THE MOCK MARRIAGE
MARÉCHAL LE DUC DE VILLARS was no brilliant, victorious hero, judged by
the standard of a century which had seen such military geniuses as
Turenne, as the great Condé, as Marlborough and Eugene of Savoy. Villars
was essentially a wily tactician, and his exploits were useful, but he
lacked the dash, the verve which characterise the great commanders of
that epoch. It was his system to overrun an invaded country, skilfully
avoiding actual combat with the defending army, which pursued him
impotently along the ghastly trail of ravage. Thus Villars, with no loss
to his troops, spread famine through the land, for he plundered and
devastated wherever he passed. He conducted the brief invasion of
Wirtemberg in 1707 on these lines. Crossing the Rhine during the night of
May 21st, he plunged unopposed into the very heart of the Swabian land.
Eberhard Ludwig, who, along with the Elector of Hanover, commanded one
portion of the Imperial army, executed a turning movement mighty like a
retreat, but Villars had so overpowering a majority of men that an attack
upon their united strength would have been more than hazardous. Thus the
whole country lay at the Frenchmen's mercy, and they swarmed over town,
village, and farm, harrying, burning, pillaging, and always disappearing
ere the would-be defenders came up. Eberhard Ludwig followed hotly,
hoping to engage separate columns of the huge army, but it was too late,
and after a futile pursuit round the entire country, he had the chagrin
of seeing the French enter Stuttgart. Here Villars remained but a few
days. Wilhelmine said afterwards that 'l'ennui de Stuttgard' had proved a
greater defence than the entire Imperial army! Be this as it may, Villars
evacuated Stuttgart in an amazingly short time, and retired eastwards to
the ancient town of Schorndorf. Now the Duchess-mother emerged from her
dower-house at Stetten, and craved a meeting with the Duc de Villars,
who, as a gentleman, could not refuse the ancient dame's request.
There is a popular tradition that they met in a field between Schorndorf
and Stetten, neither being willing to accept the hospitality of the
other, and that here they discussed and settled the terms of the
evacuation of Wirtemberg and the sum of the indemnity, all of which was
afterwards solemnly ratified by the Geheimraths of Stuttgart, who,
willingly, permitted the Duchess-mother to bear nearly the entire cost of
the indemnity, a matter of some two hundred thousand gulden. Villars,
upon payment of this sum, half of which he is reported by German
historians to have retained for his own uses, now left Wirtemberg, and
marched towards the French frontier, leaving, however, six thousand men
under General Vivant in the country.
The Imperial army under command of the Elector of Hanover was at
Heilbronn in Wirtemberg, a mediæval Imperial free town. Eberhard Ludwig,
in command of the Wirtemberg contingent, was with the army. His Highness
had taken up his quarters in the ancient Abbey of Maulbronn, between
which and Heilbronn spread the encampment of the Imperial army. Eberhard
Ludwig had chosen Maulbronn for his quarters, thinking that the peace of
the Monastery, with its shadowy, highly vaulted cloisters, and its
old-world garden, might soothe the restlessness which had devoured his
being since his absence from Wilhelmine. In Maulbronn's garden stands the
haunted tower where legend says that Doctor Faustus, the frenzied
searcher for the elixir of eternal life, bartered his soul to Satan in
return for a span of youth and love. The Faust tower faces the great
cloister, and they say the Doctor, when sealing his pact with the devil,
was disturbed by the monks' chanting.
Eberhard Ludwig revelled in the garden and its fantastic legends, but his
yearning for Wilhelmine only grew the stronger. Why was she not with him
to dream in the cool silence of the cloister? How she would love the
garden with its luxuriance of old-world flowers--the fragrant roses
planted by some long-dead monk--the huge tree-peonies. The very breezes
seemed legend-laden. Wilhelmine! beloved! It was a futile thing indeed
for this poet-prince to endeavour to forget the woman he loved! In a
garden so wondrous beautiful, in this place of dreaming, he could but
dream the more. So, when the news came that Villars had retired, his
Highness decided he must follow Wilhelmine to Switzerland forthwith.
Forstner was summoned, and the Wirtemberg troops placed under his
command. Of course he protested he was not efficient, but, as usual,
Eberhard Ludwig the impetuous overruled him.
The news of his Highness's departure caused angry consternation in
Stuttgart. Johanna Elizabetha wept, but the Duchess-mother raged. She had
fancied that her son, deeply obliged to her for her generous action of
the war indemnity, would listen to her reasonable voice as a reward.
'Ridiculous!' _he_ argued. 'I never asked her to pay the indemnity; if
she chooses to do so, well and good, but it does not bind me to
obedience.'
There is a pathetic letter from the Duchess-mother to her son, a
dignified epistle with a very human postscriptum, wherein bubbles over a
mother's hatred for her son's seducer, the honest woman's furious disdain
of the triumphant charm of an adventuress.
'MON FILS,--Si j'ai délivré le pays du fléau françois j'attends
que vous délivriez la Cour du fléau de votre péché. Revenez à
Stuttgard et faites votre devoir de mari, de père, de fils et de
Prince Chrétien. Vous redonnerez la paix à votre mère,
'MAGDALÈNE SYBILLE, PRINCESSE DE HESSE DARMSTADT,
'DUCHESSE DOUAIRIÈRE DE WIRTEMBERG.
'Cette Grävenitz est une p----! J'aurois des preuves si je
voulois les donner; je vous prie de me croire qu'elle ne mérite
pas votre faveur!'
Possibly, had the Duchess-mother denied herself the satisfaction of
writing this postscriptum, Eberhard Ludwig might indeed have returned to
Stuttgart for a time, and who can tell how a man's fancy may vary in a
few months? But being a lover and a chivalrous gentleman, the
unfortunate paragraph roused him to a white heat of championship for his
mistress. What! she 'une p----?' Ah! how evil was the world! No man, and,
above all, no woman, could understand Wilhelmine. She was grossly
misjudged, cruelly persecuted. Thus, when he read this letter from his
mother (which reached him when he was starting for Switzerland), he only
shrugged his shoulders angrily, and crushing the missive into his saddle
holster, spurred his horse forward, and galloped southward to the
calumniated lady of his heart.
Wilhelmine had passed a solitary two months at Schaffhausen. Zollern's
castle stood on the left bank of the Rhine, overlooking the great
waterfall, whose delicious thunder had soothed her to calmer thoughts.
She passed the long hours in reading and making music, and the peaceful
days had added brilliancy to her splendid healthfulness. Thus, when
Eberhard Ludwig came to Schaffhausen, he found her an even more forceful,
vital, fresh-skinned woman than had been the beautiful girl he left at
Stuttgart.
She met him with passionate happiness, and for a few days their
intercourse was a prolonged rhapsody of the senses. At length, however,
their dream was broken by the unwelcome advent of a messenger with
despatches from Vienna to Field-Marshal of the Imperial Army, Commander
of the Swabian Army Corps, Monseigneur le Duc de Wirtemberg. His Highness
was furious, also anxious. Why had the fool Forstner not attended to
these despatches? They were important commands concerning the army, and
needed immediate attention, and now, having been all the way to
Heilbronn, here they were sent to Switzerland! His Highness fumed, cursed
Forstner; it was exceedingly awkward, orders from Vienna, and Eberhard
Ludwig in Switzerland. He had given full power to Forstner to transact
all business in his name.
'Of course, a plot,' said Wilhelmine, 'a plot to separate us again!'
His Highness was anxious, but she soothed him as usual, and he sent the
despatches back with orders to Forstner to attend to the business. Peace
again for a day or so, then Forstner arrived at Schaffhausen.
'Why in hell's name do you follow me, M. de Forstner?' was the Duke's
greeting.
'I come because it is my duty, Monseigneur!'
'Your duty? Let me remind you that your duty lies where I left you--with
the army. But now that you have come, kindly tell me your errand.' It was
harshly said, and Forstner was deeply wounded. Could this be the noble,
courteous prince he had served for many years, the friend of his
childhood, the gallant companion in arms? Poor Forstner, he had yet to
discover that the tiresome friend is always ill-treated eventually.
'My errand, Monseigneur, will be unwelcome to you, I know, for I have
come to urge you to return to the army immediately. The Elector of
Hanover is furious at your Highness's sudden departure. He says openly
that it is contrary to both military discipline and, I regret, mon
Prince, to honour. He says if all his generals permitted themselves to
run after their mistresses when it suited them, the army would be in a
parlous state.' Indeed the Elector of Hanover had expressed himself in
less measured words.
'I am a Prince commanding my own troops allied with the Imperial army,
and I am at liberty to go and come without permission from M.
l'Electeur,' said Eberhard Ludwig haughtily.
'I implore your Highness to listen to reason,' cried Forstner; 'you are
jeopardising your reputation as a soldier for the sake of a ----'
The epithet he used was forcible, and Eberhard Ludwig started forward
angrily.
'Yes, it is the task of a true friend to speak the truth without reserve'
(alas, Forstner!), 'and Mademoiselle de Grävenitz is an abandoned woman.'
As he uttered these words Wilhelmine entered the apartment.
'Mon Prince, is it thus you permit your friends to speak of me?' she said
in a low voice.
'A thousand times no!' cried his Highness. 'Forstner, you leave my
service for ever. Go!' He pointed dramatically to the door, but Forstner
had not concluded his peroration, and he had no intention of being
silenced this time; he was a diligent, persistent friend, poor soul.
'Mademoiselle de Grävenitz, I appeal to you; his Highness is playing a
ridiculous rôle in the sight of Europe! Give him up, send him back to
duty, to honour, to his great military career!'
'Monsieur, you come here to dictate to his Highness, it seems! Since when
is that your right?' She spoke sneeringly, and Eberhard Ludwig felt that
her taunt was directed in part at himself. She did not deem him capable
of resisting Forstner, perhaps? she considered him as a being whose
conduct could be dictated.
'I know my duty, sir,' he said; 'you have no need to teach it me.'
'Indeed, Monseigneur, you have forgotten it since yonder lady's advent!'
Forstner was getting beyond himself.
'I have not forgotten how to defend from insult the lady whom I love and
honour,' said Eberhard Ludwig coldly, 'and I request you, Forstner, to
withdraw immediately.'
'Mademoiselle de Grävenitz, you have ruined his Highness!' shouted
Forstner; 'he is untrue to all his vows: you are a ----'; but his words
are unrepeatable, even Wilhelmine shrank back. Eberhard Ludwig drew his
sword and forced his over-zealous friend through the door.
A moment afterwards his Highness returned and, flinging himself upon his
knees before the Grävenitz, poured forth a torrent of adoring words, but
the lady remained impervious to his pleading.
'I cannot suffer such treatment,' she answered; 'I can but beg your
Highness to depart from me for ever. I shall reside here, drag out a
solitary existence in this refuge which my friend Monseigneur de Zollern
has given me! Your Highness cannot defend me from insult, and I do not
choose to be flaunted as a wanton.'
'Alas, what can I do? I will give you all, but I have not the power to
legalise your position.'
'So I see, Monseigneur, and therefore I beg you to depart.'
'Wilhelmine, do you love me? Alas! alas!'
'I love you, mon Prince, but these taunts are unbearable. I have no one
to protect me--you cannot, for you yourself are the cause of all the
indignities heaped upon me.'
'Ah, would that I could make you Duchess, my wife, safe from insult!'
'You dare not, though other princes have had the courage thus to shield
those they loved.'
'I dare not? I? God! who shall tell me that I dare not?' he cried.
'You dare not,' she answered, and again as she swept from the room, over
her shoulder she flung scornfully: 'You dare not!'
* * * * *
In the panelled living-room of the Neuhaus, on the morning of the 29th
July 1707, Madame de Ruth and her peasant servant were busying themselves
with a large table and a heap of silken hangings. The lady was draping
the table with these, and her efforts had caused her highly piled-up
head-dress to become deranged; the elaborate structure leaned on one side
and scattered a shower of powder over Madame de Ruth's shoulders. The
servant interrupted his work of hammering nails into the draped silk on
the table; he stared at his mistress and grinned. 'Go on, stupid head,
and never mind an old woman's hairdress,' she said good-humouredly. 'I
shall be fine enough this afternoon, and so wilt thou, for I shall give
thee a new coat.' She rose from her knees and surveyed her handiwork.
Taking a large bowl filled with roses, she placed it upon the table, then
she went to a cupboard and began to hunt through its varied contents. She
sought a Bible, and indeed it was the first time in her life that she had
searched the Scriptures, as she reflected grimly. She had a dim
recollection of having seen a worn Bible consorting oddly with the other
books in that cupboard. After some time she found the Bible and placed it
upon the silk-draped table. She stood a moment absent-mindedly, gazing
from the window at the sunlight playing through the delicate tracery in
the beech branches without, her hands mechanically turning over the
leaves of the Bible. Suddenly her fingers touched something between the
pages, something that crumbled away beneath her touch, a withered flower,
the faded, brittle ghost of some vanished summer day. She drew away her
hand quickly as though the flower stung her. It had conjured up the
long-past loss and sorrow of a day when she had given birth to a child
and Death came hurrying to gather the little life. Madame de Ruth
remembered how eagerly she had read in the Book of Life during the sad
hours of her recovery, seeking wildly, miserably for consolation, and she
recalled how the kind old peasant woman, who nursed and mourned with her
for the baby's loss, had brought her a flower which bloomed near the
piteously small mound beneath which the little one slept for ever. And
Madame de Ruth had laid the blossom tenderly between the Bible's pages,
and now, after long years of forgetful gaiety and dissipation, the
yearning, unsatisfied motherhood welled up in her heart and she wept
again.
* * * * *
Once more we are in the panelled room at Neuhaus, and again is assembled
the company which on that portentous November evening of the preceding
year had discussed the plan of summoning Wilhelmine von Grävenitz, she
who was to be their tool in an ordinary court intrigue. Madame de Ruth,
the hostess; Monseigneur de Zollern; Friedrich Grävenitz, since a few
days become Count of the Empire; Marie Grävenitz, his bigoted Catholic
wife; Monsieur the Hofmarshal Stafforth.
'It is madness, rank lunacy!' Stafforth was saying vehemently. 'Illegal
and impossible, it will spell disgrace and misfortune to us all. The
Emperor will interfere, for this is going too far. We must hinder this
farcical ceremony; his Highness cannot marry two wives! It will be
Mömpelgard over again! Think how absurd, Grävenitz! Cannot you see that
this farce is bigamy?'
Count Grävenitz held his hands over his brow. 'I agree with you, Monsieur
de Stafforth. My sister goes too far. It is very hard on me; I advised
her to be satisfied with a settled annuity, and to live peacefully with
me, her brother, the head of her house. His Highness can always visit
her--a great honour indeed----' He broke off, seeing the sneer on
Monseigneur de Zollern's face.
'I wash my hands of the whole affair!' cried Grävenitz distractedly.
'Ce cher Pilate,' murmured Zollern. Madame de Ruth laughed.
'Grävenitz, your sister will be Duchess, never fear! Marie, she will
befriend the Holy Church in Wirtemberg.' Madame de Ruth addressed herself
to Marie Grävenitz, but it was Zollern whom she observed as she spoke.
'Stafforth, you will become a Count; and for myself, I shall see the last
of her Dull Highness from Baden. That is _my_ reward.' She laughed, but
no responsive gaiety came from the rest of the company. Indeed, the
intrigue had assumed proportions which alarmed Wilhelmine's allies. Her
brother had learned to fear her--he was jealous of her now. Stafforth,
having been foolish enough to incur her displeasure by tactless amorous
advances, feared that once her position became unassailable she would
cause him to be dismissed from court. Marie Grävenitz was horrified at
the idea of her sister-in-law's great success; she said it was sinful.
Poor soul, she was very jealous. Zollern, however, regarded the strange
marriage with favour. He foresaw the complications ahead, and intended to
steer for a happy landing of the Prince and his new bride on the eternal
shores of Roman Catholicism. The Pope would declare Eberhard Ludwig's
former alliance with Johanna Elizabetha to be null and void, and, in
return, the Duchy of Wirtemberg would be gathered back to the Holy
Church.
Madame de Ruth alone rejoiced honestly in the brilliant ending of the
'great intrigue,' and if there was another thought in her mind, it was
delight at the discomfiture of the dull Duchess; but chiefly the old
courtesan was happy that this honour befell her friend. She had conceived
a real affection for Wilhelmine.
Zollern tapped his cane on the parquet floor, rhythmically, persistently.
To Madame de Ruth the tapping sound seemed to beat on her brain, and she
put out her hand imploring silence. 'How gay, my friends!' she exclaimed;
'really, we owe our friend a little merriment on her wedding day!'
'I do not think I can permit my sister to go through this marriage
ceremony. It would show a nicer spirit towards me, the head of her
house, if she considered the difficulties she may land me in----'
'Bonté divine! Grävenitz, what foolishness!' said Madame de Ruth sharply.
'If you could manage to forget your own important existence for a
time----' She was interrupted by the entry of a personage of clerical
appearance. Madame de Ruth rose to greet the new arrival. 'Hochwürden,'
she said in German, 'you received my letter? and you are ready to do as I
require--ask no questions and marry a couple, you may know who, but on
that head silence until your testimony is necessary; and then you are
prepared to swear you have married them in all legal and religious form?
In return a hundred gulden, and I undertake also to have the Pfarrhaus
repaired. Is that well? yes?--well, let me present you: Monseigneur de
Zollern you have the honour to know already; M. le Comte de Grävenitz,
Madame la Comtesse, M. de Stafforth, may I present to you Herr Pfahler,
Pastor of the Lutheran Church at Aalendorf?'
The man bowed deeply to each in turn. Marie Grävenitz scarcely
acknowledged his salute for fear of endangering her Catholic soul by
intercourse with a Protestant pastor.
'Now, Herr Pastor, are those arrangements complete? See here, I have
draped you an altar. Oh! unnecessary, you say, for a Lutheran marriage? I
regret, enfin--so much prettier, hein? Well, you can stand before it to
marry our friends, it will not affect you! Then, here are two cushions
for them to kneel on; a Bible, pen, and paper for the legal documents.
Yes, is that all? Well, I may now call our friends,' and she rustled out
of the room.
A constrained silence fell on the four occupants of the apartment. The
Pastor who had followed after Madame de Ruth to don his black 'talar,'
the clerical gown of the Lutheran divine, returned and took up his
position before the altar table. He busied himself turning over the
leaves of the Bible, and the faded flower fluttered out and fell on to
one of the cushions prepared for the bride and bridegroom. The door
opened and Eberhard Ludwig, Duke of Wirtemberg, entered the room. He
bowed gravely to the assembled company, then moved forward and stood
facing Pfahler before the improvised altar. The guests had risen at his
Highness's entry. The silence was intense. Of a sudden a huge black form
bounded through the window. Marie Grävenitz screamed shrilly, and the
Herr Pastor started violently.
'It is only my dog, Madame,' said his Highness. 'He has found me after
all. I left him locked up in my sleeping-room. Here, Mélac, lie down!
quiet! good dog!' he called, and the wolf-hound obediently stretched
himself beside the Duke.
'I thought it was the devil,' Marie Grävenitz whimpered.
'The devil, Madame, come to attend these espousals,' remarked Stafforth
with a sneer.
'Silence, Monsieur,' said his Highness haughtily; and once more a
brooding stillness fell on the company, broken only by Mélac's heavy
breathing, and the flutter of the Bible's pages between the Pastor's
nervous fingers. Would the bride never come? this waiting was
intolerable. Eberhard Ludwig stood stern and silent, his hand resting on
his rapier's hilt. At length there came the swish of silken garments
rasping over the rough wooden boards of the corridor floor. Once more the
door was flung open, and Wilhelmine von Grävenitz stood on the threshold.
She looked like some lavish flower of a tropic clime, a gorgeous white
blossom, surrounded by rich golden outer petals. Her gown was of the
delicate yellow colour which she loved, and her bare breast was creamy
white, and showing the blue tracery of the veins through the fine skin.
From her shoulders fell a heavy white brocade cloak, trimmed with ermine
like the coronation robe of a queen. Her hair was powdered and piled high
on her head, the towering masses adding height to her great stature. She
looked a queen among women, a glorious figure of youth and majesty, and
it was little wonder that Eberhard Ludwig was enthralled.
'Dressed as a royal princess already!' spitefully whispered Stafforth to
Marie Grävenitz, who looked at her radiant sister-in-law with envy
written on her narrow face.
Eberhard Ludwig came forward, bowed profoundly before his bride, and led
her towards the altar. The Pastor stared in astonishment when he saw the
woman he had undertaken to marry to his Prince, for he recognised the
traveller he had met at Tübingen. The stranger's face had haunted his
dreams.
And now the brief ceremony commenced. The Pastor, evidently nervous,
mumbled his words indistinctly; and of a truth, no one of the assembled
company paid much heed to the sermon and prayers, for each was busy with
thoughts of personal ambition and intrigue, excepting Marie Grävenitz,
whose lips moved rapidly in prayer that she might be forgiven for taking
part in an heretical rite. Madame de Ruth watched Wilhelmine with adoring
eyes; perchance she dreamed this beautiful woman to be her child returned
to her. Poor mite, who slept forgotten in its tiny grave----!
'May the blessing of God rest upon you, and may God enable you to keep
sacred the vows you have made this day,' concluded the Pastor, and the
bride and bridegroom rose from their knees.
'I have the honour to present to you Madame la Comtesse d'Urach, which
title I hereby confer upon my beloved wife, pending the bestowal of the
first title of my Dukedom, which I shall hope to be able to offer to my
wife in a few months' time. Meanwhile, I beg you, my friends, of your
good feeling, to pay the same respects and courtesies to the Countess of
Urach as you, so kindly, pay to myself.'
Up jumped Madame de Ruth and kissed Wilhelmine on both cheeks, then sank
to the ground before her in a deep courtesy; but the other friends hung
back, save Zollern, who came forward and, bowing over the bride's hand,
remarked: 'To every beautiful woman should be rendered homage.' It was an
adroit compromise, half reminder, half graceful, tactful compliment, for
naturally a Prince of his house could not be expected to pay royal
honours to any Countess of Urach--or even Duchess of Wirtemberg, save
from courtesy or worldly wisdom. Stafforth, the adventurer, had an ugly
sneer on his countenance, and was evidently embarrassed, so took refuge
in the frequent attitude of the vulgar when ill at ease--a noisy
jocularity.
'Ha! ha!' he laughed boisterously, 'and now for the wedding feast! Bride
and bridegroom, come along--and we'll have a song to cheer us!'
Friedrich Grävenitz, full of fictitious emotion, was kissing his sister's
hand repeatedly, and making little speeches to her, the beauty of which
moved him almost to tears; though when he saw no one was admiring him, he
retired in aggrieved silence, thinking 'What a bad spirit these people
show towards me!'
Marie Grävenitz stiffly congratulated her sister-in-law, and pressed a
meagre cheekbone against Wilhelmine's glowing face; she called this a
kiss. Pfahler bowed before the bride: 'I have had the honour to meet your
Highness,'--Wilhelmine started, Zollern tapped with his stick
impatiently--'to meet your Highness before--one day at Tübingen; but your
Highness could not recollect. I had no idea then that I was speaking with
so exalted a lady.'
'Nor were you then,' said Wilhelmine with that bright humorous smile of
hers; 'but indeed, Hochwürden, I do remember, and I recollect how you
told me of the history of master races cradled in the Swabian hills.'
'I have assisted to-day at a great historic scene. May a new race of
strong men and princes arise herefrom!' said Pfahler, the historic
dreamer.
'Umph! ces bourgeois hérétiques ne savent jamais trouver le juste
milieu,' growled Zollern to Madame de Ruth.
Now his Highness became impatient, the embarrassment of the scene seemed
to grow each moment. 'A thousand thanks, dear friend,' he said, turning
to Madame de Ruth, 'a thousand thanks for all you have done for us, but
we must leave you now. Come, bid us God-speed!' He led the way from the
panelled room to the house door, before which stood a chaise de poste
with six horses, which the three postillions restrained with difficulty.
Dressed in his fine new coat, the peasant servant of Neuhaus stood
grinning in the background.
'Come, Madame!' called his Highness. Wilhelmine sprang into the chaise,
and Madame de Ruth, perilously balanced on the step, wrapped a white lace
mantilla round the bride. The horses bounded forward, and, urged by the
postillions, raced away at a hand gallop.
This was the first of that furious driving with which the favourite, in
after years, habitually dashed through the country. It was one of the
causes of her unpopularity with the peasants; they cursed her and her
wild horses. 'Why such haste to do the devil's work?' they muttered; and
they cursed the dust which the chariot left, as the hated Grävenitzin
thundered through the villages.