THE RETURN
A TRAVELLING coach and six horses thundered into Stuttgart, driven at a
hand gallop, and raised clouds of white dust as it passed down the
Graben. An escort of Silver Guards rode with this coach. One of the
soldiers' horses knocked over a child playing in the roadway, but the
cavalcade passed on unheeding, leaving the little crushed figure lying
limp and still in the dust.
The coach drew up at the Jägerhaus, where the doors stood wide open,
disclosing a company of servants drawn up in solemn line. Two sentries
were posted at either side of the entrance. A black-clad major-domo bowed
on the threshold, while half a dozen lackeys sprang forward to receive
the tall woman who was slowly descending from the coach. Madame la
Comtesse de Würben, her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin of Wirtemberg,
Countess Grävenitz, had arrived at Stuttgart to attend to the duties
connected with her invalid husband's court charge.
This exalted lady was the first personage of the court after the reigning
Duchess, and his Highness had offered her apartments in the castle, but
these were refused, her Excellency preferring to occupy an independent
residence.
Thus it fell out that Wilhelmine returned to the Jägerhaus towards the
end of September, some four months after she had fled from Urach, and a
few days since the mock marriage with Würben, 'ce cher Nepomuk, mon
mari,' as she ironically named him to Madame de Ruth.
There had been grievous storms at Stuttgart during the days succeeding
his Highness's return from hunting in the Schönbuch, that shooting
expedition which had been but a pretext to leave Stuttgart and hurry to
Schaffhausen, in order to hinder the celebration of the ceremony of
Wilhelmine's marriage.
Serenissimus returned in a mood which would brook no contradiction. He
announced to the Geheimräthe, and to the court, that it was his pleasure
to revive the ancient office of Landhofmeister, and that he had conferred
this, the highest charge of his court, upon a Bohemian nobleman of the
name of Würben, but that this gentleman being seriously indisposed, his
lady-wife had undertaken to fulfil the various duties of
Landhofmeisterin, and would reside at the Jägerhaus. Private information
came to the astonished Geheimräthe that this new evil was but the old
poison with a new label; that this Countess Würben was the hated
Grävenitzin. Bitterly they regretted their refusal of the two hundred
thousand gulden, but it was too late now.
To Johanna Elizabetha this announcement was made by his Highness in
person and with cruel frankness. She was told that she had refused a life
of ease and peace, leaving his Highness to enjoy a happiness which she
herself could never have provided, and that he took this way to save
himself from despair, for without Wilhelmine he would not, nay, could
not, live.
'You must abide by this, Madame, and if you are peaceably disposed, and
behave with becoming consideration to her Excellency the
Landhofmeisterin, it will be possible for you to remain in Stuttgart,' he
told her.
Her Highness made no reply to this surprising speech, but immediately
wrote to Stetten, imploring the Duchess-mother to come and put order into
the family affairs. The dear lady arrived in high dudgeon, and according
to her custom stated her opinion to Eberhard Ludwig in words he could not
misunderstand. But in vain, and it was a very crestfallen, angry old lady
who drove back through the fields to Stetten.
The court was in a quandary, in comparison to which the former
perplexities in regard to the Grävenitzin were mere bagatelles. If they
refused to go to court festivities where the Landhofmeisterin, after the
Duchess, held the first rank, they would risk being excluded from court
perhaps for years. Again, who knew how soon the favourite might fall
into disgrace, or be banished once more by some unexpected event? There
was much talk and fervid declarations of noble sentiments, loyalty to the
Duchess, love of purity, and the rest; but when Wilhelmine invited the
entire court to visit her at the Jägerhaus, on the occasion of a grand
evening rout, it was noticeable that those few who did not appear sent
copious excuses, pretending illness, and adding almost medical
descriptions of their ailments, so anxious were they that Wilhelmine
should believe them to be really indisposed! Already it was considered
dangerous to offend the Grävenitzin, as they still called the Countess of
Würben, her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin, but to her face she was
'your Excellency,' and they paid her great court.
Naturally the Duchess Johanna Elizabetha held aloof, but she knew she
must one day meet her rival face to face, one day take part in a court
festivity where the woman would be only second in formal rank, in reality
the first in the estimation of all.
The winter days grew short and dark, and Christmas approached. Christmas
rejoicings with this sinful woman queening it at masque and dance! Even
from informal family gatherings the Landhofmeisterin, as first lady in
the land, could not be excluded.
'Dear and honoured Madame my Mother,' Johanna Elizabetha wrote, 'I have
to meet this woman again. Let the first encounter not be before the
world. I will invite her to our Christmas tree. Come you too, dear Madame
my Mother, even if there is snow on the ground, to help your unhappy
daughter, Johanna Elizabetha.' Thus she wrote to the formidable dame at
Stetten.
It must be conceded that for the favourite this family gathering to which
she was bidden presented disagreeable prospects of extreme difficulty,
and she craved Eberhard Ludwig to permit her to decline the honour, but
Serenissimus implored her to consent. It would be unwise to rebuff the
Duchess's overture, and after all, possibly it was her Highness's
intention to live peaceably with her husband's mistress. Other ladies had
done so. He quoted history and recent events: Louis XIV., Louise de la
Vallière, and Marie Thérèse of France, and so on. Also he represented to
her that the first meeting with Johanna Elizabetha would be a trifle
awkward with the whole court agape, so perhaps this private family
gathering was an excellent opportunity; besides, as Landhofmeisterin, it
was correct she should be included in the Petit Cercle.
She mocked at the homely custom of the Christmas tree, calling it
unfitting for a grand seigneur's household to indulge in such
old-fashioned peasant-like rejoicings.
'Can you dream of such a festivity at Versailles?' she asked, laughing.
He told her that his mother clung to the habit. It was an ancient German
custom thus to celebrate the Birth of Christ.
'I love the notion, too, that in all my villages the peasants can have
the same as I have, for once, poor souls!' he added simply.
'Eberhard, you are ridiculous!--yes, a ridiculous poet-fellow. But I will
come to your peasant celebration, if it pleases you.' She was touched by
this gentle saying of his.
And thus it fell out that on Christmas eve Wilhelmine ordered her coach
to convey her to the castle. She drove through the snow in no happy frame
of mind. Christmas trees and the favourite!--could anything be more
incongruous? and she knew it. Angrily she sneered at the simple
homeliness of the old German custom. Peasants could do these absurdities,
but the Duchess of Wirtemberg?
* * * * *
In the long room where the madrigals had been sung on that
well-remembered evening when Wilhelmine was installed lady-in-waiting to
her Highness, a tall fir-tree was planted in a gilded barrel. A thousand
twinkling lights burned on the branches, and little trinkets dangled
temptingly. Overhead, on the topmost branch, the waxen Christmas angel
with tinsel wings hovered over this family gathering. Symbol of peace and
goodwill, this angel would look down pitifully on the men and women round
the Christmas tree, whose hearts were full of bitterness, of envy and
hatred! Lackeys were fastening candles on to the branches, and Johanna
Elizabetha and Madame de Stafforth were hanging up trinkets and
playthings for the Erbprinz.
The Duchess-mother entered. She glanced round the room. 'Has the enemy
not arrived?' she said humorously.
Johanna Elizabetha sighed.
'No, she has not come yet. It is hard she should spoil our Christmas Eve;
but it is better than meeting her for the first time as Landhofmeisterin
with all her friends to stare at me.'
'She will not enjoy her evening, my dear,' returned the Duchess-mother,
with a grim smile.
At this moment Eberhard Ludwig entered, leading the Erbprinz by the hand.
He sometimes endeavoured to be a kind father, but it was no easy matter
for him. The Duchess-mother's face softened as she greeted her son, and
bent to kiss the little boy, who scarcely responded to the old lady's
embrace. His shining, excited eyes were fixed upon the Christmas tree,
and snatching his hand from the Duke's grasp, he began to dance round in
frantic childish rapture. Johanna Elizabetha forgot her troubles watching
her son's joy, and she commenced cutting off the playthings for him.
'It were fitting to await our guest's arrival, Madame, before you strip
the tree,' said the Duke coldly.
'Nonsense!' interrupted the Duchess-mother, 'surely Elizabetha can give
her child the playthings if she wishes to?'
'Her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin!' announced a page, throwing open
the door, and Wilhelmine appeared on the threshold.
His Highness hurried forward to greet her, while Johanna Elizabetha
instinctively drew nearer to the Duchess-mother, catching the Erbprinz by
the arm.
Wilhelmine bent low in an elaborate courtesy. Her Highness held out her
hand shyly for her rival to kiss. The Duchess-mother watched the comedy
for an instant, then turning to the Duke who stood behind Wilhelmine,
nervously fingering his rapier-hilt, she said:
'Serenissimus will have the kindness to present to me the
Landhofmeisterin, as I have not the pleasure to know her.'
'Madame, my mother permits me--This is Madame la Comtesse de Würben,
Landhofmeisterin,' he stammered, and the Duchess-mother threw him a
contemptuous glance.
'Ah, Madame de Würben! how sad it must be for you to be obliged to leave
your husband in Bohemia,' she said. 'Have you good news of him now? I am
so interested in illness. Tell me exactly what ails poor Count Würben.'
Wilhelmine stared at this formidable dame in consternation. Würben's
fictitious ailments were difficult to name.
'He suffered--from--from--smallpox some years ago, your Highness, and has
never recovered his health,' she said haltingly.
'Ah! smallpox; yes, indeed, a terrible malady, and but too common. Did
your husband contract it at the same time as you did, Madame? I see you
must have been a great sufferer,' said the Duchess-mother, fixing her
sharp brown eyes on the few hardly distinguishable pockmarks on
Wilhelmine's face. The favourite flushed.
'I was not married to Monsieur de Würben at that time, your Highness,'
she answered.
'Oh, indeed! Madame, forgive me; I did not know how long you had been
married. Have you any children, Madame de Würben? No? Ah, a sad pity! The
little ones would doubtless have been a consolation to you while you are
forced to be absent from your husband; but perhaps we may have the
pleasure of seeing Monsieur de Würben in Stuttgart before long?'
'I do not know, your Highness,' said Wilhelmine shortly. Each word the
Duchess-mother spoke cut her to the quick, and she hated the tall, gaunt
old lady as even she had never hated before.
'Well, I hope for you sake, Madame, your husband will be able to reside
here soon. It is hard for a young woman to be alone. And besides, really
you should pray for a son to succeed to the Würben family honours. I used
to know a Count Würben at Vienna many years ago. A Count Nepomuk
Würben--'Nepi,' they called him--perhaps an uncle of your husband's?'
'That is my husband's name, your Highness,' replied Wilhelmine in a
toneless voice.
'Impossible! Why, the man I mean will be sixty years old by now, and he
disgraced himself and squandered a fortune. No; that man cannot be your
husband, dear Madame! I heard he had made a fearful marriage--some
adventuress who had amassed money and wished for an old and honourable
name. It interests me much; pray ask your husband if that Würben was a
cousin of his. A disagreeable subject though, for, of course, no nobleman
would care to own so vile a person as cousin.'
Wilhelmine threw up her head proudly. 'Your Highness, Count Nepomuk
Würben is my husband, and I must request you not to criticise him in my
presence.'
Her spirit pleased the Duchess-mother, who replied in a different tone:
'That then, Madame, is your misfortune. We will not mention it again.'
Eberhard Ludwig during this painful scene stood in embarrassed, angry
silence. He durst not interfere, for knowing his mother's character, he
was well aware that any intervention on his part would only draw down
upon Wilhelmine a flood of free-spoken remarks.
Meanwhile the other members of her Highness's intimate circle had entered
from a small withdrawing-room, leading out of the larger apartment.
The Stafforths, Madame de Gemmingen, a young gentleman of the household,
Monsieur de Röder, and the Erbprinz's governor, Monsieur le Baron de
Walchingen, his tutor, and various other unimportant persons. The Duke's
mother and Wilhelmine stood together in the centre of this group. The
older woman wore the sombre garb of a widow's mourning, which she had
never put off since Duke Wilhelm Ludwig's death thirty years ago.
Wilhelmine was dressed, as usual, in delicate yellow brocade with
profusely powdered hair and flashing jewels. They made a striking
contrast--sober sadness and old age, radiant youth and brilliant, lavish
joy. And near by was Johanna Elizabetha, clad in dull, unnoticeable
garments of grey blue silk. To Eberhard Ludwig the group was symbolic of
his life's history, and he sighed heavily as he turned to greet Madame de
Stafforth.
The Erbprinz, attracted by Wilhelmine's beautiful face and bright
clothes, had begged a paper flower from the Christmas tree and offered
it to her. Partly because she loved to tease children, partly because the
child's talk made a diversion from the Duchess-mother's acid remarks,
Wilhelmine began bantering with the little boy, telling him the wildest
tales, witty absurdities, sheer delightful fooling. The Erbprinz,
accustomed to Johanna Elizabetha's prim stories always adorned with
obvious moral endings, acclaimed Wilhelmine's phantasies with
enthusiastic cries, begging her to tell him more. He was fascinated,
half-afraid, puzzled, excited. Johanna Elizabetha watched this pair with
jealous, disapproving eyes, and several times called the child away; but
he shook his head, and holding on to Wilhelmine's gown looked up into her
face in rapturous enjoyment and admiration of this beautiful new being
and her wonderful stories. At length her Highness could bear it no
longer. She approached the strangely assorted couple, and drawing the
Erbprinz to her she tried to fix his attention upon the burning candles
and glittering toys on the tree. But the boy pushed her from him; he
wanted to hear the lovely lady's stories; they were much finer than any
his mother ever told him, he said. Johanna Elizabetha could stay and
listen too, if she liked, but she must not interrupt, he commanded. He
struggled from his mother's encircling arm and, drawing near the
favourite, he leaned his head against her, nestling close. Wilhelmine,
really touched by the child's confiding ways, bent down to him and
slipped her arm round his shoulders.
At this moment the Duchess-mother turning, saw the unexpected sight of
her grandson in the embrace of the Grävenitz. She looked at them with
stern disapproval. The Erbprinz lifted his hand and stroked Wilhelmine's
face. This was too much for Johanna Elizabetha. She sprang forward like a
tigress defending her young, and snatched the boy away from Wilhelmine.
Immediately the delicate, over-excitable child set up a wailing cry; he
wanted to stay with the lovely lady who told such diverting stories, he
said. Johanna Elizabetha in vain endeavoured to soothe him. Now the
Duchess-mother bore down on the group and commenced rating the child for
his disobedience. Johanna Elizabetha, emboldened by the old lady's
approach, turned fiercely upon Wilhelmine.
'You have frightened my boy with your horrible stories!' she cried, and
dragged the wailing Erbprinz towards the door; but he resisted manfully,
crying that he would stay with the lovely lady. His granddame caught him,
and bestowed a ringing box on his ear. The child raised a very tempest of
sobs, and flinging off his mother's arm, fled howling towards Wilhelmine.
Johanna Elizabetha, beyond herself with anger and disgust, horrified at
the notion of the child being brought into contact with the woman she
regarded as debased, rushed forward and, pulling the child violently
away, she cried wildly--
'Do not touch her; it is not fitting!'
Eberhard Ludwig, who had been conscientiously conversing with the few
guests, hurried up.
'What is this?' he asked angrily. 'Madame, why does your son howl like a
beggar's brat?'
The Duchess-mother came forward. 'A sorry spectacle, indeed,' she said
grimly. 'The Landhofmeisterin, not being used to children, has frightened
the Erbprinz.'
'Monseigneur,' broke in Wilhelmine, white to the lips, 'I crave
permission to depart at once. I am not well.'
'Not well, Madame?' cried the Duke in an anxious tone; 'let me escort you
immediately to your coach.'
Wilhelmine bowed to the two Duchesses, but her salute remained
unacknowledged.
A petty social annoyance, a commonplace occurrence of disagreeable
import, a moment's pique, have often brought about historic changes, the
real cause whereof lies deep in the secret working of men's hearts and
can only be understood by each one to himself. Thus in Wirtemberg's
eighteenth-century record, the homely, unpleasant, trifling scene on
Christmas Eve wrought a change in the history, destined to influence the
affairs of the country for many years.
The Grävenitz returned to the Jägerhaus profoundly humiliated, deeply
wounded. The Duchess-mother's remarks had been embarrassing and painful;
each word as a finger of scorn pointed at that disgraceful bargain with
Würben, at the recollection whereof Wilhelmine winced. But when Johanna
Elizabetha snatched the Erbprinz away from her as though her very touch
was contamination for the child, her whole being had shuddered with the
ignominy. She knew herself to be accounted vile, one of the outcasts from
whose proximity every virtuous woman must shrink and instinctively seek
to protect all she loves, all she esteems pure. There is a terrible
anguish to the outcast woman in this withdrawal from her of a child.
Suddenly, she learns to measure her shame with a new gauge: by the lofty
instinct of a mother's reverence for her child's fair innocence. Then the
pariah realises that she is thrust beyond the pale of human purity. She
has chosen the black mud of vice as her portion, and her presence reeks;
she is tainted, and may not approach the pure.
If in the stillness of that Christmas night Wilhelmine, realising this,
agonised, as countless women have realised and suffered, the next morning
she showed no sign of the night's anguish. Unless her mood of unrelenting
decision was the outcome thereof.
She had decided to present to Eberhard Ludwig two alternatives: either
Johanna Elizabetha must retire to a dower-house, leaving the favourite
mistress of Stuttgart, or the court of Wirtemberg must follow their Duke
and the Landhofmeisterin to Tübingen, Urach, or wherever it suited her to
direct, leaving the Duchess in a mournful, deserted Stuttgart.
In any case, it must be provided that no possibility should exist of an
humiliation such as she had suffered on the preceding evening. And as she
intended to remain at the head of Wirtemberg's court, it was imperative
Johanna Elizabetha should be removed. Murder no longer being politic--the
Emperor had frightened the Grävenitz off that track--it remained to
devise some other scheme whereby the Duchess could be rendered
unobnoxious.
Upon Eberhard Ludwig's arrival at the Jägerhaus, he was immediately
informed of his mistress's decision. Again a small event precipitated the
formation of an important plan. Johanna Elizabetha had wept incessantly
during the Christmas Eve supper, and the Duchess-mother's sharp tongue
had rasped the Duke's irritable nerves till he had lost control of his
temper and had roughly bidden his wife and mother to leave him in peace.
There had followed a painful scene. Thus his Highness was well disposed
towards any scheme which would release him from his inharmonious family
circle. Yet he hesitated to acquiesce in the daring project of the entire
removal from Stuttgart of court and government. Wirtemberg had been
governed at Stuttgart, and the chief ducal residence had been there since
the twelfth century. As to Johanna Elizabetha's retirement to a
dower-house he reminded Wilhelmine that the proposal had been made, and
that the Duchess's answer was decisive: so long as she did not mourn her
husband's death she would remain in residence at Stuttgart's castle. The
Duke added that he had no power to force her to leave.
Serenissimus and the Landhofmeisterin were together in the famous yellow
damask room of the Jägerhaus. The blue-tiled stove radiated a pleasant
warmth, and from the windows the lovers could see the snow-covered
Graben, the main thoroughfare of the town. The cheerful jingle of
sleigh-bells rang out as the peasants' sledges glided over the snow. The
Christmas Day service in the Leonards Kirche had ended, and the
traditional dole of silver pieces had been distributed in the Duke's
name, an old custom of mediæval times.
It was one of those absolutely still winter mornings, so fraught with
peace, so purified by the great white silence of snow. Something of the
artificial elegance, the stilted formality of the eighteenth century with
its scrupulous apeing of French airs, mannerisms, and vices, seemed to
fall from the lovers in the Jägerhaus, and for an hour they dreamed of
simple natural homely peace. Alas! their dream was of such a life
together. Like most dreams it was based on an impossibility.
A peasant couple in a sledge passed the window. The man, a sturdy,
thick-set figure in the Wirtemberg peasant's short, well-fitting,
dark-blue coat, adorned with rows of round knob silver buttons. He wore a
peaked fur cap drawn down over the ears. The woman was in a thick blue
frieze cape and elaborate Sunday headdress. She had slipped her hand
through her husband's arm and they were talking gaily together. Eberhard
Ludwig pointed towards them and a sigh escaped his lips.
'There is the peace of two loving hearts. They are happier than we, for
their love is duty, their duty love,' he said sadly.
'Alas!' she answered; but she knew that for her such peace was not, and
that she would not have wished for it; yet a regret smote her, a yearning
to be all she was not. And with this pang came the bitter recollection of
her painful humiliation. Her face hardened. 'That happiness is only
possible in the protection of the strong,' she said. 'Do you think yonder
peasant would suffer his beloved to be scorned, to be insulted? The Duke
of Wirtemberg alone cannot protect the woman he loves.'
Eberhard Ludwig drew back from her.
'How cruel you are, dear heart,' he said, and a great sadness lay in his
voice. She told him that the truth was often cruel to hear; that she but
spoke these things because he let himself drift into weak conniving at
the intrigues of Johanna Elizabetha. Then she recounted the petty spite
and the thousand taunts to which she was subjected. She painted Stuttgart
in sombre colours, the dullness, the stiffness. Why should Wirtemberg be
the least brilliant, least gay, of all the German courts? She talked of
Berlin and the splendours of the newly made King Frederick I. Of Dresden
with the Elector-King of Poland, Augustus the Strong; of his splendid
residence, the Zwinger, which, like an enchanted palace, had been built
in so short a span, and to whose marvels each day was added a wonderful
chamber, a gilded dome, or a fair work of art.
Why should not peace and happiness reign in Wirtemberg with splendour and
gaiety? Why should not a gracious palace rise to rival even the glories
of Versailles? She drew the picture with sure strokes, each word an added
colour in the vision of a life of tranquil yet brilliant ease and
distinguished magnificence.
Eberhard Ludwig, caught by the flame of her eloquence, flared into
enthusiasm, and they fell to discussing which town or castle should be
the chosen spot for their new court. Urach, Tübingen, Wildbad, all were
reviewed. They spoke no longer of whether the great flitting should take
place; it was now merely a question of where and how it should be
accomplished. From which it may be seen that Wilhelmine, as usual, had
won the day.