town, and, as he turned into the street and looked up to the house, he saw

leaning far out of one of the windows a woman, who, her face shaded by her

hand, was gazing down into the street. He recognized the form, although he

could not see her countenance, and uttered a loud cry of joy. This cry of

joy found an echo in the window above, and the form vanished. Gabriel

Nietzel rushed into the house and up the steps. On the top step stood a

woman with outstretched arms, and again Gabriel uttered a cry of joy and

pressed his wife firmly to his breast, as firmly as if he would never let

her leave the spot, as if his love would keep and hold her there forever.

He bore her through the open door into their chamber, bore her to the

cradle standing in the center of the room, and then sank with her on his

knees.

They looked at one another, and then at the child, which lay there quietly

with wide-open eyes, in sweet contentment.

"My child! my child!" cried Gabriel; and it was as if now for the first

time he saw his boy, as if he had but just been sent him by Heaven, and

for a moment, in the blissful consciousness of being a father, he forgot

all--yes, _all_. He snatched up the child and hugged and kissed it, lost

in rapture and delight. But all at once there came over him the memory of

those pale, quivering features, the dimmed eyes, and drooping form. A

shudder ran through his whole frame; with a shriek of horror he let the

child fall back in its cradle, and clasped both hands before his face.

Rebecca tore back his hands, and her large black eyes gazed searchingly

into his countenance. She now for the first time saw how pale he was, and

how disturbed his mien. She now for the first time saw that he avoided her

look, and that his breast heaved convulsively.

"Gabriel," she said, with firm, impressive voice--"Gabriel, something is

the matter with you! Something has happened to you--something shocking,

dreadful!"

"Nothing!" he cried, hastily leaping up--"nothing! But we must begone! We

are to stay here no longer. We must away immediately--this very hour!"

"I know it," replied Rebecca quietly, her eyes fixed immovably upon her

beloved--"I know it, Gabriel, and I have prepared everything, as Count

Schwarzenberg himself directed. I have been in Berlin ever since this

morning, but feared to come here until you had gone to the banquet. I

have made all needful arrangements. I have hired a vehicle, which is

waiting for us outside the Willow-bank Gate. The count says we are to go

on foot; that no one in the city must see you set out, and give

intelligence with regard to your movements. Since you have been gone I

have packed up all our effects in boxes, and our kind, faithful friend

Samuel Cohen will send them after us to Venice. What is indispensable for

present use I have packed up in yonder trunk, which we must take with us.

All is ready, Gabriel, and we can go. Only one thing I know not, have you

money enough for our journey?"

[Illustration: The Jewess in her Bridal Dress]

"Money enough!" repeated Gabriel, with a hoarse, mocking laugh. "I have

more money in my pocket than I ever had in my whole life put together. I

have so much money that we can buy a house in Venice, on the Ghetto; and

we shall, too, and I will live there with you, and will become a Jew, and

take another name, for my own name horrifies me. I will not, can not hear

it again!"

"Why not?" asked she earnestly. "It is a fine name--the name of a painter,

an artist. Why would you never again hear your own name, Gabriel Nietzel?"

"Because it is notorious, infamous!" groaned he--"because it is the name

of a--"

"Well, why do you hesitate, Gabriel?" asked Rebecca in anguish of soul,

while she laid both her hands upon his shoulders, and gazed upon him with

wistful glances. He would have avoided her eyes, but could not; his looks

must sink deep into those glittering, black eyes. Deep they looked, deep

as the sea, and he thought to himself that a secret could be buried there,

and rest secure in the bottom of her heart.

"Gabriel Nietzel," asked Rebecca, in a voice at once threatening and

tender--"Gabriel Nietzel, what have you done? What lies heavy upon your

soul?"

"Nothing, my Rebecca, nothing! Ask no questions! We must begone! Make

haste, dearest, take the child, and come; for if we do not hurry, we are

lost!"

She slowly shook her noble, graceful head and stirred not from her place.

She kept Gabriel in his with her hands, which she pressed more firmly upon

his shoulders.

"Gabriel, my dear, precious Gabriel, what have you done? Tell me. I demand

to know it as my right. When we were married on the Lido, in the solemn

stillness of the night, when we joined hands, and both swore in the

presence of your and my God that we would ever love one another, and that

death alone should part us, when you said, 'I take you to be my wife,' and

I said, 'I take you to be my husband,' then we likewise swore that we

would live truly and confidentially with one another, and have no secrets

from each other. Gabriel, fulfill now your oath. I demand it of you, by

the memory of that hour, by my love for you, by our child. Gabriel, what

have you done?"

"I can not tell it, and you may not hear it, Rebecca. For, once uttered,

that word will be a two-edged sword, and plunge us both in misery and

shame!"

"Shame! There is no shame for the Jewess! Misery! Tell me a form of misery

which I have not suffered and endured from childhood up! My mother was

stabbed in Venice by a nobleman because she would not break her faith with

my father and desert him. My father was known as a sorcerer and vender of

poisons. The noblemen used secretly to resort by night to our wretched

house upon the Ghetto, and paid him great sums for his drugs, but if he

showed himself upon the streets by day, the populace hooted and cast

stones after him. And when they saw me, they hissed and mocked, bestowing

opprobrious epithets upon me, and even went out of the way to avoid the

contamination of my touch, for I was the daughter of a poisoner, a secret

bravo--I was a Jewess! But when I was grown, then the young noblemen came

to my father, not merely for the sake of his drugs and medicines, but

also--hush! Not a breath of it! You were my deliverer--my savior! You

rescued me from all distress; you were to me as the Messiah, in whom my

people have hoped for a thousand years. I followed you, and I shall go

with you my whole life long--go with you to the scaffold, if needs be. I

know it, Gabriel, I read it in your countenance; you have committed a

crime!"

"A crime! A fearful crime!" said he, shuddering. "Turn your head away,

Rebecca, I am not worthy that you should look upon me!"

"I do look upon you, Gabriel, I condemn you not. I am thinking of what we

said to one another in the count's picture gallery. I called to you to

rescue me at any price. I told you that if I could purchase deliverance

thereby, I was ready to commit a crime. That to be with you again I would

abjure the faith of my fathers, although I knew I should die of penitence

after the perpetration of such a crime."

"And I replied to you, Rebecca, that I, too, was ready to perpetrate a

crime for the sake of rescuing you and calling you my own again, and that

I would not die of penitence."

"And yet you do repent, Gabriel, you shudder at yourself for you have done

it, you have committed a crime. I will have my share in it, half of it

belongs to me. In the sight of God, I am your wife, and you have sworn to

share everything with me. Then divide with me, Gabriel; I claim my right.

Share with me your crime, or I shall think that you love me no more, and

then I shall go away, and you will never see me more."

"I do love you, Rebecca--I do love you! For your sake I have become a

criminal, a murderer! I have purchased you at the price of my soul! Lay

your ear close to my mouth, and I will tell you my dreadful secret:

Rebecca, I am a murderer, a cursed murderer! I have committed a murder,

which will cry out to Heaven against me as long as I live; for him whom I

have murdered had never done me harm, but only good, and he confided in

me, and trusted to my faith. Rebecca, I am cursed, and my name will be a

byword in the mouths of men while books of history last. Rebecca, I have

poisoned the Electoral Prince Frederick William!"

She uttered a piercing shriek, and fell back, as if struck by a

thunderbolt.

"The Electoral Prince Frederick William! Not Count Schwarzenberg! The

noble youth; not that detested evildoer, not him, who has deserved death a

thousandfold?"

"He had not merely my life in his power, but yours and our child's. It

would have profited me nothing to murder him; we should only all three

have been irretrievably lost. I was forced to obey his orders--to perform

the horrible deed--in order to save you and myself."

Rebecca pressed both hands tightly across her brow, and stared long at

vacancy. "He must be saved!" she said. Then, after a pause, in a tone of

firm determination, "Yes, he must be saved!"

"What could we do to save him?" sighed Gabriel hopelessly. "Nothing! You

know your father's drugs are subtle, and never fail in their effects!"

"You administered to him some of the medicine which my father presented

you with?" asked she, with a wondrous gleam of light in her black eyes.

"Yes, I gave him some. You know when we took leave of your father he

handed me three boxes as a keepsake, saying that they were the only dowry

he could give me with you, but that many a prince would pay us immense

sums for them, if we should sell them to him for his dear relations; for

in these boxes were the deadliest poisons, leaving behind not a trace of

their existence. The contents of one box causes instantaneous death, and

he therefore called it 'the apoplexy powder.' The contents of the second

box killed more slowly, and prolonged the patient's life ten or twelve

days; therefore he called it 'the inflammatory powder.' The third powder,

however, because it works slowest of all, he called 'the consumptive

powder.'"

"And of which powder did you give to the Electoral Prince?" asked Rebecca

breathlessly.

"Of the inflammatory powder, for it was least dangerous to us."

"Did the Prince drink the whole potion poured out for him?"

"No, he only drank half, and when he tried to hand it to his father, who

asked for it, the glass fell from his trembling hands, and its contents

were spilled upon the table."

"Therefore the Prince only took half a powder?"

"Only half. But still he must die, for your father told me one pinch would

produce death; and I gave him two, that the count might see its effects."

Rebecca did not reply. She had sunk upon her knees and folded her hands.

Her lips moved as if in silent prayer.

"What think you?" asked Gabriel Nietzel, after a pause. "Why do you not

speak to me? Do you despise me, because I have confessed my crime to you?

Do you turn away from the poisoner, the murderer?"

"No," said she, suddenly drawing herself up erect. "No, I do not despise

you, but I love you, and because I love you I will not that you should be

a criminal. Had you poisoned the count, then I should have said, 'You have

accomplished a good work. God has killed him by your hand; you are nothing

more than the executioner, who has inflicted merited death upon the

wicked, and has rid the world of him. Lift up your head and be joyful, for

you were a tool in God's hand!' But you have poisoned a noble, good man,

the son of your benefactress, and his death would cry out against you, and

our child would be punished for the crime of his father. 'For I am a God

of vengeance,' says the Lord, 'and I will visit the sins of the fathers

upon the children unto the third and fourth generation.' I love you,

Gabriel, and no sin or crime could separate me from you; for have you not

taken to your heart the daughter of a criminal, and sinned for her sake?

But our child shall not suffer for what his parents have done. The God of

our fathers shall not take vengeance on our child, the sun and happiness

shall shine upon him; for we, Gabriel, we have known night and misfortune,

and tasted all the bitterness of life. Gabriel, our child must be free

from stain of guilt or crime, and therefore must the Electoral Prince be

saved."

"Say how can it be done, show me a way to save him!"

"I know the way, and I will take it. I would save you and the child from

bloodguiltiness and sin. Swear to me, Gabriel, that you will do what I

shall require of you. Think of that hour upon the Lido when I gave myself

to you. Think of the hour when this child was born, and I laid it in your

arms and said: 'Take it. It is a gift of my love. Take the child with whom

God has blessed us, and pronounced us pure!' And you swore to me with

tears that you would be a faithful father to our child all his life, and

shield him as far as in you lay from all the pains of earth. By the memory

of that oath I now require you, Gabriel Nietzel, to lay your hand upon my

child's head, and solemnly swear to me, by God, by our child, and by your

love for me, to do exactly what I shall now demand of you."

With reverential, timid admiration Gabriel Nietzel looked into Rebecca's

countenance, which was beaming with energy and beauty. He could not turn

away his glance from her, for it seemed as if his inmost soul was held

spellbound by her large, flaming eyes, resting fixedly upon him. Ever

looking at Rebecca, he laid his hand upon the head of the child that lay

slumbering in the cradle, and said in a distinct, solemn voice: "I swear

by God, by our child, and by my love for you, Rebecca, that I shall do

exactly what you will require of me."

She nodded her head as proudly and gravely as if she had been a queen, who

had just received the homage of her vassal.

"Listen then, Gabriel," she said. "You take the trunk, I take the child,

and let us be going, for the wagon is waiting for us outside the

Willow-bank Gate, as you know. Do not speak to me by the way, for I have

still much to plan and ponder. Time does not stand still, and every moment

increases the Prince's peril. If help does not reach him to-night, then is

he lost beyond hope of recovery. Come!"

Already a question was trembling on Gabriel Nietzel's lips. He wished to

ask, "Can he by any possibility be saved?" But she had said, "Do not speak

to me," and, obedient to his oath, he remained dumb, took up the trunk,

and followed Rebecca, who had tenderly lifted the child from its crib and

had just gone out of the door. Swiftly they passed side by side through

the streets, which were still deserted, for all loungers and street idlers

were still tarrying in Broad Street or on the castle square. Many a time

Gabriel cast a look of questioning entreaty upon Rebecca, but she saw it

not; she seemed to see nothing whatever, for her eyes were gazing afar

off; like a somnambulist, she strode along, and even when the baby in her

arms began to cry she took no notice of it, nor sought to comfort it with

tender, soothing words. At last they had passed the gate behind the willow

bank, and found themselves without the city. There stood the wagon waiting

for them, covered with a tilt of gray canvas. The Jewish boy who sat on

the back seat under the canvas awning had fallen asleep, resting his head

against the great wooden arch to which the cover was secured. The two lean

little horses were greedily eating of the oats in the dirty bags around

their necks. Not a creature was to be seen. The wretched conveyance had

excited no attention whatever, and caused not a single passer-by to pause.

Rebecca stepped up to the wagon and gently laid the child in the straw

with which the vehicle was filled. Then, with a silent wave of the hand,

she ordered Gabriel to set down the trunk he was carrying. He did so, and

Rebecca took a key out of her pocket, knelt down before the trunk, and

sought hither and thither among its contents. First she took from the

bottom of the trunk a packet with five seals, and, as she hastily stuck it

in her bosom, her eye was uplifted to heaven with a glance of glowing

gratitude. Then she took out a white dress and a long white veil,

carefully concealing these things under the great black mantle which

enveloped her figure. Finally, she locked the trunk and handed the key to

Gabriel.

"Place the trunk gently in the wagon, so as not to wake the child," she

said. Gabriel silently obeyed, and then, standing on the footboard of the

wagon, reached down his hand to her, as if he would ask her to follow.

She shook her head quickly. "Come, Gabriel," said she, "come, let us step

across and talk under yon tree. The child sleeps and David Cohen sleeps,

too. Nobody hears us. Come."

With hasty steps they crossed over to the great linden tree which stood at

the side of the road. The birds sang and hopped about amid its dense

foliage, and the hot sunbeams drew forth the most delicious fragrance from

the blossoms with which each branch was laden. But the pair who walked up

and down under the tree heeded neither the singing of the birds nor the

perfume of the flowers. They were alone with one another and the sad,

gloomy thoughts with which both their souls were filled.

"Gabriel," said Rebecca, recovering breath, "I will go to free you from

the stain of blood, for if it remain it would not merely poison the

Electoral Prince but your whole life. My father gave you only the half of

my dowry, as he called it. The other half he retained and gave me. After

he had presented you with the poison, and I was alone with him in his

chamber, he held out to me the sacred volume, and required me to take

three oaths, by the memory of my murdered mother and by the hatred and

revenge which we had sworn to the whole world upon her beloved body.

First, I must swear that I would never abjure the faith of my fathers and

become a Christian. Secondly, I must swear that I would rear the child

that God would give me in our own religion, and never while I lived

consent to its being made a Christian. Thirdly, I must swear to preserve

the sealed packet he intrusted to me as my greatest treasure, my most

precious possession, and only to tell you of it in case of the most

extreme danger and necessity; that I was only to make use of the contents

to purchase wealth or happiness. 'I have given death into your dear

Gabriel's hand,' he said, 'into your hand, my daughter, I give life, and

surely that is something much more rare and precious. He has the poisons;

I give you the antidotes. They are worth tons of gold; they are my most

precious treasure, and twenty years have I labored ere I discovered them.

When I succeeded, I thanked God for this glorious discovery, and then

thrice I swore upon the sacred volume, with my face turned to the East and

with loud voice, that never should a Christian obtain these priceless

antidotes through me, that never would I impart knowledge of them to a

Christian. I will keep my oath, and divulge the holy secret only to you,

my Rebecca. Guard it in your bosom under three sacred seals, and only in

the most perilous hour of your life break the seal, which I herewith lay

upon your lips. But never may you transfer this precious treasure to other

hands; no Christian may ever touch it. Would you save life, then you must

do it yourself, and only from your own hands may the one smitten with

death receive life.'

"Those were the words spoken by my father, when he handed me the sealed

packet. Then he instructed me how to apply the contents, and what I would

have to do in order to render ineffective the three poisons given you.

'Only,' said he to me,' the antidote must be administered before

four-and-twenty hours have elapsed since the poison was swallowed, and

then, still twenty-four hours later, the antidote must be used for the

second time.' Gabriel, my best-beloved, now is the most perilous hour of

my life, and I have loosened the seal which my father pressed upon my

lips. I have the antidote for the inflammatory powder."

"Ah, Rebecca, and you will give it to me?" asked Gabriel, seizing both her

hands and looking into her lovely face with beaming eyes.

She slowly and solemnly shook her head. "You are a Christian," she said.

"I have sworn to my father that no Christian should touch the precious

treasure, that no hands but my own should apply the remedy he intrusted to

me. Gabriel, out of love for me you gave the Prince into the jaws of

death. Out of love for you I shall restore him to life."

"Rebecca!" he cried, "how will you do it--how can you accomplish it? Only

from your hands the Prince is to receive life? That means, you will

yourself apply the remedy? You will go to him? You would return to the

city, venture into the castle? Know you not that Schwarzenberg has his

spies everywhere; that every lackey in the castle is bribed by him and in

his interests; that he knows what happens there night and day? Do you not

know that, Rebecca? Did you not yourself often tell me so, when you

visited the castellan's wife, who loved you, because she, too, was a

Venetian, and could speak her native language with you. Did she not tell

you in confidence that Count Schwarzenberg was her real lord and master,

and that she herself every morning repeated to the count's secretary all

that came under her observation in the castle? And now would you venture

into that castle, that den of lions!"

"Did not Daniel venture into the lion's den, and the wild beasts touched

him not?" cried she. "Why should I fear, since my work is holy and pure as

Daniel's was?"

"I shall not suffer it. I shall cling to you and hold you back."

"Gabriel Nietzel, bethink you of the oath you swore upon our child's head.

You will do what I require of you! This you swore. Will you break your

oath?"

"No, Rebecca," he said mournfully. "Command--I shall obey."

"I shall return to the city," continued Rebecca. "Old Benjamin Cohen will

hospitably entertain me and provide me with a safe hiding place. By night

I shall go to the castle, and make sure that no one will detain me, no one

will recognize me, and that Count Schwarzenberg's spies shall not report

that Rebecca Nietzel was in the castle and in the Prince's room. The dress

which I shall assume will be a certain protection; trust to me and ask no

questions. I know every door and inlet to the castle, for the castellan's

wife often showed me through the palace, and stairs and corridors, secret

doors and passages are all familiar to me. I know a little door on the

Spree side, which is never locked, because nobody knows of its existence,

or would regard it, for it only leads to a little niche; and that a secret

door is concealed within this niche, not even the castellan's wife herself

knows. I discovered it one day, when I had lost my way in the castle, and

was wandering in distress through the corridors. I said nothing about my

discovery, and now I shall profit by it to gain safe access and to go out

again. The next day I shall spend in concealment at Benjamin Cohen's, and

at night I shall go again to the palace, for the dose must be repeated.

Twice in the course of forty-eight hours must it be administered, if life

is to vanquish death. When I leave the castle the second night, my work

will be done, for crime will be taken away from our heads, and our child

will not have to suffer for the sins of its parents. Then, my Gabriel,

then we shall return to my beautiful home, then shall we be free and

happy! Think of that, my beloved, and let us patiently bear what must be

borne."

"I will think of that, Rebecca. But tell me, what shall I do?--how shall I

pass the long, dreary days of our separation? Do not be cruel. Let me

return to the city with you. Benjamin Cohen will furnish a safe retreat

for me and the child, as well as for yourself. I swear to you that I will

keep myself concealed in the cellar, under the roof, anywhere you will,

only let me go with you!"

"It can not be. The child's life must not be endangered, nor yours either,

that I may maintain the courage needful for action. Consider your oath,

and do what I require. Now get into the wagon without delay. David is a

good driver, and perfectly devoted to us. Travel day and night until you

reach Brandenburg. There dwells a brother of Benjamin, little David

Cohen's uncle. At his house remain in retirement until I join you, and, O

Gabriel! then we shall set out together."

"Rebecca, I can not, indeed I can not leave you!"

"You must, for your crime must be expiated. Think, Gabriel, a long life of

happiness lies before us. Let us courageously pass through the last cloud

of evil, for beyond is day, beyond is the sun, beyond is Italy, the land

of love and art! Now let us part, dearest. Farewell, till we meet again in

joy!"

"Can you, Rebecca, can you so suddenly leave me and be parted from me?"

"I never leave you, for my soul is ever with you. No leave-takings,

Gabriel; they make us weak, and sternly I must go to meet stern fate. Give

me your hand. Farewell! Above lives a God for all men. He will protect

me."

"Rebecca, only give me one parting kiss!"

"I shall kiss you when atonement has been made--nor until then shall I

kiss our child again! Know this, Gabriel, that my love for you is eternal,

it will abide even unto the end of the world! Now, let us part. Hark! the

child cries. He calls for his father. Go to him, Gabriel, and tell our

child that his mother loves you both more than her own life! Go!"

He tried once more to seize her hand and embrace her. She waved him back,

and with an imperious movement pointed to the wagon.

"Remember your oath, Gabriel; you must do what I require of you," she said

firmly.

"But just tell me one thing, Rebecca," implored he humbly. "When shall we

meet again?"

"In four or five days, Gabriel. Stay quietly at Brandenburg, and wait for

me there eight days. If by that time I have not come to you at

Brandenburg, consider it as a sign that I have chosen some other route, to

escape the anger and pursuit of Count Schwarzenberg, and that I have

forborne to communicate with you lest I should be betrayed. Then travel

with the child to Venice, making all possible speed. I shall join you on

the way; but if I can not, then we shall meet again in safety at my

father's house in Venice."

"Rebecca, it is impossible; I can not--"

"Hush!" interrupted she; "the child cries still, and David Cohen, too, is

now awake."

She quickly stepped toward the vehicle and nodded to the little coachman,

who was sleepily rubbing his eyes.

"Here we are, David," she said. "Now prove yourself a brave boy and do

honor to your father's spirit. Drive boldly, but take care not to meet

with accidents, and make for Brandenburg without delay."

"I promised dad, God bless him, that I would not know rest or repose,

hunger or sleep, until we reached Brandenburg!" cried the boy, cracking

his whip. "Get in, I will drive you to Brandenburg."

"Get in, Gabriel," said Rebecca to Nietzel, who stood at the wagon door,

looking at her with wistful, melancholy air. She shook her head as a

negative answer to the dumb questioning of his eyes, and only repeated,

"Get in, Gabriel!"

He jumped into the wagon, but, as he did so, leaned forward and stretched

out his hands to her.

"Forward, David, forward!" commanded Rebecca. David whipped up his horses,

and set off at full gallop.

"Be quick, David, for I must begone!"

David Cohen gave the little horses a sharp blow across their heads,

causing them to bound forward in wild impatience. Rebecca gazed after

them, breathless, with staring eyes. When the vehicle had disappeared from

sight she pressed both hands before her eyes, and a sob and a groan

escaped her breast. Soon, however, she resumed her self-control.

"If I weep I am lost," she said, lifting up her head. "I have a difficult

task to perform, and tears make one faint-hearted and cowardly. I shall

not weep, at least not now. When my work of expiation is accomplished,

when it has succeeded, then I shall weep. And they will be tears of joy!

Jehovah! Almighty! stand by me, that I may weep such tears to-morrow

night! And now to work! to work!"

She turned, and with quiet, firm steps proceeded to the city.

X.--THE WHITE LADY.

Dietrich had faithfully obeyed the Electoral Prince's orders. The

physician in ordinary, Dr. White, had come, felt the sick man's pulse, and

smiled upon being told that the Prince had been taken sick at Count

Schwarzenberg's banquet.

"We know all about such sicknesses," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"His highness the Elector suffered from such attacks in earlier days, but

he has inured himself against them now."

"But his grace seems to be really sick," remarked the chamberlain. "Only

see, doctor, how pale he is! Cold sweat is standing on his brow, and he

moans pitiably."

"Yes, yes, he undoubtedly has pain," said the physician gravely. "Such

instances occur after a rich feast, where they eat many things together,

and drink besides. I shall prescribe a composing draught for his grace,

which must be administered regularly every fifteen minutes."

And the physician repaired to the Prince's cabinet adjoining his sleeping

room, to write his prescription. Chamberlain von Götz gazed gloomily upon

the sick man, who just at this moment uttered a loud scream, and with

outstretched arms and clinched hands tossed restlessly about. Old Dietrich

bent over him and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

"He is really very sick," murmured the chamberlain. "There is nothing for

it but to stay here. He must not be left alone."

"No, Herr von Götz," said Dietrich, his old face looking perfectly

tranquil and composed--"no; the Prince ordered me to desire you to return

immediately to the party, and not to tarry longer here. My young master

condescendingly owned to me himself that it was actually the strong

Hungarian wine which had occasioned his sickness, and therefore his

highness wishes the Chamberlain von Götz to return forthwith to the party,

that his gracious mother may not be made uneasy, and imagine that her son

is seriously sick. The Electoral Prince's orders are that you say to his

mother that perhaps he may return himself to the entertainment this

evening, and that she must not allow herself to be at all anxious, for he

will certainly be well again to-morrow."

"That is a fine errand," exclaimed the chamberlain, "and the Electress

will be much comforted by such a message. But, nevertheless, I can not

possibly leave the Electoral Prince alone for the whole evening."

"He is not alone, for I am with him," replied Dietrich, shaking his head.

"I, too, am a man, Chamberlain von Götze, and such my gracious young

master esteems me, for he gave express orders that I alone should stay

with him, and that nobody else should be admitted until early to-morrow

morning. His grace would sleep soundly he said, and rest was the best

medicine for him."

"But he must take the medicine that the doctor prescribes for him," said

the chamberlain earnestly. "You must insist that the Electoral Prince take

his medicine regularly."

"Dismiss all anxiety, Herr von Götz," replied Dietrich solemnly; "I shall

see to it that the Prince regularly takes the medicine he needs."

"Here is the prescription!" called out the doctor, entering the chamber

and holding out a long strip of paper. "Hurry with it to the apothecary,

for I fear its preparation may occasion some little delay, since it is a

nice and particular recipe, and consists of fourteen component parts. But

it will surely work a cure and afford his highness relief. I shall come

again this evening and see how my exalted patient is getting on."

And the medical gentleman left the room, followed by the Chamberlain von

Götz.

"You think then, doctor," asked the latter outside in the passage, "that

the Electoral Prince is not seriously sick?"

"Have you ever had the sickness which follows too free indulgence in wine,

Sir Chamberlain?" asked the doctor gravely. "If so, you know exactly how

the Electoral Prince feels."

"Badly enough," laughed Herr von Götz. "I have certainly had my own

frightful experiences of that sickness. You think then, doctor, I may

without impropriety return to Count Schwarzenberg's feast?"

"Without any impropriety whatever, Sir Chamberlain. What the Prince

chiefly needs is sleep and my medicine. When he has swallowed even a few

spoonfuls he will feel much soothed and relieved."

The two gentlemen left the castle together, and Dietrich remained alone

with the Prince. He had first hastened with the long prescription to the

Electoral apothecary, and ordered that it should be left as soon as

prepared in the antechamber of the Prince's rooms. Then he had fetched a

pitcher of milk from his own chamber, and, kindling a fire in the Prince's

sleeping apartment, warmed the milk. Now he approached with the steaming

draught the couch of the Prince, who lay sighing and moaning, with closed

eyes and tightly compressed lips, paying no heed to Dietrich's entreaties.

Finally, after a long pause, he opened his eyes and fixed them with a

vacant expression upon the weeping and trembling old man.

"Dietrich, I believe I am dying," he gasped. "But do not tell anybody. No

one must know what I suffer, else _he_, too, would come to me, and I wish

to see his hated face no more."

"Most gracious Prince, I beseech you, drink. Here is milk!"

"Give it to me, give it to me, Dietrich! Perhaps there is yet hope."

He emptied the cup, and again sank back. Dietrich knelt by his couch and

murmured prayers, imploring God to be with the Electoral Prince and to

save him from death. Hour after hour sped away. Evening drew near, the

shades of night closed in, and still all was quiet and noiseless within

the castle precincts. Count Schwarzenberg's feast proceeded undisturbed.

It was truly a feast of enchantment, and even the Electress was carried

away by it. Twice had she dispatched footmen to inquire after her son's

health, and each time old Dietrich had sent word that the Prince had

fallen into a sweet sleep, and that the doctor's medicine seemed to agree

with him wonderfully well. Of this medicine Dietrich threw aside a

spoonful every fifteen minutes, and instead of it gave the Prince his own

prescription--warm milk. But still there was no alleviation of his

sufferings, and even the violent vomiting, which twice ensued, had not

diminished the Prince's pain.

In Count Schwarzenberg's palace now resounded strains of the most

inspiriting dance music, and from the banqueting hall the company

dispersed into the two ballrooms and the adjoining apartments. In the

Electoral garden preparations were being made for fireworks, which were to

be displayed as soon as the night was sufficiently dark. This was the

reason why, on the approach of twilight, the sight-loving multitude came

streaming hither again from all directions. The Elector had seated himself

at the card table, and the Electress took a walk through the conservatory

and the magnificent hothouses situated in the rear of the palace, access

to which was had through the great reception hall. From the Elector, who

was eagerly interested in his game, Count Schwarzenberg obtained permission

to accompany the Electress. The whole company, with the exception of the

gentlemen busied in card playing, followed them. Like a glittering,

gigantic serpent, sparkling in all the colors of the rainbow, wound the

long, unbroken procession through the hothouses. They admired the exquisite

taste by which these long rooms had been transformed into gardens and

shrubberies; enjoyed the rare, deliciously scented flowers which peeped

forth here and there amid thickets of myrtle and orange tree; amused

themselves with the birds of variegated plumage, suspended from the boughs

in wire cages of most delicate workmanship. Each Ah! of delight that

sounded from the lips of the Electress found its repeated echo in the long

line of gentlemen and ladies following her; and these loud exclamations of

delight and rapture were so many acts of homage and flattery offered at

the shrine of Count Schwarzenberg, the great and mighty possessor of all

these glories.

There were in that brilliant assemblage only two individuals who paid

little attention to the beautiful birds and flowers about them, who did

not chime in with the eulogies and conversation of the company. These two

were Princess Charlotte Louise and Count John Adolphus Schwarzenberg. They

followed immediately behind the Electress. The young count had offered the

Princess his arm, which with a slight blush she had accepted. The

Electress, who preceded them, was wholly absorbed in conversation with

Count Adam Schwarzenberg, who by his witty, fascinating powers of address

succeeded in enchaining her attention. The Princess Sophie Hedwig came

behind her sister with two ladies of the court, chatting and laughing,

looking hither and thither at birds and flowers, and, by her frequent

pauses of admiration before some rare plant or chatting parrot, more than

once detaining the whole company, so that there was an empty space between

the first two couples and those following.

"I could fall at the feet of the Princess and kiss her hands in fervent

gratitude," whispered Count Adolphus, when again the procession tarried

behind them.

"Why so?" asked Charlotte Louise, smiling. "What has my sister done to

merit such gratitude?"

"What? Why, she has granted me a blessed moment, in which I can tell you

that I love you, boundlessly love you. Ah! why can I not speak this word

aloud, that like a flash of lightning it may flame through this hall? That

would be a fire which should unfold all blossoms and ripen all fruits. I

love you, Charlotte Louise! I could kneel down here and repeat in strains

of perpetual adoration to you, my mistress, my goddess, I love you, I am

yours; but, alas! you--"

"Well," asked she with a beaming glance--"well, why do you not complete

your sentence?"

"You are not mine," sighed he. "Were you so, then you would not answer the

words which gush forth hot and ardent from my heart in such strange, cold

fashion; then would you listen to my supplications, and grant me a

moment's interview."

"Did I not tell you, Adolphus," whispered she, "that you were to meet old

Trude on the castle square to-morrow morning early? She will be the bearer

of a message for you."

"You said so; but I tell you, if you loved me you would not need time for

reflection, but even yesterday, as soon as you heard of my arrival, your

heart would have suggested the importance of our meeting in private, and

devised some scheme whereby this might be accomplished without making use

of old Trude's intervention so late as to-morrow morning."

Princess Charlotte Louise laughed and blushed at the same time. "Perhaps I

am not so cold and indifferent as you think, Count Adolphus

Schwarzenberg," she said, with a charming expression of bashfulness and

coquetry. "Perhaps I had already reflected that a conference would be

desirable, were it only for the purpose of scolding you for your impulsive

manners. Perhaps, too, I already know a place where we can see each other

without old Trude's help."

"If you speak earnestly, then am I the happiest of men. But I can not

believe you, can not believe that my proud, cold-hearted Princess

actually--"

"Can not believe me!" interrupted she, smiling; "then, unbeliever, I shall

convince you. Attend closely to all that I do."

She dropped his arm, and pausing before a rare Manilla flower, praised its

beauty and perfume. While doing so, her little hand, accidentally of

course, disappeared in the pocket of her ample skirt, and when she drew it

forth again this hand was fast closed. She waited until her sister came up

with the court ladies, and drew her attention to the beautiful flower and

the aviary of charming birds in the rear. She then walked forward, in the

blissful consciousness that a long time would supervene ere the Princess

could tear herself away from the flower and birds, and that she might now

speak to her lover secure from being overheard, since a wide space also

separated them from the pair in front.

"What have you there in your hand, Louise?" asked the count, in breathless

suspense.

"A little note to Count Adolphus von Schwarzenberg," replied she, smiling,

and with swift movement she pressed the little twisted paper into his

hand. His countenance lighted up with rapture, and he made a movement as

if he would kneel before her, but the Princess restrained him.

"For Heaven's sake, Adolphus, consider that we are not alone," she

whispered hurriedly.

"I am alone with you, and if millions encircled us still should I be alone

with you in paradise. To me you are the first, the only woman upon earth.

I look upon you with the rapture which Adam felt when he first perceived

at his side his God-sent, heavenly wife. You have led me back to a

paradise of innocence and peace, have changed me into an Adam who the

first time sees and loves a woman. Oh, my beloved, you have made me

blessed indeed! This little strip of paper that you pressed into my hand,

as if by an enchanter's spell, has penetrated my whole being with heavenly

fire. I _must_ see it, I _must_ with my own eyes, with my own heart, read

the words which you have indited to me."

"I will repeat to you the contents of the note," said she, smiling. "Here

they are: 'On Tuesday evening at ten o'clock the little side door next the

cathedral will not be locked, only closed. Through this enter a vestibule,

to the right of which stands a door. Open this and mount the flight of

stairs beyond. Arrived at the top, go down the little passage to the left

until you reach a door at the end. It will be open.'"

"Tuesday evening?" whispered he, with enraptured looks; "and--"

Three loud cannon shots drowned his words. They announced the opening of

the exhibition of fireworks, and Princess Sophie Hedwig now came rapidly

forward, followed by the whole assembly, all pressing eagerly toward the

great hall, whose windows commanded a view of the fireworks. The rockets

flew, and artificial suns wheeled and turned in fiery circles. Even the

Elector forsook his card playing, and, supported by Count Schwarzenberg,

walked to the window to behold the costly spectacle. Without, the densely

packed throng of men shouted aloud with delight at each new star which

shot upward.

The Electoral Prince Frederick William still lay within his solitary

chamber, moaning and sighing upon his couch. Regularly every quarter of an

hour Dietrich had thrown away a spoonful of medicine, and given the Prince

a spoonful of warm milk. But his pains had not been diminished thereby,

though the Electoral Prince was evidently himself, and clearly conscious

of his situation. Several times he had addressed a few affectionate words

to Dietrich, seeking to comfort the faithful old man, who in his agony of

mind wept and prayed, and then tenderly pressed his beloved master's hand

to his lips, and besought him to get well and live.

"If it depends on me, Dietrich," said the Electoral Prince slowly,

moistening his parched lips with his tongue--"if it depends on me, I

surely shall not die. Life is still dear to me, although it has brought me

much of bitterness and grief. On that very account, though, I hope that

the future will indemnify me. It is a sorrowful thought to me to die and

sink into the grave so young, so unknown. Could I prevent it, I surely

should. But this hellish fire in my veins burns on and on, and is

consuming my life. Give me something to drink; milk at least lessens my

pangs in some degree."

Thus passed hour after hour, and midnight drew near. Count Schwarzenberg's

festival was not yet over, the Electoral family had not yet returned, and

silence unbroken reigned throughout the castle. With slow, measured tread

went the sentinels to and fro before the palace and through the inner

corridors. At times the loud shouts of the populace penetrated in faint

echoes even to the castle, and flew like spirit whispers through the broad

vestibule fronting the Electoral Prince's suite of rooms. The soldier on

guard there heard them with a shudder, and all the stories of ghosts and

specters told about the Electoral palace awoke to his remembrance. He cast

a disturbed glance around, and, holding his breath, listened with loudly

beating heart to the soft sounds and murmurs vibrating through the hall.

Suddenly he quite distinctly seemed to hear soft, gliding steps

approaching him from the other side of the vestibule. His blood stood

still with horror, he stared into the dusky hall. The little oil lamps

which hung on both sides of the door leading into the Electoral Prince's

apartments shed abroad only a glimmering, uncertain light, and left the

background enveloped in gloom and obscurity.

All at once the soldier started: he thought he saw a white figure emerge

from the darkness. Yes--his eyes saw her, his ears heard her steps!

Yes, it was no illusion! Ever nearer, ever larger loomed the white figure.

It was wholly enveloped in a veil and robe of white, and only two large,

sparkling black eyes looked forth from the veil. The soldier fell upon his

knees, dropped his weapon, and, folding his hands, muttered with

chattering teeth: "The White Lady! God Almighty be gracious to us! The

White Lady!"

He dared not look up; he only murmured in anguish of spirit the prayers by

which spirits were exorcised; but he felt that the dreaded phantom came

ever nearer and nearer--that he could not exorcise the Lady in White! Now

she was close to him, her white garment grazed his bowed head, and the

soldier shuddered and shrank within himself. It was as if he heard a door

creak and turn softly on its hinges, then all was still.

The soldier ventured to lift up his head a little--the hall was empty, the

Lady in White had vanished! But she had been there; he had distinctly seen

her; she had entered the Electoral Prince's apartments; the soldier had

plainly heard that!

Now an inexpressible horror, that was stronger than all discipline and

sense of duty, seized him. He rushed out of the hall, tore open the door

opening upon the broad corridor, on both sides of which lay the apartments

of their Electoral Highnesses. With a loud scream he called out to the

sentinel on guard there: "The White Lady! the White Lady!"

This one, too, shrieked as loudly as if the apparition itself stood before

him--the Lady in White, known and dreaded of all! And both soldiers,

panicstricken, ran down the corridor to tell the news to the other

sentinels, and throw them all into the same state of dread and

consternation.

The Electoral Prince Frederick William lay upon his bed with open eyes.

For the past half hour the pains which raged within had somewhat slackened

in intensity, and allowed him more repose. This season of repose had

overcome old Dietrich, and, like the disciples on Mount Olivet, he had

fallen "asleep for sorrow." The Prince was awake and found himself in that

overwrought condition in which the high-strung, quivering nerves lend

wonderful clearness and acuteness to the spirit, and in which the soul

with wide-seeing vision takes in the whole past, the whole future. He saw

his past rise up before him, with all its struggles, its privations, its

inexpressible joys and their painful renunciation. And then, across all

these sufferings, and the pain of the present, he looked into the future,

whose shining ideal stood before him in vivid clearness, beckoning and

calling to him. He saw fame, he saw honor; he heard the din of battle, he

saw a wild chaos, and from this chaos emerged a something, a tangible

shape; it grew large, it assumed form and substance, it was a country--his

country--that he himself had created, drawn forth from chaos. And now he

saw a happy, contented people, saw glad multitudes throng about him and

shout: "Long live our Electoral Prince, Frederick William! Long live our

deliverer, our father!" That ideal, which had lain so long in the secret

depths of his soul, in fact ever since he had known thought; that ideal to

which he had already dedicated himself, when he had stood as a boy by the

corpse of his great-uncle Gustavus Adolphus; that ideal was now truth and

reality before his inward vision. He was a Prince wreathed in glory; he

was beloved by his strong and happy subjects!

"I can not die," he exclaimed, in a loud, strong voice; "I need not die!"

"No, you need not die," said a sonorous voice; and a white form hovered

near, and two great, black eyes glowed upon him. Frederick William tried

to rise, but could not, for his limbs were paralyzed, and he felt as if

chained to his couch by iron fetters.

"Who are you?" he asked softly. "What do you want here? They say that he

to whom you appear is doomed to death; and yet you come to tell me that I

need not die?"

"We are all doomed to die," replied the white figure; "but the hour of

your death has not come yet. I am not come merely to tell you so, but to

save you."

"To save me? You know, then, that I am in danger?"

"Yes! In danger of your life! Count Schwarzenberg has poisoned you. Are

you not consumed by inward fires? Is not your head heavy and giddy?"

"I see plainly that you know what I suffer--you know the poison which was

given me."

"I know the poison, but I also know its cure. I know its antidote, and

have brought it to you. I would save you."

"You would save me?" asked the Electoral Prince. "Am I not dying fast

enough for you? Have I not yet swallowed enough of the deadly fluid that

you would give me more as a remedy? The invention is somewhat flimsy! I

shall not drink!"

"Unhappy Prince, you would not live, then?" asked she, in distress. "Hear

me, Frederick William. If you delay, you are lost beyond all hope of cure.

Nobody knows the remedy for your sufferings but myself, and nobody can

save you if I do not! Oh, think not that I would merit your thanks and

rewards! I have come hither at the peril of my own life, and each minute

increases my own danger as well as yours. The soldiers have fled before

my apparition. If a braver one should come to look closer at the White

Lady, I am lost, and you with me, for then I could not administer to you

the antidote."

"Tell me who you are, that I may see whether I may trust you."

"Who am I?" asked she. "I am a poor, mortal woman, who possesses nothing

upon earth but a heart, which loves nothing but a poor, much-to-be-pitied

man, whom not his own will but destiny has made a criminal. His child and

I were threatened with death, and to save us he committed a crime.

Electoral Prince, Count Schwarzenberg has poisoned you by means of Gabriel

Nietzel. I come to save you. Not for your own sake. What are you to

me?--why should I disturb myself about you? I love Gabriel Nietzel, and I

would not have his soul burdened by a crime that would break his heart. My

Gabriel has a tender heart; he was not made to be a criminal. Therefore

would I absolve him from that curse, for I love Gabriel, and would not

have him be a murderer. Do you believe me now? Will you try my palliative

now?"

The Electoral Prince lay there silent and motionless, and his large,

wide-open eyes gazed searchingly and inquiringly up at the white figure,

as if they would penetrate the veil and read her features.

Rebecca had a consciousness of this, and let the white veil fall from her

head. "Look in my face," she said, "and read from that whether I speak

the truth."

"Gabriel Nietzel, too, came to warn me," murmured the Prince, quivering

with pain, "and afterward it was he who poisoned me. From him come these

fearful tortures which are burning now like the flames of hell."

"Gracious sir, oh, my dear sir!" cried Dietrich now, coming up to the bed

and kneeling beside it, "I beseech you, take nothing from her. I have

heard all, and I tell you it is Schwarzenberg who sends this Jewess to

you. Trust her not, my beloved Prince, take none of her hellish mixtures!"

"Trust me," said Rebecca quietly. "If life is dear to you, if you hope in

the future, if you would take vengeance upon the man who is your real

murderer, whose mere tool my poor husband was, then accept the remedy

which I bring you!"

"Yes," cried the Electoral Prince, with countenance lighting up, "yes, I

will take it! Give me your remedy. Hush, Dietrich, hush! I will take it!"

"Praised be Jehovah! he will take it!" said she joyfully, drawing forth

from her bosom a little flask. "Before I give you the medicine, I have

something to say to you, Frederick William. As soon as you have taken it,

you will fall into a deep sleep, almost resembling death. If you are

disturbed in this, the efficacy of my cordial will be destroyed."

"Dietrich," said the Prince composedly, "you will take care that no one

disturbs my slumbers. I command you so to do!"

"I shall obey, most gracious sir," murmured Dietrich.

"When you awake after six hours," continued Rebecca, "you will experience

a feeling of ineffable comfort. Be not deluded by this, and attempt to

leave your couch. Rest is necessary for you, and you are then only on the

road to health. That you may be perfectly cured I must come again

to-morrow night, and once more administer the cordial. Mind that to-morrow

night, as at present, you be alone. No one must be with you but old

Dietrich. He is a trusty, affectionate servant, and I hope to God will

tell no one what he has seen and heard here, for I would be lost if he

should do so."

"I swear, in the presence of Almighty God, that I will keep silence," said

Dietrich solemnly.

"And now, enough of words!" cried she. "See, Dietrich, the pains begin

anew, and his features twitch convulsively. We must procure him relief."

She took a glass from the table and emptied into it half of the brown

liquid contained in her little flask. Then she bent over the Prince and

held the glass to his lips.

"Drink this," she said, with solemnity, "and may the Lord our God bless

the potion to you!"

The Prince drank in long draughts, emptying the glass to the last drop.

Then he uttered one shriek, and sank back senseless on the pillow.

"If you have murdered him," cried Dietrich, shaking his fist with menacing

gesture--"if you have murdered him, be sure that I shall find you out and

hand you over to the hang-man."

She slowly turned and once more drew the long white veil over her face.

"To-morrow night I shall come again," she said. "Attend well to him,

Dietrich, and see that he swallows nothing but what you give him yourself."

Then she opened the door and stepped out. The corridor was still empty and

tenantless; the sentinels had not yet ventured to return to their posts.

They had all collected below in the guardroom, which was situated in the

rear of the castle toward the Spree, and, pale with agitation and horror,

were talking in whispers of the awful event. All at once it seemed to them

as if a white shadow glided past outside the windows, as if two great,

sparkling eyes looked in upon them. They jumped up, rushed out of the

room, and out of the castle, shrieking out to the town, "The White Lady!

the White Lady!"

A couple of inquisitive men coming from Schwarzenberg's palace heard the

shriek of terror and screamed it to others, and like a tempest of wind it

rolled on, dragged everything into its eddying circle of awe and fright,

rushed howling through the night and penetrated into the brilliantly

lighted palace of Count Schwarzenberg, even into the ball-room, where the

tired couples were whirling in the last dance.

"The White Lady! the White Lady has appeared in the castle!"

The words ran through the halls. The dancing ceased, and the music paused

in the midst of a piece begun, for the Elector himself had risen from his

game of cards, and the Electress had called the Princesses from among the

dancers.

"The White Lady has been seen in the castle!"

These fearful words, brought to him by his wife, frightened the Elector

out of his comfortable mood, and dissipated the cheering effects of the

wine. The White Lady threatened him with death! The thought filled his

whole soul, and made him all at once sober and serious.

"The Lady in White has appeared in the castle," sighed the Electress, "and

my son Frederick William is sick. I must go to him--I must go to my son!"

The equipage rolled off to the castle. The Elector leaned back gloomily in

the corner, thinking to himself: "If I only knew whether she wore white or

black gloves! Perhaps she only means to warn me, perhaps there is yet time

to escape the mischief! The air of Berlin is very bad, and I vex myself

too much here. As we drove up to the castle when we came from Königsberg,

one of our carriage horses stumbled and fell. That was an ill omen, and we

should have heeded it and turned about immediately. Perhaps there may yet

be time to flee from the threatened evil, if we go back to Königsberg! If

I only knew what kind of gloves the White Lady wore!"

"Just tell me what sort of a tale this is about the White Lady?" asked

Count Schwarzenberg of his Chamberlain von Lehndorf, after his guests had

taken their leave.

"Your excellency, one of the sentinels on duty at the castle to-day came

rushing into the palace, and shrieked out wildly and madly: 'The White

Lady! I have seen the White Lady! I must speak to the Elector! I have seen

the White Lady!' I assure your excellency, it was actually terrific to

witness the poor man's fright. He was pale as death, with tottering knees

and trembling in every limb. I myself felt a cold shudder creep over me,

although usually I am neither timid nor superstitious. But it is such a

singular coincidence, that the White Lady should appear on the very day

when the Electoral Prince was taken so suddenly ill."

"Yes, it is a singular coincidence," said Schwarzenberg, shrugging his

shoulders, "and I should like to know the connecting link. Well, I hope to

fathom the mystery, and then the ghost story will resolve itself into a

ridiculous reality. Early to-morrow morning I shall have all the soldiers

called up, who were on duty at the castle to-night, and question them

myself. The castellan's wife, too, must be summoned. She is an honest

woman of bold and sober wits, and from her I shall be best able to learn

what is the meaning of this masquerade. Good-night, Lehndorf, sleep off

your fright, you sentimental man, over whom a childish shudder still

creeps, whenever he hears a nursery maid's tale! I really envy you your

implicit faith, you credulous man! One thing more, though: what news have

we from the Electoral Prince?"

"Most gracious sir, according to the latest accounts, the Electoral Prince

was enjoying a little rest, having fallen into a profound sleep."

"Very fine!" said the count, entering his cabinet. "Good-night, Lehndorf!"

XI.--THE PURSUIT.

The next morning Count Schwarzenberg interrogated all the sentinels who

had been on guard at the castle on the preceding night. They unanimously

affirmed that they had been awake and watchful when they had seen the

White Lady. The sentinel before the Electoral Prince's apartments had seen

her enter those rooms, even distinctly heard the door creak as it closed

behind her. Collectively the sentinels asseverated that afterward they had

seen the White Lady pass before the guardhouse windows, and that she had

even looked in upon them with her great black eyes. Even to-day they

shuddered and trembled at the bare remembrance of the frightful

apparition, and swore that they would rather die than see that horrible

woman again. Then, when the soldiers had withdrawn, came the castellan's

wife, who had been summoned by Chamberlain von Lehndorf.

"And what say you to the goblin of last night?" asked Count Schwarzenberg,

noticing the castellan's wife with a condescending nod.

"Most noble sir," replied the old woman solemnly, "I say that a member of

the Electoral family will die."

"What? _you_, the prudent, wise, intelligent Mrs. Culwin--you, too, believe

this ridiculous story?"

"Most revered sir, I believe in it because I know the White Lady, and have

seen her often before."

"Oh, indeed," smiled the count; "you count the White Lady among your

acquaintances; you have seen her often before? Just tell me a little about

her, my dear dame! When did you first see the specter?"

"Almost twenty years ago, if it please your honor. I had just been a year

in Berlin. Your honor knows I came here from Venice in the capacity of

maid to your lady of blessed memory, and had committed the folly of giving

up the countess's good service in order to marry Culwin, the young

castellan."

"And why do you call that a folly?" asked Count Schwarzenberg, laughing.

"I have always believed that you lived in happy wedlock with your good

man."

"That may be so, your excellency, but for all that, a lady's maid, who can

live independently always commits a folly in submitting to a husband's

rule. And I could support myself, for your excellency paid me such a

handsome salary, and I was in such favor with your blessed lady. Often,

before I stupidly left her to get married, she would call me, and we would

talk together of our beautiful home, our beloved Venice. Ah! your

excellency, we have often wept together, and longed ardently to behold

once more the city of the sea. Whoever comes from there never recovers

from homesickness and wherever he goes, and however far he may be removed,

his heart still clings to Venice. That the gracious countess often

remarked to me, weeping bitterly, which did her good, and--"

"You were to tell me when you first saw the White Lady," interrupted Count

Schwarzenberg, for he felt uncomfortable at being reminded of his wife,

knowing as he did that she had spent but few happy days at his side.

"That is true, and I beg your excellency's pardon," replied Mrs. Culwin.

Well, then, I saw the White Lady for the first time in the year 1619. I

had sat up late at night, for it was a few days before the Christmas

festival, and, in accordance with German customs, I wished to make a

Christmas present for my husband, but had not finished the piece of

embroidery I destined for that purpose. As I sat thus and sewed, I felt as

it were a cold breath of air on my cheek, as if some one rapidly moved

past me. I looked up startled, and there stood before me a tall, womanly

figure, clad in white, looking at me from under her veil with dark,

flashing eyes; and then she strode toward the door, but ere she went out

she lifted her arms toward heaven, and folded her hands, which were

covered with black gloves, fervently together. So she stood for awhile,

and then vanished without my seeing the door open or shut. So long as the

specter was there I had sat stiff and motionless, as if rooted to the

spot; my heart seemed to stand still; I tried to scream, but could not.

When she was gone, though, I shrieked fearfully, and my husband hastened

to me, to find me in convulsions, and for hours I screamed and wept. My

husband, indeed, tried to talk me out of it, and made me promise to speak

of the occurrence to no one. But my silence was of no consequence, for the

next day it was known to all the inmates of the palace that the White Lady

had appeared, for very many had seen her. The old Elector John Sigismund

had such a dread of the White Lady, and feared so much that she would

appear to him, that he left the castle that very day, and went to the

residence of his Chamberlain Freitag. There, however, he died in the

course of two days, just two days before Christmas.[25] The White Lady was

therefore right, with her deep mourning and black gloves.[26] It was not

the head of the family who died, for the old Elector had abdicated, and

Elector George William was even then reigning Sovereign."

"Truly, that sounds quite awful," cried Count Schwarzenberg; "and since

you saw the apparition with your own eyes, I can not dispute it. You said,

though, I think, that you had often seen it?"

"Twice more, gracious sir. The second time was in the year 1625. There

again, one night, in the center of my room stood the White Lady, and again

lifted up her arms toward heaven before departing, and again she wore

black gloves. And the next day died the brother of our Elector, the

Margrave Joachim Sigismund."[27]

"And the third time?"

"For the third time I saw the White Lady ten years ago, therefore in 1628.

This time she also wore black gloves, and a black veil besides. She again

strode through my room, but neither wept nor wrung her hands. She had also

appeared to the Elector himself, and addressed a few Latin words to him,

which in German my husband said ran thus: 'Justice comes to the living and

the dead.'"[28]

"I remember this last story very well myself," said Count Schwarzenberg,

with a peculiar smile. "His Electoral Grace was very much shocked by the

apparition, and its appearance was supposed to announce years of terrible

war, for no one in the Electoral family died. Now tell me, Mrs. Culwin, at

what time did the White Lady appear yesterday, and how was she dressed?"

"Your excellency, I can not say exactly, for I did not see her yesterday.

The soldiers however, and watchmen, too, affirm that she was dressed

entirely in white, which betokens the death of a person of high rank."

"You did not see the White Lady yesterday, then? I think she always passes

through your room, Mrs. Culwin?"

"She took another route this time, and something quite unusual happened:

she even appeared outside of the castle, for the soldiers maintain that

she passed before their windows, and the watchman, who was just making his

round, swears that he also saw a white figure glide past the wall. It

seems that this time the White Lady came from the Spree side. She did not

enter the great corridor at all, but repaired immediately to the Prince's

apartments. The sentinel says she went in, and that he distinctly heard

the door creak and shut as she passed through."

"Formerly no opening or shutting of doors was to be heard, was there?"

asked the count.

"No, your excellency, I never heard anything of the kind, and it always

seemed to me as if the door opened not at all, and as if the White Lady

vanished like mist."

"And she only visited the Prince's apartments? Do you know who was there?"

"Nobody but the Electoral Prince and his valet, I hear. _I_ myself was not

at home when the event occurred. Your excellency's stewardess had invited

me to assist her in preparing yesterday's feast, and I only returned in

haste as soon as it was rumored that the White Lady was abroad in the

castle."

"But you have surely seen and questioned the Prince's valet?"

"He is the only man in the castle who can not be approached with good or

evil words, your excellency, and who brooks not being questioned. Of

course, I tried questioning him about the White Lady, but his only answer

was that he had seen nothing, and did not believe in ghost stories. He

only knew that his dear young Prince was sick, and he troubled himself

about nothing else."

"He is still sick then, the Electoral Prince?" asked Count Schwarzenberg

with indifference. "Has he not slept off his intoxication yet?"

"Most gracious sir, I do not believe that it was intoxication, else surely

the Prince would be well to-day! But he is not at all better, and the

Electress, who visited her son early this morning, broke forth into loud

weeping when she saw him, for he must look just like a corpse."

"Did he recognize the Electress? Did he speak to her?"

"He knows nobody, he does not open his eyes, but lies there stiff and

stark like a dead man, and if he did not sometimes fetch a breath, you

would believe that he were already dead. This the little Princess herself

told me, as I accidentally met her in the passage, when she returned from

visiting her brother. But the doctor says this sleep is the beneficial

result of his treatment, and that when the Electoral Prince awakes he will

be quite restored to health. He has ordered that no one else be admitted

to see the Prince, and Dietrich watches over him like a Cerberus."

"And he does well in that, Mrs. Culwin. I thank you for your information,

and if anything new should happen I beg of you to come to me forthwith.

Tell me one thing more: Do you believe that the specter will come again

to-night? Is it the custom of the White Lady to show herself oftener than

once?"

"My husband maintains that if she appears, as at this time, all in white,

she will come again three nights consecutively. So it was when the Elector

Sigismund died. I saw her only once, and she wore black gloves, but the

next evening my husband saw her on the other side of the castle dressed

all in white, and on the third evening the Elector died."

"It would be interesting if the White Lady should come again to-night. I

should like to know if it is the case, and--Well, farewell, Mrs. Culwin,

and if you learn anything new, share it with me. Perhaps I shall come over

to the castle myself to-night."

He held out his hand to the old woman, and, as he pressed hers, he let a

well-filled purse slip into it. He cut off her expressions of gratitude by

a short nod of the head, and waved her toward the door. The castellan's

wife withdrew, and, absorbed in deep thought, Count Schwarzenberg remained

alone in his cabinet. With hands folded behind his back, he walked for a

long while to and fro. His pace was ever steady, ever composed; his

countenance seemed quite cheerful, quite tranquil, and yet his soul was

stirred by passion and a storm was raging in his breast.

"He is alive--he is still alive," he said to himself. "One could almost

believe that he has a star above which watches over him and preserves him.

It has been ever so from childhood; and at times when I think of him I

experience an unwonted sensation--I am afraid of him. He is my deadly

enemy, I know it. If I did not thrust him aside, he would do so with me.

If I did not kill him, he would kill me. It was a mere act of self-defense

to put him out of the way. If it miscarries, I am lost, for I shall not

soon have courage for a second attempt. I am a coward in this young man's

presence, I am afraid of him! He is my fate, my evil fate! And I can not

avert it, can undertake nothing more. I lack a tool. Oh, what a blockhead

I was to dismiss Nietzel! His own sins were the scourge by which I lashed

him into action. He was as wax in my hands, and if he failed this time, he

must have tried it again. I would have driven him to it, and he would have

been forced to obey. If the Electoral Prince should now get well, Nietzel

would be glad, for he is a soft-hearted fool, and had it not been for

Rebecca's sake, he could never have brought himself to commit the deed.

Even while he executed it his heart bled, and--My God!" he suddenly

exclaimed, "what a thought bursts upon me! If this Nietzel--"

He was silent and sank into an armchair, putting his hands before his

face, to shut out the outer world, to be undisturbed in his deep train of

thought.

Long he sat there, silent and motionless. Then he let his hands glide

from before his face, which had now again resumed its haughty, composed

expression, and arose from his seat.

"I must know what is the meaning of this ghost story," he said softly to

himself. "Nowhere has the phantom been seen but in the antechamber to the

Prince's rooms. It did not go like other spirits through walls and closed

doors, but must needs open and shut doors, like ordinary mortals. Yet old

Dietrich denies having seen the White Lady in the Electoral Prince's room.

Then afterward the White Lady was seen outside the castle, she did not

vanish through the air, but went out like a human being. It is a plot,

that is clear. They are conspiring with the Electoral Prince, and profit

by the mask to obtain safe access to the castle; or it may be Nietzel,

come to confess what he has done to the Prince--maybe even to bring him a

remedy. I must unravel it! I am sure the illusion succeeded so well last

night that the apparition will be repeated. I shall make my regulations

accordingly, and if it is so, then let the White Lady beware of me, for I

am a good conjurer. I shall go to the castle myself to-night, and when the

sentinels flee, I shall go in. Ah! we shall see who is stronger, the White

Lady or the Stadtholder in the Mark!"

Melancholy and quiet reigned all day long in the Electoral palace. The

Elector himself remained in his cabinet and had the court preacher John

Bergius called, that he might pray with him and edify him by a few hours'

pious conversation. But the dreadful uncertainty as to whether the White

Lady had appeared in deep mourning or with black gloves still continued

to disturb him, and whenever a door opened a shudder crept through his

veins, for he thought that the White Lady herself might be coming to call

him away.

"I shall leave Berlin," he said perpetually to himself. "I shall return to

Königsberg; for if I stay here I will certainly die of anxiety and

distress. I can not live in the house with a ghost. I shall go away. Ah!

there is the door opening again! Who is it? Who dares come in here?"

"It is I, my husband," cried the Electress, bursting into tears. "I am

just from our son."

"How is he?" asked the Elector carelessly. "Has he at last slept off the

fumes of liquor?"

"Alas! George, I fear this is no case of intoxication, but he is

dangerously sick. The White Lady did not appear for nothing."

"What, you think she came on our son's account?" asked the Elector,

almost joyfully. "You think it is not for our--" He paused and drew a

breath of relief, for he felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from

his soul. "You really think, my dear, that the White Lady came on

our son's account?"

"I fear so, alas! I fear so! My son is sick and will probably die, and our

house will be left desolate, become extinct, and ingloriously decay. Oh,

my son! my son! I had built all my hopes upon him, and when I thought of

him the future looked bright and promising."

"And if he were no more, then would all look sad and gloomy to you,

although your husband would still be at your side, which rightfully ought

to console you. But you have ever been a cold wife to me and a tender

mother to your son, and it really vexes me to see how you love the son and

despise his father. What an ado you make merely because your son has taken

a little too much liquor, and suffers from the effects of intoxication, as

the doctor says!"

"But I tell you, George, the Electoral Prince is sick, and the White

Lady--"

"I will hear no more of that," broke in the Elector passionately; "it is a

silly, idle tale, not worthy of credit. Everybody is dinning it into my

ears to-day, and it is simply intolerable to have to listen. I just wish

that I could leave this place, to be rid of this tiresome ghost story, and

not to have to undergo such torment and vexation. In Königsberg, at least,

we live in peace and quiet, and are not forever plagued by the sight of

sullen faces and perpetual threats of war and pestilence. In Königsberg

Castle, too, the White Lady has never appeared, and there are no nightly

apparitions there."

"Let us return to Königsberg, George!" cried the Electress. "Do so for our

son's sake; I tell you if we stay here, he is lost! Death stands forever

at his side, threatening his precious young life! Ask me not what I mean,

for I can not explain myself; yet I feel that I am right, and that he is

lost if we do not speedily depart. Only listen this one time to my

entreaties and representations, my husband. Let us set out before it is

too late."

"Well then, Elizabeth, I will do as you wish," said George William, who

was glad that he could grant his wife what he so ardently wished himself.

"Yes, we shall promptly depart, since you urge it so pressingly."

The Electress gently encircled her husband's neck with her arm and

imprinted a kiss upon his brow. "Thank you, George," she whispered. "You

have probably saved our son from death. May the merciful God grant him

restoration to health, and so soon as this is the case let us set off."

"Make all your preparations then, Elizabeth, for I tell you your tenderly

beloved son is only a little tipsy, and to-morrow will be well as ever."

"God grant that you speak the truth, George. Then let us commence our

journey day after to-morrow," which is Wednesday. But hark! I have one

more request to make of you. Tell no one of our projected trip. Let us

make our preparations in perfect secrecy."

"For all that I care," growled the Elector. "The principal thing is to be

off. Abode here has been hateful to me ever since I heard those shouts of

the populace the day our son returned. I can not live in a city where the

mob undertakes to meddle in government affairs, and even prescribes to its

Sovereign the dismissal of his minister. It is an uproarious, insolent

rabble, the rabble of Berlin, and I shall not feel glad or tranquil until

I have left the place."

"And I, too, George, will not feel glad or tranquil until we have left the

place, carrying our son with us. I am going to work directly, and will

prepare everything for our departure, and consult with my daughters. But I

must first go and see how our son is."

The Electress hastened back to the apartments of the Electoral Prince, and

old Dietrich came to meet her with joy-beaming countenance to announce to

her that the Prince was awake, and felt perfectly well. "He only feels a

great weakness in his limbs, and his head is heavy. The doctor has been

here, and ordered that the Prince be kept perfectly quiet to-day, and not

allowed to speak with any one or to leave his bed. To-morrow he will be

quite well again."

"Then I will not speak to him," exclaimed the Electress; "I will only take

one look at him and give him one kiss."

She entered her son's sleeping room and stepped up to his couch. The

Electoral Prince smiled upon her, and his large eyes greeted her with

tender glances. He had already opened his mouth to speak, but the

Electress quickly laid her hand upon his lips.

"Do not speak, my Frederick," she whispered softly. "Sleep and compose

yourself; know that your mother tenderly loves you. For my sake, my son,

keep quiet to-day; keep your bed and talk with no one. Will you not

promise me?"

He nodded smilingly and imprinted a kiss upon the hand which his mother

still held over his lips. The Electress hurried away, and Frederick again

remained alone with his old valet.

"Now, Dietrich," he whispered softly, "now keep watch that no one enters,

and let us quietly await the night."

"Your grace thinks that the White Lady brought you good medicine last

night, and that she will come again, do you not?"

"I am convinced of it, my good old man. God has sent her for my cure. God

will not have me die already."

"The name of the Lord be blessed and praised!" murmured Dietrich, sinking

upon his knees in fervent prayer.

Deep stillness pervaded the Electoral Prince's apartments the whole day

long, for nobody dared venture in. The doctor himself, who came toward

evening, only peeped in through a crevice of the door, and nodded quite

contentedly when Dietrich whisperingly told him that the Prince had again

fallen into a gentle slumber.

"I knew it," said the doctor with gravity. "My medicine was meant to cure

him by means of sleep, and I am not surprised that my calculations have

proved perfectly correct. To-morrow the Prince will be perfectly

well--that is to say, if he regularly takes my medicine. It has been

prepared for the second time, I hope?"

"Yes, indeed, doctor, and the Prince has half emptied the second bottle."

The doctor nodded with an important air, and repaired to the Electress, to

inform her that the Electoral Prince had been upon the point of taking a

violent nervous fever, but that the right medicament, which he had given

him, had averted this evil, and saved the Prince from imminent peril.

Old Dietrich, however, threw away a spoonful of medicine every quarter of

an hour, and when night came the bottle was empty.

And now the longed-for night had closed in with its curtain of darkness,

its noiselessness and quiet. Deep silence ruled throughout the castle, no

loud word was any longer to be heard, not a man was to be met in hall or

passage. Before the ushering in of the momentous hour each one had made

haste to tuck himself up in bed, and shut his eyes, for everybody dreaded

lest the specter of the preceding night should walk abroad again and show

itself to him. The sentinels in the corridor before the Electoral suite of

rooms and in the vestibule of the Prince's apartments dared not walk to

and fro, for the noise of their own steps terrified them, and the dark

shadows of their own forms, thrown upon the ground by the dim oil lamps,

filled them with unspeakable dread. They had planted themselves stiffly

and rigidly beside the doors, firmly determined as soon as the awful

apparition should show itself to take to their heels and return to the

guardroom. And happily they had some justification for this, inasmuch as

the soldiers had received orders from the Stadtholder in the Mark, when

they relieved guard, to convey instant tidings to the guardhouse if

anything remarkable should occur.

In order to convey instant tidings, they must of course take to their

heels and forsake their posts. This was the only comfort of the soldier

who was stationed in the vestibule leading to the princely apartments, and

therefore he stood close to the door, which was only upon the latch, that

he might the more rapidly gain the grand corridor, and warn in his flight

the sentinels there. Yet he dared not open his eyes, and his heart beat so

violently that it took away his breath.

The great cathedral clock tolled the hour of midnight with loud and heavy

strokes. The clock in the castle tower gave answer, and then the wall

clock in the great corridor slowly and solemnly struck twelve.

The soldier closed his eyes, and murmured with trembling lips, "All good

spirits praise the Lord our God."

The clangor of the clocks had ceased, and all again was still.

The soldier ventured to open his eyes again. As yet no sound broke in upon

the stillness; his glance timidly and slowly made the circuit of the hall.

The two oil lamps burned clearly enough to enable him to survey the whole

intervening space. He saw everything quite distinctly. There the door with

the lamps, here the door beside which he leaned; against the wall on that

side those two huge, black wooden presses, so curiously carved, and

between them that little door. This door began to make him uneasy. Whither

did it lead? Why stood no guard there? Was it locked or merely latched? He

asked himself all this with quickly beating heart, and could not turn his

glance from it. He had never before observed it. Now it seemed to him as

if it moved! A cold shudder ran through his whole frame.

Yes, it was no illusion! Yes, the door opened, and there stood the White

Lady in her long, flowing robes! The soldier did not shriek, for horror

had frozen the scream upon his lips. He tore open the door, and rushed

into the corridor, and his deadly pale and terrorstricken face imparted

with greater rapidity than words to the two sentinels there the dreadful

tidings. All three ran down the corridor together to the front door, down

the steps, across the wide court, and into the guardroom.

"The White Lady! the White Lady!" they gasped.

"Where is she? Who has seen her?" inquired a form emerging from the rear

of the room and approaching them; and now, as the lamplight fell upon this

form, the soldiers recognized it very well--it was the Stadtholder in the

Mark himself who stood before them, and behind him they saw his

Chamberlain von Lehndorf and the police-master Brandt.

"Which of you has seen the White Lady?" asked Count Schwarzenberg once

more.

"I, gracious sir," stammered one of the three with difficulty. "I was

stationed before the Electoral Prince's rooms, and I saw the White Lady

enter through the little door between the two presses."

"And whither went she?"

"That I did not see, your excellency, for--"

"For you ran away directly," concluded Count Schwarzenberg for him. "And

you two others! You stood in the great corridor; did you see the

apparition, too?"

"No, your excellency, we did not see her. She did not come through the

great corridor."

"You did not see her. Why did you run away then?"

"Your excellency, we ran away because--because--we do not know ourselves."

"Well, I know," cried the count, shrugging his shoulders. "You ran away

because you are cowards! Hush! No excuses now! We shall talk about it

early to-morrow morning. Stay here in the guardroom. I myself will go up

and see what folly has frightened you hares. Lehndorf and Brandt, both of

you stay here and await my return."

"But, most gracious sir," implored the chamberlain, "I beg your permission

to accompany you. Nobody can know--"

"Whether the White Lady may not stab and throttle me, would you say? No,

Lehndorf, I fear no woman's shape, be she clothed in white or black. I am

well armed, and methinks the White Lady will find her match in me. All of

you stay here; but if I should not return in an hour, then you may mount

the stairs and see whether the White Lady has borne me off through the

air.--Which of you," he said, turning to the soldiers--"which of you stood

guard before the princely apartments?"

"It was I, your excellency."

"Whence came the White Lady?"

"She came through the little door between the two presses in the

vestibule."

"It is well! You will all stay here. And, as I said, Lehndorf, if I return

not in an hour, then come."

He nodded kindly to the chamberlain and strode out of the room.

Meanwhile above, in the Electoral Prince's chamber, the White Lady had

been expected with glowing impatience. Dietrich had already stood for a

quarter of an hour at the antechamber door, waiting with palpitating heart

for her appearance. The Electoral Prince had with difficulty raised

himself up, and, supporting himself upon his elbows, had been listening

with uplifted head in the direction of the door ever since the midnight

hour had struck. And now the door opened and the White Lady glided in.

With gentle, undulating gait and veil thrown back she went to the Prince's

bed, and when she saw him sitting up a smile lighted up her pale face.

"You see, Electoral Prince Frederick William, I have not deceived you,"

she said; "you live, and you will now get perfectly well."

"Yes, I believe that I will get well," replied the Prince; "and I owe my

life to you."

"Never mind that," said she, slowly shaking her head. "I am not here for

your sake, but for my poor Gabriel's sake, to expiate his sin and to free

his soul from guilt. I dare not use many words. The fame of the White Lady

has spread through the whole city, and it may well be that they are on my

track to-night--that Count Schwarzenberg's suspicions have been aroused.

"He is a bad man, and I am afraid of him."

"And yet you have come here! Have not shunned danger in order to save me!"

"I have not shunned danger in order to go to my beloved and be able to

tell him--'Lift up your head and rejoice in the Lord; crime is taken away

from your head--you are no murderer, for the Electoral Prince lives.' One

thing I would like to add, and I beseech you to grant it to me. Say that

you will pardon Gabriel Nietzel."

"I pardon Gabriel Nietzel with my whole heart, and never shall he be

punished for what he has done to me! You have atoned for his crime, and

may God forgive him, as I do."

"I thank you, sir. And now take your second draught."

She took the little flask, poured the rest of its contents into a glass,

and handed it to the Prince.

"Drink and be glad of heart," she said, "for to-morrow, early in the

morning, you will awake a sound man. The angel of death has swept past

you; take good heed lest you fall a second time into his clutches. Flee

before him to the greatest possible distance. There, take, drink life and

health from this glass, and the Lord our God be with you in all your ways!"

"I thank you, and blessed be you too!" And the Electoral Prince took the

glass from her hand and drained it.

"It is finished," said Rebecca, heaving a deep sigh.

"Now I can return to my beloved and my child. Farewell!"

"Give me your hand, and let our farewell be that of friends," said

Frederick William.

She reached forth her little white hand from beneath her veil, and he

cordially pressed it within his own. "You are a noble, high-minded woman,

and I shall ever remember you with gratitude and friendship. I owe you my

life; it is truly a great debt, and you would be magnanimous if you could

point out some way whereby the weight might be a little lessened. I

beseech you tell me some way in which I may prove my gratitude."

"I will do so, sir! Some day when you are Elector, and a reigning

Sovereign in your land, then have compassion upon those who are enslaved

and oppressed, then spare the Jews!"

She turned away, drew her veil over her head, and disappeared.

"My work is finished! My beloved is atoned for!" exulted her soul. As if

borne on wings of happiness and bliss, she soared through the antechamber

and stepped out into the vestibule.

All here was still and quiet, and she did not observe that the sentinel no

longer stood at the door. Her thoughts were withdrawn from the present,

her soul was far away with _him_--him whom she loved, for whom she had

risked her life.

Thus she sped through the great space and approached the door between the

two presses. All at once she started and shrank back, and the tall, manly

form standing before this door sprang forward, and with strong hand tore

her veil impatiently from her head.

"Rebecca!"

"Count Schwarzenberg!"

For one moment they surveyed one another with flaming eyes.

She read her death sentence in his looks. But she would not die. No, she

would not die! She would see her beloved, her child once more! With a

sudden jerk she freed her arm from the hand that held her prisoner. She

knew not what to do, whither she could flee. She had only a vague

consciousness that to be alone with him meant death--that she would he

safe only outside the castle. Without, on the street, Schwarzenberg would

not venture to seize her, for he knew that she possessed his secret and

that she would accuse him. She flew across the vestibule, tore open the

door to the long corridor, and sprang down it like a hunted deer. But the

pursuer was behind her, close behind her! She heard his breath, he

stretched out his hands toward her--she felt his touch, and again she

burst loose and flew away!

At the end of the corridor is a small staircase which leads to the upper

stories. She knows the way--oh, she knows the way! Above it is another

long corridor, and if from the head of the stairs she turns to the right,

she will reach the great staircase. She will hurry down to the quarters of

the castellan and his wife; she will call--scream!

Oh, if she can only get so far!

She flies up the little steps, but she feels the pursuer close at her

heels. And just as she reaches the top step, his hand, like a lion's paw,

is laid upon her shoulder.

"Stand still, or I will strangle you!" he murmurs. "Stand still, and I

swear that I will not kill you!"

"No, no, I do not believe you!" she gasps, and with both hands she seizes

his and thrusts it back. Only on, on! She no longer knows whether she

turns to the right or left, she runs down the dimly lighted corridor, and

he follows.

"O God! O God! there is no staircase!" She has missed the way--there is no

way out now! The dread enemy is behind her! She can no longer avoid him!

He will kill her, for she knows his secret! No escape!--no deliverance!

But at the end of the corridor she sees a door. If she can only succeed in

opening it, jumping into the room, shutting the door, and drawing the bolt!

"God help me! God be with me!" she calls out aloud and flies to the door,

bursts it open, rushes through, and--his weight presses against it; she

can not shut it, she can not draw the bolt. He is there with her in that

little room, which has no other outlet. No deliverer is near! She falls

upon her knees, and lifts up her arms to him imploringly. "Oh, sir! oh,

sir, pity! Do not kill me! I will be silent as the grave!"

"As the grave!" repeats he, with a savage smile.

He stoops down and something bright glitters in his hand! She sees it

quite clearly, for it is a bright summer night, and her eyes are inured to

darkness.

"Almighty God, you would murder me! Mercy, sir, mercy!"

He has closed the door behind them, yet the shriek of her death agony has

penetrated the door and echoed down the corridor. Nobody hears it. All the

chambers in this upper story are bare and uninhabited, and for economy's

sake the corridors and staircases in this upper part of the castle are

unlighted. To-day, however, at nightfall, the Stadtholder had himself

brought word to castellan Culwin that every passage, landing, and

staircase in the whole castle should be lighted! And so it was, and even

in that remote upper story lamps are burning. How long and solitary this

corridor is! Not the slightest sound has broken the stillness since those

two sprang into that room.

But now! A fearful, piercing shriek! A death cry forces its way through

the door and in one long echo vibrates along the corridor. It sounds like

the wailing and moaning of invisible spirits. Then nothing more interrupts

the silence. Nothing more!

The door opens again, and Count Schwarzenberg steps into the corridor.

He is alone.

He locks the door and puts the key into his pocket. Then, with quiet, firm

tread, he goes down the corridor, down the little staircase, and finally,

with composed, haughty bearing, down the great staircase into the

guardroom.

"God be praised, your excellency, that you are here!" calls out Lehndorf,

hastening to meet him.

Count Schwarzenberg nods to him, and then turns to the soldiers, who stand

there silent and motionless.

"What fools you are!" he says, shrugging his shoulders. "To put you

soldiers to flight no cannon is required, but only a couple of white cats.

A white cat it was, which made cowards of you. I saw her bounding along

before me through the great corridor, and followed her to the upper story.

There she slipped into an open door, the last door in the upper story.

I jumped after her into the little apartment, but she must have found some

other way out, for I could find her nowhere again, and that is the only

wonder of the whole story, for the windows were closed. For the rest I

command you to let naught of this story transpire, for fear of giving rise

to idle tales."

The soldiers heard him in reverential silence, but the next morning it was

known throughout the castle and almost through the whole city that the

White Lady had made her appearance again, and that at last, when pursued,

she had vanished in the form of a white cat in one of the rooms in the

upper story of the castle. After that nobody ventured into the upper

story, and, as it was uninhabited, it was not necessary to station

sentinels there.

XII.--THE DEPARTURE.

When the Electoral Prince awoke the next morning after a long, refreshing

slumber, his first glance fell upon his faithful old valet, who stood at

the foot of his couch, his face actually beaming with joy.

"Why, Dietrich," said Frederick William, "you look so happy! What has

altered your old face so since yesterday?"

"The sight of you, most gracious sir, for your face has altered, too. Your

cheeks are no longer deadly pale, nor your features distorted. Your

highness looks quite like a well man now; somewhat pale, it is true; but

your lips are again red and your eyes bright. Ah, gracious sir, the dear

White Lady kept her word, she saved you!"

"God bless her!" said the Electoral Prince solemnly. "But hark! old man,

tell nobody that I have been saved. You must not use such dangerous words,

not even think them. There was no need to save me, for I have been exposed

to no peril. I have not been sick at all, but only overcome by wine, and,

to speak plainly, drunk--do you hear, old man? I have been drunk two whole

days: such is the account you must give of my attack."

"I shall do so, your highness, since you order it; but it is a sin and a

shame that I should slander my own dear young master, who is such a sober,

steady Prince."

"Now, Dietrich," said the Electoral Prince, with a melancholy smile, "you

give me more praise than I deserve. I was not quite so sober in Holland."

"No, sir; in dear, blessed Holland, life was a different thing. It was

like heaven there, and when I looked at your grace I always felt as if I

saw before me Saint George himself, so bold, spirited, and happy you ever

seemed."

"And so I felt, too," said the Prince softly to himself. "But all that is

past now. _All_! The costly intoxication of happiness is at an end, and I

am sobered. Yes, yes," he continued aloud, springing with energy from his

couch, "you are quite right, old Dietrich. Now help this sober, steady

Prince to dress himself, that he may wait upon the Elector and Electress

and announce his recovery to them."

After the Electoral Prince had made his toilet, he repaired to the

Electoral apartments to pay his respects. George William received his son

with sullen peevishness of manner, hardly deigning to bestow upon him more

than a single glance of indifference.

"Why, you still look pale and weak," he said coolly. "It is no great honor

for a Prince to be overcome by a couple of glasses of wine, and to succumb

as if he had been struck by a cannon ball."

"Most gracious sir," replied Frederick William, smiling, "I hope yet to be

able to prove to your highness that I can stand against the fire of cannon

balls better than Count Schwarzenberg's wine, and that I can go to meet a

battery of artillery more bravely than a battery of bottles."

"I hope it will not be in your power to prove any such thing, sir," cried

the Elector impatiently. "I want to hear nothing about war, and you must

banish all thoughts of war and heroic deeds from your mind, and become a

peaceful, law-abiding citizen. Your head has been turned in Holland, but

I rather expect to set it right again! We are going back to Prussia, and

you will accompany us. Go now to the Electress, and disturb me no longer

in my work."

Frederick William bowed in silence and repaired to his mother's

apartments. The Electress received him with open arms, and pressed him to

her heart.

"I have you again, my son, I have you again," she cried with warmth. "A

merciful God has not been willing to deprive me of my only happiness; he

has preserved you to me. Oh, my son, I love you so much, and I feel,

moreover, that you love me, and that we shall understand each other, and

that all causes of disagreement will disappear so soon as that hateful,

dreaded man no longer stands between us--he, who is your enemy as well as

mine. We are going back to Prussia, and my heart is full of joy, hope, and

happiness. There I shall have you safe; there you are mine, and no

murderer or enemy there threatens my beloved only son!"

"But, most revered mother, there the worst, most dangerous enemy of all

threatens me."

"Who is he? What is his name?"

"Idleness, your highness. I shall be condemned there to an inactive,

useless existence. I shall have nothing to do but to live. O most gracious

mother! intercede for me with my father and Count Schwarzenberg, that I

may be appointed Stadtholder of Cleves, for there I would have something

to do, there I could be useful, and they wish for my presence there."

"You do not wish to stay with me, then?" asked his mother, in a tone of

mortification. "You already wish yourself away from me and your sisters?"

The Prince's countenance, which had been just aglow with enthusiasm,

having for the moment dropped its mask, now once more assumed its serious,

tranquil expression, and again the mask was drawn over its features.

"I by no means long to be away from you," he said quietly, "but I shall

delight in accompanying you to Prussia."

"That is what I call spoken like a good, obedient child," cried the

Electress, "and, Louise, I advise you to profit by such an example. Just

look at your sister, Frederick, only see what a sorrowful figure she

presents. She does not even come to welcome her brother, but sits there

quite disconsolate with tears in her eyes."

"No, dearest mother, I am not crying," replied the Princess gently. "I,

too, am right glad that we are to return to Prussia."

"That is not true, mamma," exclaimed Princess Hedwig Sophie; "she is not

glad at all. On the contrary, she cried and lamented all last night,

thinking that I was asleep and knew nothing about it. But I heard

everything. I know that she would rather stay here, and that she finds it

charming here all of a sudden, although she used to think it so dull. But

Louise has entirely changed these last four days, and since _he_ has been

here she finds tiresome old Berlin a splendid place, and--"

"But, Hedwig," interrupted her sister, whose cheeks were suffused with a

crimson flush, "what are you talking about, and how can you chatter such

nonsense?"

"It is true, she talks nonsense," said the Electress severely; "yet I

should like to know what her words signify. Who is _he_ who has so

transformed tiresome Berlin in your sister's eyes?"

"Why, you do not know, mamma?" asked the mischievous child, smiling and

putting on a look of astonishment.

"You do not know who loves our Louise so ardently, so passionately? You do

not know the man for whose sake she would leave father and mother? You do

not know the only man whom the Princess Charlotte Louise loves?"

"_I_ do not know, but I command you to tell me!" said the Electress dryly.

"Well," said the Princess, smilingly surveying the group, "it is our dear,

only brother--it is Frederick William."

"You are a little blockhead!" exclaimed the Electress, shrugging her

shoulders and smiling.

"You are a dear little rogue," said Frederick William, tenderly embracing

his willful sister. She playfully broke away from him, dancing through the

hall, and challenging her brother to pursue and overtake her. Princess

Louise said not a word, but the blush upon her cheeks died away, and the

expression of horror and alarm vanished from her features.

Still Princess Hedwig Sophie kept up her frolic, and as often as the

Prince thought he had caught her she flew off again like a butterfly.

Finally, at the extreme end of the hall, he held her fast, and now,

laughingly and tenderly, she flung her arms about his neck, and whispered

softly: "Expect me this evening in your room at nine o'clock. I have

something important to tell you. Silence!"

Again she let him go, and continued to hop about, laughing merrily and

cheerfully as a child.

And in the evening, when the clock in the great corridor had just struck

the ninth hour, the Princess Hedwig Sophie slipped unperceived into the

room of her brother, who already held the door open for her and awaited

her coming.

"Look, here you are, my princess of the fairies," said he, smiling. "What

is there now on hand, and what playful scheme are you revolving in your

mind to-day?"

But the countenance of the Princess exhibited no signs of playfulness. It

was pale, and her whole being seemed under the influence of violent

excitement.

"Frederick," she said hurriedly, "I have a dreadful secret to confide to

you. Our sister Louise loves Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg."

"I thought as much," murmured the Prince.

"I have known it for a long while," continued the Princess, "but I took no

notice of it, hoping that absence and separation would make her forget

him. But since his return I have had no more hope. Last night, in her

distress, she betrayed all to me, and I must tell you something dreadful,

something shocking. You must reveal it to nobody--not another one must

know it. Do you promise me that?"

"I promise, Hedwig. But tell me what it is."

She bent over close to his ear and whispered:

"She has granted him a rendezvous."

"Impossible, sister, you are mistaken!"

"No, no, Frederick, I am not mistaken. I heard her myself when she told

him so. It was in Count Schwarzenberg's hothouse; I came behind her with

the ladies, and she thought I was paying no attention whatever to her and

all that she was saying to Count Adolphus. But I managed to watch her

constantly without attracting the attention of the ladies I was with. My

eyes and ears are very sharp, and I saw her press a note into his hand,

and heard her repeat to him the contents of the note, appointing an

interview with him this evening at ten o'clock. Old Trude is to wait for

him at the back side door of the castle next to the cathedral, and she is

to conduct him to her. You must not suffer it, Frederick William; that bad

Count Schwarzenberg shall not carry off my sister."

"No, that he shall not," said the Prince. "I thank you, sister, for coming

to me. We two shall save her--we two alone, and nobody shall know anything

about it. Even she herself must not find out that we know her secret. We

must be brisk and determined, though, for it is late, only wanting a half

hour of being ten o'clock. Who is old Trude?"

"Louise's chambermaid, who has been with her all her life, for Trude was

her nurse. She idolizes our sister, and would go through fire and water

for her sake. What Louise commands is law with her."

"Then we must prevent old Trude, by force or cunning, from going to the

door and admitting the count."

"By force, impossible, for that would make a noise; but by cunning. I have

it, Frederick, I have it! I will entice old Trude into my room and then

lock myself in with her, playing all sorts of tricks, and seeming to have

no object at all in view but amusement and teasing. I will take care of

old Trude."

"And I of Count Schwarzenberg. It is high time, sister! Make haste, lest

old Trude escape you. But hark! It will be necessary for you to speak to

the old woman, besides. You must threaten her with revealing the whole

affair to our father if she does not do as you command, and tell our

sister that she waited for the count a whole hour in vain."

"You are right, Frederick. That is still better. Louise must believe that

he did not come. To work!--to work!"

The Princess sprang away with the fleetness of a gazelle, and the Prince

was left alone.

"I wish I could go to meet him sword in hand," he muttered between his

clinched teeth. "I understand their game. They would have poisoned me and

carried off my sister, so that she would have been forced to marry him,

and then by means of the Emperor she would have been declared heiress of

the Electoral Mark of Brandenburg. Ah! I penetrate their designs, and they

shall not succeed. Their poison proved inefficacious, and so shall their

love! Now away to the door through which the fine gallant was to have

entered. He will find it locked, and I shall keep guard before it the

livelong night."

The Prince left his own apartments, and hurried down a private staircase

and through dark passages to the door designated. It was only on latch,

but a key was in the lock. Quickly he locked the door, and then stood

listening intently. It struck ten o'clock, and as the last stroke vibrated

in his ear a hand was laid upon the door latch outside, and a manly voice

whispered: "Trude, open! It is I. The one whom you expect! Open, quick!"

"Were it hell," murmured the Prince softly to himself, "yes, were it hell,

I would open the door. But there is no admittance to paradise for you.

Knock on, knock on! The gates of the Electoral mansion are not undone for

you. Knock on; the castle of the Elector of Brandenburg is locked against

you, and you must stand without, you Counts of Schwarzenberg, for you

shall not thrust me out of the palace of my fathers! I shall be Elector of

Brandenburg in spite of you, and then, Count Schwarzenberg, Stadtholder in

the Mark, then be on your guard! I shall remember, Count Adolphus

Schwarzenberg, that your finger rapped at this door, threatening to bring

shame and disgrace upon this house! And then, perhaps, I may open a door

for you, and allow you to enter, but it will not be for a lover's

rendezvous, and the door which admits you will not so easily grant you an

escape. Now I suffer and endure, but a time of reckoning will come!

Schwarzenbergs, beware of me!"

For a long while yet the Electoral Prince stood within the door, and for a

long while yet, at intervals, the knocking on the outside was repeated.

Then all was still. Frederick William returned to his own apartments.

Early next morning took place the departure of the Electoral family for

Prussia. It was to be wholly without formality, and consequently no one

had been notified. The Elector had only caused the two Counts

Schwarzenberg to be summoned after the carriages were ready, and when they

came in haste they found the Electoral family just on the point of

entering their several equipages.

"I meant to set out secretly," said George William, stretching out both

hands to the Stadtholder, "in order to spare myself the pain of bidding

you farewell, Adam. But now I find that my heart is stronger than my will,

and I must embrace you once more before I go!"

While the Elector embraced his favorite and received from him assurances

of perpetual fidelity, Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg approached the

Princess Charlotte Louise, who stood silent and apart in a window recess,

looking out upon the street with pallid countenance and eyes reddened by

weeping.

"Louise," he whispered softly, "Louise, you--"

But before he could utter another word, Princess Hedwig stood beside him,

addressing him with amiable speech, and the Electoral Prince approached

his sister and offered her his arm to conduct her to the carriage. She

walked along, leaning on her brother's arm, without once lifting her eyes

from the ground, deeply humiliated by the thought that her lover had

caused her to wait for him in vain. A quarter of an hour later the two

clumsy vehicles containing the Electoral family rolled out of the castle

gate and struck into the road leading to Königsberg. The White Lady had

driven away the Elector George William, and he was nevermore to behold the

palace of his fathers.

The White Lady had saved Prince Frederick William, and as he now drove

through the gates of Berlin in that clumsy old coach he said to himself,

with joyful anticipation: "I shall see you again, Berlin! I shall see you

again, dear town of my fathers! I shall come back, and, please God, not

humbly and enslaved as I go away to-day, but as a Prince, who is lord

within his own domains, with God in his heart, a clear sky overhead, and

no Schwarzenbergs upon the horizon!"

Wearily and panting for breath the poor horses dragged the heavy carriage

through the sands of the Mark, but within sat the Electoral Prince--within

sat Cæsar and his fortunes.