THE ATTACK IN THE GROTTO
THE court of Stuttgart soon saw to its cost that Wilhelmine had of a
truth 'come to stay this time,' as she herself had announced on the
evening of her return from the Judengasse. After a few days spent in her
old quarters in the castle, she removed to a hastily improvised abode on
the first floor of the Duke's Jägerhaus. Here had been the official
residence of his Highness's Grand Maître de la Meute, and this personage,
who was relegated to a small and inconvenient dwelling-place, naturally
resented his eviction. Public disapproval was excited by the summary
commandeering of a well-known official residence; and when, following
upon their keeper's ejection, the stag-hounds and hare-coursers were
removed from the Jägerhaus, the Stuttgarters murmured ominously. It had
long been a highly prized privilege of the townsfolk to repair, each
Sunday and Feast-day, to view the hounds--in fact, this custom had become
one of their social entertainments. The burghers and their families were
wont to meet together in the stretch of garden which bordered the open
rails of the enclosure, where the hounds took their afternoon airing on
idle, non-hunting days. The citizens loved to watch the dogs' antics, and
regarded it as their recognised Sunday afternoon amusement. In the
Graben, or disused town moat, turned road, stood the Jägerhaus--a long,
barn-like building, the entire ground-floor whereof was occupied by the
dog-kennels, which opened to the back on paddocks. On the first floor
were many spacious apartments, hitherto used for the administration of
the affairs of his Highness's hunt, and for lodging the Jägermasters of
distant posts in the forests, who came to Stuttgart on official business;
and here, too, was the residence of the Grand Master of the Hunt and
hounds. On the third floor, beneath the high sloping roof, were a few
garrets and several large lofts filled with the straw destined for the
dog-kennels. The mingled odours of hounds and straw displeased
Wilhelmine's acute sense of smell, and one of her first commands upon
entering her new abode was that hounds and straw should be removed
instantly. She declared that therefrom the whole house was infested with
fleas, and when the Duke, wishful to propitiate the angry lady, proposed
to send for the late occupant of the Jägerhaus to inquire if he had been
aware of his neighbours, the fleas, she remarked angrily that fleas were
dainty feeders and, like Jews, were not in the habit of selecting pigskin
for food. This remark was evidently heard by some unfriendly person, for
on the morrow it was the common talk of the town. A few days later the
hounds were seen progressing through Stuttgart on their way to temporary
kennels hastily arranged in the Rothwald. The populace followed this
cortège shouting, 'They are taking away our beautiful hounds, and leaving
an accursed bitch in the old kennels!' And that day when Serenissimus
drove out, accompanied as usual by Wilhelmine, he was met by an angry
murmuring crowd. Here was the beginning of that unpopularity of
Wilhelmine's which gave the lie to the devotion of her friends, and
notably her personal attendants and servants. This unpopularity which had
so terrible an effect on her character, hardening her heart, accentuating
the underlying cruelty, the indifference to aught save her own pleasure
and power. Feeling herself accounted evil, she became so. It was this,
taken together with her magnificent success and her extraordinary
prosperity, which caused her to become a cruel and self-seeking woman.
Monsieur Gabriel, in the far-off days at Güstrow, had feared this
development, had trembled before the world-hardness which would mar the
being he loved. How many have trembled at the same thought, and in
sadness and loneliness have realised that their dread has become a cruel
reality! We can face Death for those we love, mourning them in agony and
tears, but we can find no beauty in that bitter and hideous grief which
comes to us when those we loved, we trusted, we admired, change to
us--worst of all, change in themselves. This is the inexorable Death in
Life, and in this Death we cannot dream of a fair consoling Hereafter.
The thing we loved has not only perished--alas! we realise that it has
never existed! What we worshipped was the shadow of our own making, a
mirage conjured up by our heart's desire. To those who love most, love
best, this tragedy comes.
Wilhelmine, who arrived in Wirtemberg a strong, passionate creature,
generous, vital, was too responsive to remain unaltered by the
alchemising touch of the world. Had she been met with tenderness and
purity, and by noble men and women, she might have become a power for
good; as it was, she was received by intrigue, contending interests,
disapproval, distrust, the lust of love. As a good woman there was no
place for her at Wirtemberg's court, so all the evil, lying dormant in
every human heart, rose up in her, and she became a Queen of Wickedness.
Monsieur Gabriel would have mourned another lost illusion, had not Death
taken him from this world a few months after Wilhelmine's departure from
Güstrow. He bequeathed to her his well-worn books, _Les Pensées de
Pascal_, _Le Roman de la Rose_, the poems of the singers of La Pleïade,
and the few other volumes wherefrom he had instructed his beloved pupil.
He left, besides, a little sealed packet, in which she was surprised to
find several beautiful jewels, among them a white enamel cross, in the
centre whereof was the image of a dove with outspread wings.
Eberhard Ludwig told her these were the insignia of a high order in
France, and she was thereby confirmed in her notion that her beloved old
schoolmaster's great air and immense refinement were those of a grand
seigneur. She often pondered on why a Huguenot had been permitted to bear
the holy order of the St. Esprit upon his breast, but she remembered that
Monsieur Gabriel had spoken of the court festivities with that sure
accent which told that he had been of the caste which took part in those
scenes. She never learnt his secret; to her credit, she never sought to
unravel it. The Grävenitz was what the world calls wicked, but vulgarity
and vulgarity's attendant, curiosity, could not touch her, and she
respected the silence of her friends, though she ever spied upon her
enemies. The news of Monsieur Gabriel's death was brought to Wilhelmine
soon after her advent at the Jägerhaus, and for many days the favourite
refused to see any one save Eberhard Ludwig. She mourned her old friend
sincerely, and wept bitterly when she saw the worn volumes he had
bequeathed to her. The cross she fastened round her neck on a thin gold
chain, and this badge of a sacred order rested for many years on the
heart of the strange, evil woman. You can see the tiny line of this chain
in the few known portraits of Wilhelmine von Grävenitz. These pictures
are very rare, Time and Hatred have hidden them but too well. Indeed, it
is as though all the Swabian virtue had conspired together to obliterate
the memory, with the portraits, of the abhorred 'Grävenitzin.'
For the nonce, life was very peaceful for Wilhelmine in the Jägerhaus;
and the Duke, entirely enthralled by his mistress, humoured her every
whim. Madame de Ruth said mockingly to Zollern that a more exemplary
young married couple than 'Monsieur et Madame Eberhard Ludwig' she had
never seen. But the feeling against the favourite in Stuttgart grew each
day, and the fact that his Highness had caused much that was of beauty
and value in the castle to be removed to the Jägerhaus gave umbrage to
the courtiers. Even Zollern remonstrated, but in vain. Meanwhile the
Jägerhaus had become a splendid abode: rich yellow silken hangings hid
the bare whitewashed walls of the chamber Wilhelmine had selected for her
reception-room; the old wooden floors had been polished till they
appeared to be the finest parquet; gilt chairs deeply cushioned, and also
of that delicate yellow colour which the favourite loved, had been
brought from Paris; a spinet with a beautifully painted case stood near
the window; a quaint sixteenth-century stove which had been in the state
room at the castle had been chosen by her as harmonising well with the
yellow hangings, being made of light blue tiles. In an alcove, especially
constructed by grumbling, slow-handed Stuttgart workmen for the 'Duke's
Witch,' was the pick of the ducal library. The court ladies heard with
jealous rage, that the Grävenitzin had a dressing-room entirely panelled
with mirrors, that her bed was hung with light blue silk, that she had a
silver bath surrounded by mirror screens. How had the Mecklemburg
Fräulein learnt such things? they asked. How indeed, but in her inborn
genius for luxury! The favourite's servants were magnificently attired in
ducal liveries. The lady had her own carriage with painted panels and
yellow satin cushions. She gave rich entertainments, and the invitations
were coveted, of course, by the good people who were so horrified at
their hostess. The Duchess Johanna Elizabetha would not be present at a
court feast where the Grävenitz appeared? Very well! there _were_ no
court feasts! All the gaiety of the autumn of 1706 and the winter of 1707
took place at the Jägerhaus.
The Duchess-mother, from her dower-house of Stetten, descended
periodically upon Stuttgart, rated her son, condoled with Johanna
Elizabetha, and returned utterly unsuccessful to Stetten.
Forstner's warning voice was never silent. Osiander failed to return
Wilhelmine's salutation when she encountered him in the Lustgarten. It
was open war between virtue and the Grävenitz.
Stuttgart in the winter is a vastly different place to the smiling, gay
Stuttgart of spring and summer days, and Wilhelmine often wondered
whither had vanished the charm, the delight of Southern Germany. That
winter there fell but little snow, a cruel black frost was over the whole
valley; sometimes the frost relaxed his iron grip, and then came torrents
of rain. The frost returned when the rain ceased, and taking the wet
earth into his gaunt hands turned everything into dirty sheet ice. In
Wilhelmine's yellow room at the Jägerhaus the blue stove radiated a
pleasant warmth, and, if a feeble sunray struggled through the gloomy,
leaden sky, the yellow hangings caught it like a lover, and seemed to
treasure it, filling the whole room with a hint of spring sunshine. In
the castle the Duchess sat in her sombre apartments which she had made as
dull, as dreary, as charmless as herself. Eberhard Ludwig seldom visited
her, and she spent her time in cosseting the sickly Erbprinz, or
bemoaning her fate to Madame de Stafforth.
Slowly the winter left the land, but the spring that year was a meagre
starveling, niggardly of smiles. He seemed to have borrowed winter's
breath, and the pale young leaves shuddered in the unfriendly blasts. The
fruit blossom struggled into a nipped existence, and fell like thin snow
to the ground. An eerie spring, and men said there was a spell upon the
country, and looked towards the Jägerhaus as they spoke.
During the winter the French army under Maréchal Villars had again
threatened Wirtemberg. On a cheerless day towards the end of April
Eberhard Ludwig arrived as usual in the early morning to visit his
beloved at the Jägerhaus. For several days she had noticed a cloud upon
his brow, he had answered her absently, and she knew instinctively that
there was something on his mind, which he desired to tell her. Too wise
to question him, she watched him closely. When he entered the yellow-hung
salon that cheerless April morning, he greeted her almost coldly, and
began to play roughly with his huge black wolf-hound, Mélac. This animal
was the Duke's constant companion--an extraordinarily sagacious beast,
whom Wilhelmine declared to be a hater of dullness because he had ever
been surly towards Johanna Elizabetha. For the favourite the dog had a
marked affection; he would lie near her with his large head resting on
her foot, while his patient eyes looked up at her with that strange,
unblinking gaze which is characteristic of the wolf-hound.
There was something brutal in the way Eberhard Ludwig teased the dog that
morning; he hurt the poor brute, pulling his short, sensitive ears,
drawing Mélac roughly back then flinging him away. It was a cruel game,
more like a combat between man and hound; and Mélac, good, generous beast
though he was, began to get angry. The Duke's hand had been scratched by
the dog's sharp teeth, and the wolf-hound tasting blood, grew ferocious.
With a growl Mélac suddenly reared up on his hind legs and placed his
front paws on the Duke's breast, his teeth bared in an ugly snarl.
Eberhard Ludwig laughed, but the dog's fangs were dangerously near his
Highness's throat; and indeed it was no laughing matter, for a
wolf-hound, once his teeth are fastened in a man's throat, does not leave
his prey alive. It was a grim comedy. Wilhelmine rose from her chair near
the window and came forward.
'Leave him to me!' shouted the Duke, at length aware of his danger. He
gripped Mélac by the ears and held the beast from him; but the hound was
thoroughly aroused, and Eberhard Ludwig felt that it was an unequal
contest in spite of his strength.
Wilhelmine advanced fearlessly, and laying her hand upon the dog's head,
she leaned round till she faced the snarling brute.
'What are you doing, Wilhelmine?' panted the Duke. 'For God's sake do not
put your face so close to his teeth!'
'I know what I am doing, mon Prince,' she said calmly.
As at Güstrow, when Müller had attacked her, she now narrowed her lids
and forced her will into her eyes. Gradually she felt her mastery working
on Mélac; his jaws dropped, no longer fiercely baring the teeth but as
though he had run a long distance, the whole mouth became weak, the red
tongue protruding. With a whine the dog fell, his front paws slipping
from the Duke's shoulders. Shuddering, the great animal crouched on the
floor, his eyes still resting on Wilhelmine with an expression of abject
terror.
'Lie quiet, Mélac! There--good dog!' She stroked his head, and the hound
fawned upon her, dragging himself round her feet, crawling, abased.
Eberhard Ludwig caught her hand, and his own trembled a little. 'What an
extraordinary thing! Did you put a spell upon Mélac? I have never seen
him thus cowed! Beloved, I believe I owe my life to you this morning,' he
said.
Wilhelmine passed her hand across her eyes. 'So may all your enemies be
defeated!' she said, laughing.
'Could you make me tremble like that with your wonderful eyes?' he asked.
He was fascinated, yet there was something terrible to him in this
woman's power.
'Mon Prince, you are my master always,' she returned; and the subtle
flattery of being the avowed ruler of so potent a being delighted him,
as it pleases all men, who are obviously slaves, to be called master by
the woman who controls them.
'Alas! but I am not the master of destiny,' he said sadly, 'and I come
this morning to prove it. Wilhelmine, beloved, I must return to the army.
We have information that Villars is to invade Wirtemberg once more, and I
must be with the forces.'
'Is our happiness over then?' she queried.
'Ah! no, no, beloved of my life! You will wait for me here, I shall
return in a few months.'
'Months! Months of Stuttgart without you? Ah! Eberhard, you cannot ask
it!' She pleaded long, but for once the Duke was obdurate: he must go, he
said; honour demanded it.
On the day fixed for Eberhard Ludwig's departure there was much stir in
Stuttgart, and the people crowded the streets to show honour to their
Duke, whose popularity was suddenly reawakened by his reassumption of the
rôle of military hero. Johanna Elizabetha was to accompany the Duke out
of the town; once again she was to be permitted to play her part as wife
and Duchess. Forstner had achieved this, with the help of Osiander, who
was to pronounce a blessing on the Duke and his body-guard on the
market-place ere they set forth. The Prelate declared he would refuse his
benediction were the Duchess not accorded her fitting place in the
ceremony. Wilhelmine was enraged. It is hard for a woman to see another
recognised as the beloved's wife, besides she regarded this as a slight
to herself. It was terrible to her, and she stormed and raged and
reproached the Duke, demanding what was to be her place in the ceremony.
Then, in tears, she caressed him.
Of course, the Duke blamed Johanna Elizabetha for this scene. When do we
ever blame the right person for the disagreeable happenings of our lives?
At length Serenissimus tore himself away from his mistress, carrying in
his heart her picture in her yellow, sunlit room, crying bitterly with
face hidden in her hands. He hated tears, but Wilhelmine's weeping was so
different from that of other women, he reflected, as he wended his way
through the gardens towards the castle to mount his charger and head the
procession to the market-place, and thence away to the French frontier.
He had taken leave of Johanna Elizabetha that morning, for though she was
to assist in the ceremony of departure, he had granted her request for a
previous farewell in private. The Duchess had met him with tear-swollen
lids, and had wept incessantly during the short interview. The poor soul
had shown her grief in a most unbecoming way; her mouth grimaced
ridiculously when she cried, 'like a squalling brat's,' his Highness had
reflected bitterly.
Ah! the difference when Wilhelmine wept--her head bowed down with
sadness, her face hidden. It was so graceful, so poetic; of course the
secret was, that when she wept she hid her face. A really clever woman of
the world would never show the grimace of sorrow: she may weep, but she
hides her face, well knowing that a weeping woman is a hideous sight; but
all this Eberhard Ludwig did not know.
Meanwhile Wilhelmine sat in her yellow salon listening to the sounds from
the market-place which floated to her across the gardens behind the
Jägerhaus. She heard the flare of trumpets which greeted the Duke, the
roar of the enthusiastic people acclaiming their warlike sovereign; then
followed silence, Osiander must be pronouncing his benediction, she
thought. Again a flourish of trumpets, men shouting, and then she heard
the grand hymn, 'Ein' Feste Burg ist unser Gott,' sung by thousands of
voices and brayed out by the brass instruments. The sound came nearer:
she could hear the tramp of feet, the clatter of horses, the cries of the
people. The musicians played a march: it seemed to Wilhelmine that it
became more triumphant, more blatant, as the cortège passed near the
Jägerhaus; yet the boisterous military music held a note of pathos,
something infinitely moving at this terrible farewell hour, and the
listening woman wept bitterly, and, God knows! she forgot to hide her
sorrow-distorted mouth at that moment.
* * * * *
The days dragged on. May came cold and unfriendly, as April had been, and
Wilhelmine thought that all the warmth of the world must have departed
when Eberhard Ludwig went to the frontier to do battle. The lilacs came
to a tardy bloom, and even on the cold ungenial air there floated a
divine fragrance. News came from the Duke--dull news, all detail of the
organising and improvement of troops. Passionate words intermingled in
these letters to Wilhelmine, old faded yellow curiosities now. Madame de
Ruth, Zollern, and Stafforth often visited the favourite at the
Jägerhaus, and Wilhelmine's innate desire to please--that impulse which
must ever belong to the 'charmeurs' and especially to the 'charmeuses' of
the world--taught her to forget her sadness when she was with her
friends, and thus some brighter hours were passed. She sang, and if her
singing were more truthfully passionate and more sad than of yore, it was
surely love which had taught her greater depth. Only Madame de Ruth, the
old courtesan, realised that not love but love's sadness had given that
tone to the glorious voice; and Madame de Ruth looked at Zollern, her
eyes full of tears, but Zollern leaned his chin on the mythologically
ornamented china handle of his stick and revelled in a thrill, a spark of
youth's desire, which the younger woman's voice had rekindled. Men are
promiscuous to the end of their lives. Why blame them? God made them so.
Towards the beginning of May, shortly after his Highness's departure,
Madame de Ruth arrived one morning at the Jägerhaus brimming over with
words and gossip. 'Imagine, ma chère,' she cried, as she rustled into
Wilhelmine's yellow salon, 'Osiander is in disgrace with the Duchess! I
heard it was coming, but did not believe it. As you know, her Highness
has given orders that, being in spiritual mourning in the absence of her
dear spouse at the war, she will see none save her personal attendants
and Madame de Stafforth. Well, well, it is quite contrary to every
etiquette; but, indeed, the court of Stuttgart has ceased to exist
nowadays, and her Highness can do as she likes.'
'Yes, yes; I know all that. Tell me what the news is!' broke in
Wilhelmine impatiently. The Duchess's entire seclusion was well known to
her, she heard it discussed by her friends daily.
'Let me tell you my story in my own way, or I shall not tell it at all!
Well, I live in the castle.'--'I know that too,' said Wilhelmine,
laughing.--'Certainly you do--I live in the castle, and really it is
ridiculous if I never see the Duchess, considering that I am her resident
Maîtresse du Palais; so at last I wrote to the Duchess saying I begged an
audience, as really being of no use to her Highness I wished for leave of
absence, but must crave a moment's conversation with her before I left.'
'Are you going to leave?' said Wilhelmine anxiously.
'Jamais de la vie, ma chère! but I wanted to see the Duchess, and this
was the only way. Well, she consented to see me, so I went to her
yesterday evening, found her with la Stafforth sewing shirts for the
poor--very estimable! She was far from amiable to me; asked me if I meant
to cease being Maîtresse du Palais, and become Dame de Déshonneur to
Fräulein von Grävenitz. Upon my word, I had not credited her with wit
enough for so cutting a saying; then I told her I should be obliged to
resign, and had written to Serenissimus saying her Highness's refusals to
see me made my position ridiculous. She replied that I could do as I
wished, and just as I was preparing to take leave of her Highness,
Osiander was announced. It amused me to hear, so I drew back into the
shadow--you know the Duchess's rooms have always much shadow. Well,
Osiander declared he had given his best attention to her Highness's
demand, but regretted to be unable to accede to her request. The Duchess
seemed much annoyed, and said that in this case she would invite the
Pietist to preach to her in the castle itself. Osiander told her that
this, of course, was as her Highness willed, but that Pietists being
members of a sect not recognised by the State, he could not permit a
sermon to be preached in the Duke's chapel or in the Stiftskirche by a
travelling Pietist preacher. The Duchess bowed to him in dismissal, and
remarked that this Müller was a saint she had heard, and inspired by
God----'
'Müller?' cried Wilhelmine--'Müller? a preacher? Where does he come
from?'
'My dear, that is just the strange thing. Of course, directly Osiander
departed, I made my courtesy to her Highness--she didn't try to keep me,
you may be sure!--and I hurried after the Prelate. I found him on the
stairs in great distress, poor man, for it appears her Highness has tried
to have some of these Pietists to preach in church before. She is filled
with curiosity, which she calls sympathy with the simple, stern religion;
and this Müller, who goes about preaching, is now at Tübingen. La
Stafforth heard about him from some servant, and has filled her
Highness's head with foolish notions, amongst others, that he is sent by
God to console her!
'It appears, my dear, and this is the disagreeable part, that he preaches
directly against you--naming you by name, and saying you are a walking
contamination; that you are a witch, and that in Mecklemburg it was well
known! He can vouch for it, as he was pastor at Güstrow before God called
him--which means before he became a wandering Pietist preacher. All this
Osiander told me, and, to do him justice, he was horrified at the whole
thing and very angry with her Highness. I suppose Müller is a madman, a
fanatic; but, Wilhelmine, I think we had best journey to the Neuhaus
together and stay there till the Duke's return, for I do not trust the
people here. There is a strong feeling against you, and if they are to be
stirred up by this preaching rascal, it might really be disagreeable.'
She paused breathless.
'He is a terrible man, a devil, and I am convinced he has followed me to
Wirtemberg for revenge,' said Wilhelmine; and then she told Madame de
Ruth of Müller's behaviour at Güstrow, and of how she had interrupted his
sermon. Madame de Ruth laughed, though she was anxious and distressed
that this dangerous enemy was working against Wilhelmine in the Duke's
absence, especially when she heard that Müller was a powerful preacher
gifted with the fanatic's vivid eloquence.
'One thing perplexes me,' said the Grävenitz, 'why does Osiander oppose
this man? Surely to harm me any means would be welcome!'
'Yes, doubtless!' replied Madame de Ruth, 'but of the two evils in the
land he considers you the lesser; for you, my dear, are frankly of the
devil, and the Church can abhor you, but Pietism is a wolf in sheep's
clothing which might eat up the Church! All these Churchmen fear that the
Pietists should get hold of the people--above all, in this case, of the
Duchess and her tiresome court. It is simply, as usual, one faction
against the other. Though, of course, Osiander as a gentleman and a
scholar is naturally opposed to ranting preachers and religion
vulgarised.'
It was settled that Madame de Ruth and Wilhelmine were to start for the
Neuhaus as soon as fitting arrangements could be made, and the Grävenitz
looked forward with pleasure to the quiet summer hours she would spend
reading beneath the beech-trees of the Neuhaus garden. But Fate was too
strong for her; the very morning fixed for their departure Madame de Ruth
slipped upon the castle staircase and broke her ankle.
Wilhelmine was informed of the accident by Zollern, who was both
distressed for the sake of his old friend's pain, and much disturbed that
the projected departure could not take place, for he did not consider
Wilhelmine safe in Stuttgart. He knew that the feeling against her
increased each day, owing chiefly to the gossip concerning her witch
practices. It was her habit to read late at night, and the people
believed she was occupied in brewing magic philters and composing
incantations. They vowed they had seen two shadows on her window-blinds,
which of a truth they may have seen, for often old Frau Hazzim came to
visit her secretly at night. The Jewess was entirely under the spell of
Wilhelmine's attraction, and the Grävenitz was learning many things from
her nocturnal visitor, who had a vast knowledge of herbs and medicaments,
the traditional code of doctoring handed down in her family. Strict
Jewess though she was, she had many receipts for love potions, and she
knew much of various poisons. Thus the Stuttgarters were not mistaken
when they averred they had seen a second shadow on the blind, and
considering Frau Hazzim's grotesque features, it is hardly surprising
that the superstitious and fearful observers believed that this second
shadow was the witch's familiar spirit.
Wilhelmine's servants were questioned at the market, and they replied
that their mistress received no visitors in the dead of night, for
Wilhelmine was naturally careful that even her servants should not be
aware of Frau Hazzim's visits, which, considering the ill fame of the
Jews in those days, was absolutely necessary. She therefore was wont
herself to admit her visitor by a small door which opened on to the
garden at the back of the Jägerhaus. So the terrified, fascinated
watchers saw, with horror, this mysterious second shadow on the closed
blind, and it was said that by incantations the witch summoned this evil
being, for her own servants must know had any person from the mortal
world been in the house!
Of this story Zollern was not aware, but he knew enough to recognise the
dangerous reputation which his friend enjoyed. Wilhelmine herself was
perfectly conscious that there was an element of danger for her, and she
was disturbed that by Madame de Ruth's untoward accident she was obliged
to remain in Stuttgart. That she was a reputed witch she knew, but far
from being alarmed she was slightly flattered and amused at the notion,
and deeming herself secure in the Duke's powerful protection she had no
fear of any serious annoyance. Her only apprehension was that some
murderous attack might be made upon her when she drove out, so she
remained more than ever secluded and hidden in the Jägerhaus and the
walled-in Lustgarten, her one amusement being Frau Hazzim's nightly
visits.
Wilhelmine was half dupe of her own magical practices, and she was
arduous in her studies of old black-letter books on the subject of
spirit-raising, love potions, spells, and the rest of those meddlings
with the unknown forces which have fascinated mankind for countless ages
under various forms.
Towards the end of May the weather changed, and sultry heat reigned over
Wirtemberg. Stuttgart lies deep in a valley, sheltered by hills, and the
heat in the town is often terrible. The sudden change from the chill
spring to glowing summer was unbearable to Wilhelmine, immured in the
Jägerhaus, and she longed for the cool freshness of the Rothwald where
she had been accustomed to drive, but Zollern so strongly advised her not
to show herself in the town, that she consented to forego this pleasure
while Müller was in Stuttgart. He had preached before the Duchess, upon
whom his passionate eloquence, the Biblical turn of his phrases, and his
denunciations of all things joyful, had made a deep and pleasing
impression. She caused the Pietist to visit her daily and instruct her
in the stern belief. Müller told her Highness the story of his
conversion: how he had been a worldly, but he hoped a pure, pastor of the
State religion; how that an evil and lustful woman had sought to seduce
him, and he mentioned Güstrow as the place where his temptation had been
offered him. The stroke told: her Highness started visibly. He continued
by indicating that this abandoned woman was a witch, and finally let the
Duchess understand that, having triumphantly resisted the temptress's
sinful wiles, he had sought and found strength in the Pietist movement.
Even a slower intellect than that of Johanna Elizabetha could not have
failed to associate Wilhelmine von Grävenitz with the temptress of
Güstrow; and when in answer to her Highness's query, whether the evil
woman had been punished for her wickedness, Müller threw himself at the
Duchess's feet and told her openly that the contaminating female was the
Grävenitz, whom he had followed from Güstrow--he, the poor instrument of
God's righteous wrath, her Highness indeed felt that here was the
vengeance of the Almighty coming upon her enemy. Müller was sincere
enough in his abhorrence of the woman who had resisted and then insulted
him. The fanatical practices of the Pietists had inflamed his mind, and
he really believed God had chosen him to humble the wanton. Old Frau von
Grävenitz had talked freely of the favours and honours showered upon her
daughter at Stuttgart, and Müller's mad physical jealousy was aroused,
for he at once realised that Wilhelmine had become Eberhard Ludwig's
mistress. This, together with his fierce fanatical Pietism, had sufficed
to turn the man's brain. Thus mixed and contending motives, as is so
often the case, formed a fixed and single purpose, and Müller had
preached his way to Stuttgart, where he meant to accomplish his object of
vengeance upon Wilhelmine or die in the attempt. He knew that to gain an
extensive hearing from the crowd in Stuttgart he must earn a reputation
as preacher in the neighbourhood, so he began his campaign by lecturing
in the open air at many towns and villages of Wirtemberg. Pietism was
rife all over the country, and the preacher was received with enthusiasm,
and his fame, as we have seen, spread rapidly, even reaching at length
the Duchess. Müller had never dreamed of gaining so great a personage as
her Highness, and he was astounded when he received her command to preach
at the castle; but this gave him renewed confidence in himself, and it
seemed to his half-crazy mind to be a confirmation of his divine mission
of revenge on the sinful. At present he had formed no definite plan as to
how his vengeance was to be accomplished; he merely meant, if possible,
to inflame public opinion against Wilhelmine to such an extent as to
cause her to be driven from Wirtemberg. With unfailing energy Müller
preached sometimes four or five sermons daily, whenever and wherever he
managed to attract a crowd. At first he contented himself with
pronouncing violent diatribes against sin: the term conveyed to him only
one species of human weakness, and all his sermons were on the subject of
bodily lust. He had named Wilhelmine 'a sinner, an instigator of
wickedness,' at Tübingen, and he had quickly noted the approval on his
hearers' faces. Now in Stuttgart he went further, and actually accused
her of witchcraft as well. His zeal grew, each day increased by his own
words, till he preached openly a religious crusade against her. Osiander,
informed of these sayings, caused him to be warned that the Church could
not countenance a religious preacher who thus instigated the people to
revolutionary acts. The better sort of Pietists--sober burghers, for the
most part--deserted their idol, and his congregations were now chiefly
composed of the worst characters of the town. It certainly was
unfortunate that the Grävenitz had been unable to seek the shelter of
Neuhaus, yet Zollern and Stafforth reflected there could be little actual
danger if she remained at the Jägerhaus, only taking the air in the
walled-in Lustgarten; but they urged her not to venture out of this
shelter for a few weeks, after the expiration of which time they argued
the popular excitement would have died out, or if it had not, they would
make arrangements for her residence in some safe place across the
frontier of Switzerland. Neuhaus they considered to be too near to
Tübingen, where, they heard, there was much hostility against Wilhelmine.
Meanwhile each day the heat became more intense, and the Favourite grew
more impatient of being forbidden to drive out. One evening, as she sat
disconsolately in her salon, a faint, fresh breeze floated in through the
open window. It was fragrant and delightful after the long, stifling
hours, and it seemed to her like an invitation from the outer world, that
world of tree and flower for which she yearned. How she longed to drive
away out of the reeking, low-lying town, and wander in the cool Red Wood!
Still the Lustgarten was a resource, and its quaint sixteenth- and
seventeenth-century embellishments delighted her. She rose, and taking a
lace mantilla, arranged it round her head. She passed out of the small
door at the back of the Jägerhaus, and strolled slowly along in the
direction of the grotto. As she passed the gates leading from the garden
to the high-road, she called to the sentry, telling him that should
Monseigneur de Zollern seek her before she returned, he should be
informed that she had gone to the Duke Christopher's Grotto. At first the
soldier pretended not to hear, and the Grävenitz was obliged to approach
him and give her message.
She asked, angrily, if he was deaf, and was informed in the usual peasant
idiom that he 'could hear as well as another.'
'Well, give my message to any one who inquires for me,' she said
haughtily, and walked on.
The man frowned evilly at her, and she recollected that the maid Maria,
once when she had accompanied her mistress on a stroll in the Lustgarten,
and they had passed the same sentry, had told her that he was the lover
of Johanna Elizabetha's waiting-maid, the woman who had always been so
insolent to Wilhelmine at the castle. 'He would do me harm, that lout, if
he could,' Wilhelmine reflected as she walked on, and the man's frowning
face haunted her for a time, but soon the freshness of the evening breeze
and the garden's beauty drove all unquiet thoughts from her mind.
She wandered slowly through the trees of the pheasant garden, pausing a
moment to look at the gorgeous plumage of the birds in their gilded
cages. Then she came to the rosery shut off from the rest of the garden
by tall beech-trees, where splashed the fountain near the marble seat on
which the lovers had sat together after the theatricals, and where
Eberhard Ludwig had agonised when she was hidden in the Judengasse. She
passed the new Lusthaus, and looked up with a sigh at the balcony where
Serenissimus and she had stood together, and he had told her Forstner
called him a ridiculous poet fellow, because he loved the starlit woods
at night. She came to the famous fourteenth-century maze, where the
cypress-trees had grown so high and dense that it was really a place to
lose oneself in, did one not possess the clue to the intricate windings.
She walked outside the maze, breathing in the fragrance of the sun-kissed
cypress, and turned into the orangery, and here she lingered a while in
the alleys of formally cut trees. Then she walked on, and finally gained
the wilderness which surrounded the famous grotto; this was a long
construction of rocks and shells, very quaint, no doubt, in the days when
it was built, yet Time had further enchanted it, adding melancholy and
mystery to the half-ruined place. There was a deep, stagnant tank before
the grotto, covered with weeds and growing things. In the centre of this
tank, among lusty nymphs and playful dolphins, a huge Triton sat on his
rocky throne, and from his trident a few drops of water still oozed
slowly.
The elaborate waterworks and strange devices could not be quite unhinged,
Wilhelmine reflected idly. She recollected how Eberhard Ludwig had shown
her the grotto's marvellous springs and tricks; she recalled how, after
much heaving and turning at an iron lever, the whole grotto had suddenly
been converted into a place of living waters. She wondered if the works
were still more rusty now; how sad a waste that this curious old-world
pleasantry should be allowed to rust to destruction. Wilhelmine fell into
a dream: if she were Duchess, she would have the grotto repaired, not
Time's handiwork disturbed; the ferns, the lichen, the twining ivy should
remain; the wilderness should not be formalised; only the waterworks
should be renewed, and the old devices made perfect. There should be
water-fêtes by moonlight, with lamps shimmering through the playing
fountains, and music, faint and fitful, from unseen players. And she
would be mistress of all this.
She was resting on a moss-grown seat, and the gentle breeze played over
her brow. She almost slept for a moment. What was that? A discordant
note smote disagreeably on her hearing. Why must the canaille make so
hideous a noise when it amuses itself? she reflected; probably some
ridiculous popular jaunt, some people's gathering. Her lip curled
contemptuously. Were she Duchess she would teach the canaille what was
fitting for it!
Again the sound disturbed her; it seemed to be coming nearer--probably
along the Bergstrasse from Cannstatt. What could it be? She could hear
the hoarse roar of many voices; it was terrifying somehow. She sprang up.
God in Heaven! could it be a mob incited by Müller to stone her house?
But no, the sound was not in that direction; surely it came from beyond
the eastern wall of the Lustgarten. Impossible! But it sounded as though
the crowd made its way towards the grotto. The sound increased each
breathless moment; she could hear some of the rabble singing hymns. To
her horror she realised that they must have passed the Lustgarten walls,
that they were actually nearing her. Could she gain the shelter of the
Jägerhaus? She had a vision of a pursuit through the gardens. No! she
must hide--the mob must go past her, that was her only hope. Instinct
told her that she was the crowd's quarry. Hide? But where? Ah, the
grotto. She fled round the water-tank and gained the humid darkness of
the grotto. She rushed on, her feet slipping on the slimy stones of the
entrance-chamber. If she could only gain the higher gallery she might
hide in some dark corner. Ah! here were the steps. She clambered up; the
yelling crowd must be close behind now, for she could hear their words:
'Rat out the witch!' 'Death to the sinner!' 'Die Hexe! die verdammte
Hexe!'--then some coarse witticisms shouted in Swabian dialect, rude
laughter, whoops and curses, groans and whistles, all a mob's animal-like
ejaculations.
The Grävenitz shuddered. Would they pass her? They were beneath the
grotto now; she could hear their words distinctly: 'To the grotto! the
grotto! the witch is there! He told us she was going there!' Merciful
Heaven! they knew then--the sentry had told them! The Grävenitz felt that
all was lost now. They _must_ find her. She crouched down against the
wall. Listen! What was that? 'The grotto is haunted; the white lady walks
there,' some one said. They hesitated. She knew no one had entered the
grotto yet. 'Nothing worse than a little water haunts the place,
comrades,' she heard a voice say, then laughter. A little water? What had
Eberhard Ludwig said? 'One might stand a siege here if one turned the
waters on from inside; I don't believe anything but a sea-serpent could
enter!'--idle words spoken in jest. Was there a chance left? If she could
find the lever--but it would not turn--the hinges must be locked with
rust. She was seeking wildly along the wall now, her hands rasped and
bleeding with scraping against the rough surface. She remembered Eberhard
Ludwig had said, 'The trick of it is on the left side of this gallery.'
How the words came back to her!--the left side. Yes! But which was the
left side of the grotto? She had lost her bearings in the darkness. Ah,
could this be it? She grasped it with both hands; it gave slightly; she
wrenched at it, throwing all her weight against it. It resisted, and she
felt as though her spine must crack with the immense strain; the veins of
her temples seemed bursting, the tips of her fingers as though the blood
must gush out. Still the heavy, rusty iron bar only gave a little. She
could hear the noise outside, but it sounded faint to her, for her entire
bodily power was concentrated, and her ears only registered the surging
of her own blood. With a sudden wrench the bar flew round in her hands,
and she fell forward on her knees, flung with her own impetus. Would the
aged mechanism respond? Was there more rust on the inner wheels and
springs? Ah! she could hear a gurgling and a whirling of wheels. Yes!
there came the water; she heard the trickle, the splashing; then the
whole grotto seemed alive. She ran to a broken place in the outer wall of
the shell-and-stucco building; she crumbled off a shell which impeded her
vision. Now she could see the mob below, though the rushing of the water
deadened the voices, and she could not distinguish the words. She saw two
men come tumbling out of the grotto, drenched and dripping objects. She
saw them gesticulating wildly, and guessed that they were describing
their reception in the water-cave. Even through the noise of the water
she heard a roar of laughter go up from those who had not penetrated the
grotto. The crowd's humour seemed changed; the men were no longer fierce,
they were amused, laughing. All crowds are curiously fickle, easily
aroused, easily appeased, and the Swabian especially loves to be
overreached by a joke. She saw that the mob's attention was diverted from
her, and she knew that the danger was passed for the moment.
Would Zollern have been to the Jägerhaus, have heard the shouting,
realised, and called out the guard to rescue her? Would the waterworks
fail and the rabble catch her, after all? Or would the people grow
bolder, face the water, and hunt her out of her hiding-place? She
listened intently, but even if a detachment of cavalry had been on the
way, she could have heard nothing save the noisy merriment below her and
the splashing water in the cave. Was that a sword-blade flashing in the
distance? Yes, thank God! she could see the outer rows of rioters looking
anxiously towards where she had seen the glint of steel through the
trees. The crowd suddenly dispersed for the most part, men ran hither and
thither aimlessly, but a knot of several hundreds remained together,
grown hostile again at the approach of hostility. Sitting stiffly on his
horse was Zollern, riding at the head of the cavalry beside the captain
of the Silver Guard. Monsieur de Zollern reined in his horse before the
mob, commanding silence with a wave of his hand. The crowd toned down,
though there were still a few angry murmurs.
'What do you in his Highness's Lustgarten?' said Zollern in a stern,
clear voice, strangely unlike his usual quiet and courtly tones. A
confused murmur ran through the crowd. 'Answer, or we shall ride you
down,' he said.
A few voices responded sullenly: 'We seek a witch,' and again an ominous
growl went up from the crowd.
'Learn that the Duke's Lustgarten is no place for you to seek a witch,'
thundered the old man. 'There are no witches here or in any of his
Highness's domains. And if you dare to molest a friend of the Duke's, you
shall be massacred without mercy! I give you time to remove yourselves
from this garden, while I count ten; one, two,' he counted. At the word
'ten' the guard charged upon the wavering mass of humanity, which fled
before the troopers' swords.
'Y êtes-vous vraiment, Mademoiselle?' he called, but the Grävenitz from
the gallery's higher level could see that the mob was not yet entirely
driven from the garden, and she dared not reply.
Zollern guessed that were she in truth hidden in the grotto, she would
prefer to postpone her exit until she could appear without being seen by
the soldiers, who were returning from chasing the intruders. When the
captain of the guard rode up to Zollern he requested him to withdraw his
men, adding that it was unprecedented insolence for the rabble to have
dared to break into his Highness's Lustgarten. It struck the old courtier
that the captain's answer was but half-hearted. Was even the guard
infected with hostility against the Grävenitz?
'The insolence to dare seek a witch here!' said Zollern, scrutinising the
captain's face closely.
'Witchcraft should be punished wherever it hides, Monseigneur,' returned
the captain gravely.
'Yes, indeed, if it _exists_, M. le Capitaine,' replied Zollern; 'but I
beg you draw off your men; I will remain here and rest.'
At this moment Zollern realised that the Grävenitz must be conveyed out
of the country immediately; the guard itself was not trustworthy where
she was concerned. He watched the soldiers till they passed out of sight,
and then he reapproached the grotto.
'Answer me now if you are indeed there, Mademoiselle; I am alone,' he
called, and he heard Wilhelmine's voice from within, but owing to the
rushing waters her words were indistinguishable.
Meanwhile Wilhelmine was struggling to draw back the lever, for she could
not leave the grotto before the water subsided. It was no easy matter to
turn the heavy bar, though the resistance was not so great as when she
had turned on the defending streams, still it lasted several minutes ere
she accomplished her task and heard the splashing and gurgling of the
water subside. Thus Zollern concluded he had been mistaken when he had
fancied he heard her voice within, and when Wilhelmine reached the
doorway of the grotto he was preparing to depart.
She called him softly: 'Oh, my friend, help me home,' and there was a
tone of appeal in her voice. Zollern came to her quickly, and raising her
torn and bleeding hands to his lips, kissed them tenderly. 'Guard me,
protect me, Monseigneur. I am very lonely,' she said.
'Until death takes me I will be your friend,' he replied, and Madame de
Ruth would have suffered a jealous pang had she heard.
With a feeling of unreality, as though she were just awakened from an
evil dream, Wilhelmine found herself once more in her pretty yellow-hung
saloon. Maria, the maid, kneeled beside her, bathing the wounds in her
palms made by the rough surface of the grotto walls. Slime from the
moss-grown stones was on Wilhelmine's dress, and deep red marks of rust
from the waterworks' lever had stained the breast of her gown where she
had pressed on the bar.
Zollern stood before her. He was urging her immediate departure from
Stuttgart; the place was unsafe for her in the Duke's absence, he
averred. The Grävenitz responded wearily. She was willing to
depart--indeed it was impossible for her to remain--but whither? Güstrow?
Zollern reflected. He owned a small castle at Schaffhausen in
Switzerland, and he begged her to accept it as a refuge. 'And I pray
you,' he added, 'keep it always if it pleases you; we never know when a
humble refuge may not be welcome.' And so it was decided that Wilhelmine
was to depart immediately, accompanied to the frontier by a hundred
guards commanded by a certain Captain Schrader, whom Zollern knew he
could trust, because this officer was anxious to make his way at court by
pleasing the Duke.
The dawn was breaking through the deep blue of the night sky when
Wilhelmine started on her journey to Schaffhausen. The cavalcade rattled
down the Graben, Wilhelmine's heavy coach in the midst of the famous
Silver Guard. They passed out of the town-gate and gained the open
country, where the fields sent forth a fragrant breath, and the woods
were pungent, sweet, and fresh from the cool night. It reminded
Wilhelmine of that May morning a twelvemonth since, when she had entered
Wirtemberg, and yet, though Nature smiled then as on that day, how
different it had seemed to her. Then everything had been radiant with
Spring happiness, and her heart had responded gladly, though she was but
a solitary stranger venturing into an unknown country. Now she felt half
angry with the woods and fields for their peaceful joyousness, and her
soul gave forth no answering note of gladness, though she rode at ease in
a fine coach surrounded by a brilliant escort as though she were a queen.
Her thoughts were bitter, poisoned with disgust, for she realised that,
in spite of her great prosperity, she was in truth a fugitive before 'la
canaille,' and, as she journeyed, she took no pleasure in the gracious
loveliness around her. Her mind was busy with plans for revenge upon the
brutal mob and the hostile burghers who thus drove her forth, and she
vowed to herself that her enemies should repent their insolence, that the
canaille should weep tears of blood and tremble before her they had
insulted.