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A GERMAN POMPADOUR
[Illustration: WILHELMINE REICHSGRÄFIN VON GRÄVENITZ.
_From a Portrait in the collection of Frau Anna Remshardt
at Heilbronn._]
A GERMAN POMPADOUR
Being the Extraordinary History of
WILHELMINE VON GRÄVENITZ
LANDHOFMEISTERIN OF WIRTEMBERG
A NARRATIVE OF
THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY
BY
MARIE HAY
AUTHOR OF 'DIANNE DE POYTIERS' AND
'AN UNREQUITED LOYALTY'
[Illustration]
SECOND IMPRESSION
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1906
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
THIS
BOOK OF MEMORIES
IS DEDICATED
TO
A MEMORY
PREFACE
'The Past that is not overpast,
But present here.'
IN a dusty, time-soiled packet of legal papers which had lain untouched
for nigh upon two hundred years, the extraordinary history of Wilhelmine
von Grävenitz is set forth in all the colourless reticence of official
documents. And yet something of the thrill of the superstitious fear, and
the virtuous disapproval of the lawyers who composed these writings,
pierces through the stilted phrases. Like a faint fragrance of faded
rose-leaves, a breath of this woman's charm seems to cling and elusively
to peep out of the curt record of her crimes. Enough at least to incite
the wanderer in History's byways to a further study of this potent German
forerunner of the Pompadour.
To search through the Stuttgart archives, to ferret out forgotten books
in dusty old book-shops, to fit together the links in the chain of events
of the woman's story, to haunt the scenes of bygone splendour in deserted
palace and castle, old-world garden and desolate mansion; such has been
the delightful labour which has gone to the telling of the true history
of the Grävenitz. The Land-despoiler the downtrodden peasantry and
indignant burghers named her, for they hated her as their sort must ever
hate the beautiful, elegant, haughty woman of the great world. They
called her sinner, which she was; and she called them canaille, which
they probably were.
And traces of all this linger in Württemberg.[1] They still deem the
Countess Grävenitz a subject to be mentioned with bated breath--a thing
too evil, too terrible, for polite conversation. The very guides at
Ludwigsburg slur over her name, and if they go so far as to mention her,
they say: 'Ja, das war aber eine schlimme Dame,' and turn the talk to
something else. But her memory lives magnificently in the great palace
built for her, in her little 'Château Joyeux' of La Favorite, and in the
many beautiful properties which belonged to this extravagant
Land-despoiler. She came to Württemberg when the country was at a low
financial ebb. Louis XIV. had preyed upon the land for years. Robber
raids they called these wars which he waged for trumped-up pretexts.
After these invasions came the war of the Spanish succession, and
Württemberg lying on the high-road from France to Austria, the
belligerent armies swept over the Swabian land on their way to battle.
The Duke of Württemberg, loyal to his Suzerain the Emperor at Vienna,
joined in the fray and fought bravely at the side of Marlborough and
Eugene of Savoy against the French terror. When Blenheim had been fought
and won, the war-tide swept northwards to the Netherlands, leaving
Southern Germany for the nonce at rest, and Eberhard Ludwig of
Württemberg repaired to Stuttgart to attend to his Duchy's government.
Now began the love-story of his life, the long-drawn episode which made
his name a target for the gossip and scandal of early eighteenth-century
Germany; the episode which changed the simple, stiff family life of the
Württemberg ducal circle to a brilliant, festive court, which travellers
tell us in their memoirs vied in magnificence with the glories of
Versailles itself.
M. H.
STUTTGART, 1905.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE INTRIGUE, 1
II. THE AVE MARIA, 13
III. THE FIRST STEP, 27
IV. THE JOURNEY, 50
V. THE PLAY-ACTING, 68
VI. LOVE'S SPRINGTIDE, 82
VII. THE FULFILMENT, 90
VIII. THE GHETTO, 103
IX. 'SHE COMES TO STAY THIS TIME,' 116
X. THE ATTACK IN THE GROTTO, 129
XI. THE MOCK MARRIAGE, 153
XII. THE MOCK COURT, 167
XIII. THE DUCHESS'S BLACK ROOMS, 181
XIV. THE SECOND MARRIAGE, 196
XV. THE RETURN, 212
XVI. LUDWIGSBURG, 224
XVII. THE BURNING IN EFFIGY, 242
XVIII. THE SINNER'S PALACE, 261
XIX. THE GREAT TRIUMPH AND THE SHADOW, 279
XX. SATIETY, 302
XXI. THE DOWNFALL, 325
XXII. REST, 350
A GERMAN POMPADOUR
CHAPTER I
THE INTRIGUE
'Es ist eine Hofkabale.'--SCHILLER.
ON the outskirts of the village of Oberhausen in South Wirtemberg stands
a deserted house. Rats are its only denizens now; rats and the 'poor
ghosts,' so the peasants say. Two hundred years ago this eerie mansion
was occupied by living men and women, perchance the ghosts of to-day. Who
can tell? But I, who have grown to love them, having studied the depths
of their hearts, I pray that they may rest them well in their graves, and
that the Neuhaus ghosts be not my friends of 1705.
It was a fitting place for intrigues this Neuhaus, standing as it did so
near in actual mileage to the court of Stuttgart, and hard by the Jesuit
centre of Rottenburg. The high-road was close at hand, yet Neuhaus, shut
off by peaceful fields, was hidden from the passer-by, and here began the
great intrigue, as it was called then. Of a truth the plot, as it was
conceived, was no mighty thing; it was designed, as many another gossamer
web of court gallantry and petty pecuniary gain, for obscure individuals;
but great it became through the potent will of a woman.
On a dreary November afternoon of the year 1705, a party of four was
assembled in the Neuhaus, the seldom-used country mansion of Madame de
Ruth, an important personage at Stuttgart's court, and of Monsieur de
Ruth, an undistinguished character, who played no rôle that we know of,
save to bequeath his ancient name--and the Neuhaus--to his relict.
The house was a long, two-storied building, with large, black wooden
beams showing quaintly outside against the white plastered walls; it was
no imposing structure, but a certain air of melancholy aloofness lent it
distinction.
A high wall shut off the village street on the one side, while to the
south and east the mansion was surrounded by a garden. A row of
beech-trees grew close to the windows, a narrow pathway led from a side
door across the garden to a vast orchard. It was doubtless a beautiful
spot in spring or summer, but on this November afternoon it was
inexpressibly dreary. The rain had beaten down the unkempt grass, which
lay in draggled sheaves along the edges of the pathway. Brown, fallen
beech leaves made a sodden carpet around the tree-roots; the trees
themselves, bare and gaunt, lifted their grey, leafless branches towards
the hurrying, wind-driven clouds. The wind moaned fitfully round the
house; every now and then, as though in uncontrollable wrath, it broke
forth into a whistling howl. At intervals bursts of rain were borne by
the tempest against the windows, adding a hurried patter to the tapping
of the long beech branches, which grew near enough to enable the wind to
drive them against the window-panes, while the greater branches strained
and creaked in the blast. Rain-laden clouds swept across the sky,
hastening the darkness of approaching night. It seemed strange that on so
desolate a gloaming the inmates of the Neuhaus had not drawn the curtains
to shut out the sadness of the storm-ravaged garden. The windows remained
like despairing, unblinking eyes gazing at the desolate scene without.
The room wherein was assembled the small company was unlit, save from the
glow from the embers in the stove. The upper grating had been opened, and
in the furnace a handful of half-dry wood sputtered and crackled, rising
sometimes to a momentary flame, in whose glow four persons threw
strangely contorted shadows on the ceiling. But for this, and a faint,
uncertain light which crept through the windows, the room was entirely
dark. When the wood flared, a lady seated to the left of the stove cast a
caricature-like shadow slantwise on the ceiling, her head seeming
gigantic in its piled-up masses of elaborately dressed hair. In the
middle of the room was a huddled figure bending over the centre table. It
seemed to be a mere heap of dark garments. The firelight caught and
illumined a white ruffle and large pale hand belonging to this figure,
but as it was flung out across the sombre covering of the table, the arm
was invisible, and only the hand in the ruffled sleeve could be seen, and
it seemed like some hideous dismembered thing. Outlined against the
fading light stood a tall figure with an enormous ringleted wig falling
far over the shoulders. When this being moved, his shadow, thrown upon
the ceiling by the embers' glow, appeared to join in the wavering,
dance-like movements of the other shadows, and seemed like some ungainly
monster. One portion of the room was not reached either by light of fire
or fading day, and out of this utter darkness came the sound of repressed
sobbing, which alone revealed the presence of a fourth member of this
lugubrious party. For many minutes the silence was unbroken save for the
stealthy sobbing, the sough of the wind without, the pattering rain, and
the tap-tap of the twigs on the windows, sounding for all the world like
the fumbling of invisible fingers seeking for admittance. The man at the
centre table broke silence at length.
'Impossible!' he said in a harsh voice. 'Madame la Baronne cannot imagine
we can live in Stuttgart at the court,' this last pompously, in spite of
the real distress of the voice. 'How can we? on five hundred gulden a
year and debts to pay--alas! No! I must return to the army, only coming
on leave once a year to fulfil my court appointment; and, Marie, you must
live in Rottenburg with your mother while I am away.'
At this a figure moved out of the darkness behind the stove, and another
fantastic shadow was cast upon the ceiling.
'Never, Friedrich! It is cruel to ask it. You know well enough that, if
you did not gamble, we could live quite finely on what we have got. Your
duties as Kammerjunker need not keep you for ever in Stuttgart; we might
live in Rottenburg.' She clasped her hands, her voice trembled between
tears and anger.
'Rottenburg----' The man's voice was full of scorn, vibrating with
derision. 'Ah! yes!--Mass each morning, and----'
'Friedrich, I will never let you return to the army; rather would I
humble myself before that wicked woman, Madame de Geyling, and beg her
to influence Serenissimus to give you a higher and better paid
appointment. I tell you----'
'Madame,' broke in a deep voice, and the figure at the window moved
forward, 'there are other ways of gaining gold at court; a beautiful
woman need never be poor, I can vouch----'
'Monsieur de Stafforth!' almost shouted the first speaker, 'you address
my wife! I am poor, but the honour of a wife of a Grävenitz shall not be
smirched.'
'Your pardon, Kammerjunker, but we were discussing necessities, not
ideals, and surely I proposed a great honour. Serenissimus is charming;
besides, there are others----'
The hostess, whose shadow we have seen on the ceiling, rose and joined
the three disputants.
'My friends, only fools end their conclaves with quarrels. We have been
discussing ways and means for the continuance of our friends Monsieur and
Madame de Grävenitz's court life, and finding no practical scheme, here
is Grävenitz crying out that he will return to the army. Marie Grävenitz,
after sobbing her heart out, flies into a rage and declares she will go
whining to that upstart Geyling! And you, Monsieur de Stafforth,
Hofmarshall and successful courtier, propose terms to a young husband in
so unpolished a fashion, that even a peasant would be obliged to retort
with the old affectation of a wife's honour and purity. Now hear me; I
know the court better than you do----' The darkness hid the meaning
smiles which played over the lips of the others, for Frau von Ruth
(Madame de Ruth as she was named at court, German being considered as a
language only fitting for peasants' use) was well known to have a
knowledge of court life not compatible with strictly decorous behaviour.
'Well! and I say to you, where there is a court there is always a way.
And if you will so far honour me as to drink a bowl of punch to lighten
our wits, we may find some solution of our friends' difficulties. First
let me call for lights, and let me shut out this dreary evening. Courage,
my friends! I warrant we shall smile some day at our present desperate
straits, and meanwhile "to wait" is the verb we must conjugate.'
Madame de Ruth went to the door and called for light. A sullen-faced
peasant boy appeared, carrying two silver candlesticks of a handsome old
German design. He placed them on the middle table, and the feeble yellow
flame of the waxen tapers shed a flicker into the long, gloomy room. Then
he stood idly staring, with the heavy dull-wittedness of the Swabian
peasant. Madame de Ruth eyed him for a moment, with that half-humorous,
half-pitying glance which she was wont to bestow on those she found
stupid. She was an odd-tempered, free-mannered woman, deeply crafty,
absolutely unmoral, and yet with a true kindliness of heart and a
thorough understanding of human nature which, together with her ready
laugh, her clever, indecorous anecdotes and sharp wit, made her
attractive. For these traits people forgave her her ugly face and fifty
years of a past even less reputable than was usual in the eighteenth
century.
In her early youth, it was whispered, the Duke Wilhelm Ludwig, father of
the reigning Duke of Wirtemberg, had initiated her into the ways of the
world in general and of courts in particular; in gratitude wherefore she
was reputed to have performed the same office, twenty years later, for
his son Eberhard Ludwig. The Duke of Zollern, several Hohenlohes, and
many Gemmingens had been her slaves; not to mention other less
illustrious cavaliers to whom she had been rather more than kind. She was
now a useful friend to princes, and new arrivals at court found her
friendship indispensable, especially if the new arrival happened to be a
lady with aspirations to royal favour and a career. Up to date these
careers had been brilliant but short, and Madame de Ruth had generally
played an important part in each.
'Ah! Dieu! ces paysans, quelles brutes!' she said, as she looked at her
servant; and then speaking in the rough Wirtemberg dialect she continued:
'Heinrich, thy mother gave thee hands; God knows thy father did not
forget thy big feet. Use both and bring the punch, as I told thee; or I
will give thee hay for thy evening meal, as were fitting for an ass's
feed!' This somewhat drastic speech seemed to please the lad and to stir
up his slow wits, but the company looked surprised at the familiarity of
the 'thou,' it being the general custom in those days for superiors to
address their inferiors in the third person singular. Directly to address
a serving-man or maid was deemed incorrect, for it would have betokened
an unfitting equality. However, Madame de Ruth's peasant lad responded
with alacrity to his lady's homely speech, and in an astonishingly short
time he reappeared with an enormous bowl of the steaming hot spirits--the
punch, which Marlborough's army had brought into fashion on the
Continent, and which the damp of South Germany in the autumn made a
welcome beverage.
'Come, my friends, and drink to the sharpening of our wits, which are
strangely dull this evening. I must announce to you that I await the
visit to-night of the Duke of Zollern, but this cruel weather has proved,
I fear, too much even for his youthful sixty years.'
'Madame,' said Monsieur de Stafforth, 'if the Duke of Zollern does not
brave the elements, in order to visit you, he must indeed be feeling his
sixty years.'
'Stafforth, do not natter me in that tone. I adore flattery, but a stupid
compliment is worse than an insult. You know the Duke of Zollern and
myself have long ceased incommoding ourselves for each other's sakes,
with the consequence that we are really friends. He sees me when he
wishes, and I see him when I feel inclined. After twenty years _nous
avons fini nos simagrées_; but after all, listen, I think I hear wheels.'
Her ugly old face flushed through the overlying paint and powder. In
spite of her protest, Madame de Ruth had a remnant of her youth--a poor,
faded flower of sentiment for this old man. A huge lumbering coach drew
up at the door, and therefrom descended a small and shrunken figure, with
a wrinkled, dried-up face. A voluminous peruke fell over the padded
shoulders, rich lace ruffles adorned the sleeves of the brown satin
longcoat, a waistcoat of heavily embroidered brocade reached far down,
nearly to the shrunken knees, below which were a pair of calves thin as
pipe-stems and adorned with brown silken hose; the shoes were of brown
leather with high, red heels and enormous ribbon rosettes and diamond
buckles. One withered hand held a cane with a china top, on which, could
you have examined it, you would have found mythological subjects depicted
with much delicacy of workmanship, but less delicacy of sentiment. A beau
indeed, elegant, lavish, and with that air for the which Monsieur de
Stafforth, adventurer and burgher by birth, would have given many a year
of his successful climbing career to have possessed even a shade,--the
indescribable and inimitable air of the Grand Seigneur.
Madame de Ruth met this gentleman at the door of her abode, her peasant
servant standing behind her, holding a flaring torch to light the entry
of his Grace. She curtseyed deeply, and Monsieur de Zollern, having
successfully hobbled from his coach, returned her salute with so
tremendous a bow, that the long feather of his three-cornered hat swept
the floor.
'I had almost given up the expectation of your visit, Monseigneur,' said
the lady, 'but now you are here, the pleasure is all the greater'; and as
he bowed once more over her hand, she whispered: 'Pleasure you always
gave me, dear friend.'
'Madame chère amie, those times are past, alas! Enfin! we can still laugh
together.'
They passed on through the gloomy corridor, and Madame de Ruth herself
threw open the door of the salon, crying as she did so: 'The Duke of
Zollern and Punch together must make even a dark day bright!'
'Madame, in these days the last title might describe me perfectly,' he
said. Then as he saw the inquiring look on the faces around him, he
added: 'Autrefois j'étais polichon, aujourd'hui, hélas! ne suis-je qu'un
vieux Polichinelle--"Punch" they call it in England.'
'Monseigneur, Punch must be a pretty wit indeed if he be like your
Grace,' said Stafforth, with his usual desire to ingratiate himself with
the great of the earth; but Monsieur de Zollern did not deign to answer.
Like Madame de Ruth he preferred less directly expressed adulation. 'The
fine flavour of flattery is delicious,' he was wont to aver, 'but like
all else in life, to practise it requires an expert or a genius. Open
compliments on any subject are like sausages, to be appreciated by
peasants and our greasy friends the burghers, but for us--we cannot
digest them!' So he looked away from Stafforth, giving his attention to
the Grävenitz couple. 'Madame de Grävenitz,' he said, 'I observed you at
Mass in the Cathedral of Rottenburg a few days since. God forgives the
inattention at Mass of an old man when he sleeps; of a young man when he
loves; and the wandering attention of an _old_ man blessed with a _young_
heart the Almighty will surely pardon, for He Himself must admire beauty,
since He made it.' Madame de Grävenitz looked perturbed. She was a good
and conscientious Catholic, and this light way of speaking of things
sacred seemed alarmingly daring to her; also, being rather stupid, it
bewildered her, and she had no answer for the old courtier.
'Ah, Monsieur de Grävenitz,' continued Zollern, 'what news from
Mecklemburg? Does not your heart smite you when you think of the country
which gave you birth?'
'Monseigneur, it was the only gift Mecklemburg ever gave me, and indeed,
to-night I am hardly grateful for the gift. What is the use of life when
it is so fierce a struggle not to die of hunger?' he said, and drained
his glass of punch. 'I have such simple tastes.--Madame de Ruth, may I
drink another glass of your excellent punch?--I have such simple tastes,
and even these I cannot satisfy!'
The Duke of Zollern watched him, and his fine smile was more of a
commentary than many a spoken word. Grävenitz observing it broke into a
laugh, which was echoed by the company.
'Monseigneur,' said Madame de Ruth, 'we have been sitting here in the
dark for two hours discussing Grävenitz's future. I mean, of course, his
fortune; we always say future when we mean fortune! He vows that if more
gulden cannot be lured into his pocket, he must retire from court. We can
find no way out of our friend's dilemma. Can you suggest some course?'
'Madame, to serve a friend of yours I am always ready! Surely
Serenissimus will not willingly lose a courtier he has delighted in; but
at this moment, I believe, Monsieur de Stafforth will bear me out when I
say all the court charges are engaged; and Monsieur de Grävenitz, not
being of the sex, cannot hold the most important charge of any court, for
Madame de Geyling usurps that! So what can I suggest?'
Madame de Ruth was thoughtful for a moment; then, throwing up her hands,
she exclaimed: 'And you call me a woman with wits? For two long hours
have we deliberated and found nothing, and it needed the punch-bowl to
give me an idea! We want three things, nay, four: to help Grävenitz with
funds; to dethrone that Geyling, whose airs and graces have become
intolerable; Monsieur de Stafforth seeks a friend in the Duke's intimate,
most intimate, council; and our Mother Church desires a friend there
too.' She ticked off each succeeding clause on her much-beringed fingers.
'Monsieur de Grävenitz, you once told me you had a pretty sister wasting
her charms at Güstrow. Let us put her in the Geyling's place! A few years
of that envied position and we achieve our first two objects! Stafforth,
my friend, you are the man to find means of gaining your aims thereby as
well.' The adventurer smiled fatuously. 'And the Church--ah, we forget
the Church!' At these words the mocking smile faded from Zollern's face;
his expression was that of a man whose interest was stirred, as indeed it
was; for though to Monseigneur de Zollern there was nothing sacred, and
he subjected all things to his biting wit, he gave conscientious
allegiance to the Church of Rome, which he regarded as the only faith
fitted for a gentleman. He belonged to the political party desirous of
governing Wirtemberg in conjunction with the Jesuits. No matter that the
people were strict and bigoted Protestants, or that the adoption of Roman
Catholicism would mean the revolt of half the population; he considered
the religious beliefs of burghers to be but pawns in that vast political
game which was being played at that time in Europe, and in Germany in
particular, under the name of religion. Wirtemberg was governed by a
Protestant ruler, the people regarded the Roman Faith as the religion of
Antichrist, but the nobles were nearly all Catholics; and as long as
Wirtemberg remained Protestant, they, naturally, played but small rôles
in the government. The peasants of Wirtemberg had more freedom than any
other people of the Empire. A heavy, stubborn race, these Wirtembergers,
hating their French-speaking rulers and jealously safeguarding those
ancient rights and liberties accorded to them by the testament of
Eberhard der Greiner in 1514. This Magna Charta of Swabia granted the
people a degree of freedom which was exceedingly irksome to the Dukes of
Wirtemberg. The nobles of the land who regarded themselves as too mighty
to attend the petty court of Stuttgart, for the most part sulked in their
castles, or repaired to the imperial court in Vienna. The Dukes of
Wirtemberg had perforce accepted this with as good grace as possible, but
when Eberhard Ludwig attained his majority he welcomed foreigners from
every part of Germany, forming from this band of usually noble, but
invariably penniless, adventurers a court of a certain magnificence and
brilliance. 'Here it is possible to enrich oneself; whereas in all other
courts it is impossible not to be ruined,' Monsieur de Pöllnitz tells us
of the Wirtemberg of Eberhard Ludwig's day.
It was in this wise that Stafforth, a man of little birth from Hanover,
had succeeded in becoming an important person, and even pushed and
intrigued himself into the high position of Oberhofmarshall.
Herr Friedrich Wilhelm von Grävenitz, another courtier and newcomer, was
a gentleman of Mecklemburg. He had served in one of the Mecklemburg
regiments attached to Marlborough's troops when that great general, with
the Imperial Army, defended the banks of the Rhine from the invasion of
Louis XIV.
Duke Eberhard Ludwig espoused the cause of his suzerain, the Austrian
Emperor, and at the head of such troops as he could muster out of
Wirtemberg joined the Allied Army serving under the Duke of Marlborough.
On his return from the campaign he brought with him, on a visit to
Stuttgart, several gentlemen, his comrades in arms, among whom was
Grävenitz. This young soldier having little to gain by returning to
Mecklemburg, and finding Stuttgart a pleasant abode, remained at Eberhard
Ludwig's court; married a Fräulein von Stuben of Rottenburg on the
Neckar, hard by Tübingen; was created Kammerjunker to the Duke, and, as
we have just seen, felt himself in spite of this office but ill-rewarded
for having taken domicile in Wirtemberg.
'The Church, Madame,' said the Duke of Zollern, 'is in so sorry a plight
in this country, that she will certainly be ready to assist herself by
the means you mention. But, in this case, we are not sure if the "means"
be willing; for I fear Mademoiselle de Grävenitz, like her brother, is
of the Protestant sect? Is that not so, Grävenitz?'
'Monseigneur, my sister is not made of martyr stuff. I fancy that she
would be willing to further the aims of the Church, were it in her power
to do so, and if it were clearly to her advantage. We are talking
openly,' he added with a slight flush, for he was still young, only
four-and-twenty, and more used to the ruder if more honest code of the
camp, than to court manners and customs.
'Now let us consider our strategics,' said Madame de Ruth. 'Bonté divine!
How it refreshes one to have a scheme on hand! Stafforth, you say
nothing? Marie, you are shocked; how foolish in this workaday world! Why,
girl, each does what he can; and, believe me, it is not a lazy life I
propose for your sister-in-law. God does not forgive the lazy--it is one
of the deadly sins--especially at court. Allons! Let us consider:
Monsieur de Stafforth remind us of the dates of the coming court
festivities! A ball? No! A ball is useful during a well-started intrigue.
I have it! there will be theatricals in the Lusthaus on the 29th of
April. Three days? Perfect! And your sister sings? Grävenitz, how does
she sing?'
'Well, Madame, divinely well; but her voice is deep, very low--a dark
rich voice that mad old dreamer, the schoolmaster at Güstrow, calls
it----' he began, but the garrulous lady interrupted eagerly:
'Heaven guard the boy for a simpleton! Do you not know the invincible
thrill of the new, the unaccustomed? We are all sick to death of the
Geyling's shrill pipe; your sister's voice would be invaluable, as a
contrast.'
'When Madame de Ruth talks it is like the ripple of the brooks,' said
Zollern laughing; 'your pardon, dear friend, that I interrupt! Your plan
is admirable, but first let us get the lady here, see her, hear her, and
then we shall know what to do. Meanwhile I must go homewards. Monsieur de
Berga, my old friend, who bores me with his virtue but holds me by his
well-tried affection, awaits me for supper, and I have a long road before
me ere I get to my house.'
So saying, the Duke of Zollern rose to depart. 'Berga!' laughed Madame de
Ruth, 'there is the very man we want for the end of our intrigue! When
his Highness has plucked the flower and enjoyed its sweetness, we will
give it to Berga to dry between the leaves of his Bible! He shall marry
Mademoiselle de Grävenitz in a few years' time; it will be a pious act
for him, and a small reward to us for having borne his lectures with such
good grace this twenty years.' Zollern smiled. He knew his austere old
friend too well, and he could not picture him in the ridiculous rôle of
husband of a cast-off courtesan. With a profound salute the old beau took
leave of the company, and followed his hostess into the ill-lit corridor.
'A fine plan, dear friend, a very fine plan! By the way, let us hope this
Grävenitz girl talks a little better French than does her sister-in-law.
I verily believe Madame Friedrich de Grävenitz prefers peasant German to
our own speech, and at court no word of that inelegant language could be
tolerated.'
Once more he bent over Madame de Ruth's hand, murmuring, 'Merci de mes
souvenirs, amie bien chère,' and then he climbed back into his heavy
coach and drove out into the stormy darkness. Madame de Ruth watched the
lights of the carriage disappearing, and with a sigh re-entered the
salon, where she found Grävenitz writing a letter to his sister, helped
by suggestions from Oberhofmarshall Stafforth.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Württemberg was formerly and more correctly spelt Wirtemberg. This
ancient spelling has been retained in the present work.