LUDWIGSBURG
'And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the Princess he loved.'
ABT VOGLER.
FIVE leagues north of Stuttgart, in the heart of the forest, stood the
small hunting castle, the Erlachhof, whither Eberhard Ludwig often fled
from the world and for many peaceful days lived the life of hunter. In
these woods he wandered in early spring, here on summer nights he had
slept beneath the trees, dreaming the dreams of his poet nature.
The Erlachhof had been greatly rebuilt, his Highness having commanded
many alterations and improvements in the old castle. Since the year 1704
the various works had progressed right well. The gardens were already
famous far and wide, and all Europe had added to their wealth: tulips
from Holland, carnations and roses from France, oleanders and
passion-flowers from Italy, while Spain had furnished orange-trees and
myrtles. And here it was that Wilhelmine decided the great palace should
be built.
The Erlachhof, from a gentle, simple, old-world German maiden, was to be
transformed into a queen among palaces. Thus the daring favourite willed
it: a princely pleasure-house to rival Versailles.
The Italian architect Frisoni was called. An artist of no mean merit, and
pupil of Jules Hardouin Mansard, the chief architect of Versailles, where
Frisoni had worked at the plans together with his master. The Italian
arrived: a small, dapper man, ridiculous in his huge powdered wig, his
little brown monkey face peering out of the curled white locks. Her
Excellency desired a palace on the same model as the fine French palazzo?
Nothing easier! No? An original design, then, but of that style? Ah! more
facile still! Cost? A trifle to so noble and magnificent a prince as
Monseigneur Altissimo the Duke of Wirtemberg. One almost expected the
vast structure to rise from the ground in a night, so easy did it seem
from the man's account!
The German gentlemen employed at the Erlachhof were deposed from power,
and their dominion given over to Frisoni. Never was there such a stir in
Wirtemberg. All the quarries rendered stone. Each village sent its most
skilled workmen, and Frisoni despatched messengers to Italy to summon all
the disengaged talent to the tremendous enterprise. In swarms they
arrived--black-browed, olive-skinned, chattering like apes. And the
little monkey in the flowing white peruke took direction. But first, the
spiritual needs of the workmen must be considered; and the Grävenitz,
raging with impatience in Stuttgart, was forced to look on while a
Catholic chapel was built near the Erlachhof, ere ever the palace was
begun.
The Wirtemberg workmen murmured, grumbled, finally mutinied. They would
not work with chattering idolaters.
'Let them go, the German louts,' said Frisoni; 'I have better workmen in
Italy.' So a new army arrived.
'Popery in our midst! The witch is bringing back Antichrist to
Wirtemberg!' said Stuttgart.
The Geheimräthe informed Serenissimus that Frisoni's monetary demands
were excessive. Forstner was despatched to look into the affair. He was
appointed Grand Master of the works. Frisoni raged. The gulden had a way
of flowing into Forstner's pocket, and, so Frisoni vowed, but few came
out again.
Constantly the Duke and the Landhofmeisterin thundered up to the
Erlachhof in their coach and six. Three times a week the favourite flew
into a passion and rated Forstner for the tardiness of the building. He
referred her to Frisoni, who referred her back to the Grand Master of the
works. The plans were completed, the men worked hard, yet delays were
frequent, he owned; but the builders, knowing themselves worthy of their
hire, struck work when they went unpaid.
'Unpaid?' roared the Duke; 'when I have disbursed four hundred thousand
gulden?'
'Look into the matter, your Highness, and you will know,' answered the
architect.
Forstner was arraigned at Stuttgart. He arrived, accompanied by a
secretary and several big ledgers. The accounts seemed in order,
certainly.
'Justice!' implored poor Forstner, 'for my honour as a gentleman!'
'Ask the workmen!' shrieked Frisoni, and they summoned a deputation of
the Italian stone-cutters. They swore they had not been paid for months.
The Madonna and all the saints knew how they starved.
'Where _is_ the money?' asked the perplexed Duke, and was answered by so
many contending truths from each side that he could but be aware that
some one, many, or all parties were lying.
Obviously some one must be removed in order to simplify this tangle, but
who? 'Who is guilty?' mourned Serenissimus. The Landhofmeisterin's
argument was clear enough: 'We cannot waste time in seeking the criminal.
Some one has to disappear from the scene; exit therefore the least
useful! Probably Frisoni lies, but he is an admirable architect. Surely
the Italian workmen lie; they do not look like starving creatures, but
they are wonderful masons. Forstner is of no use to me; on the contrary,
he incommodes me with his virtuous reasonings. Therefore, exit Forstner!'
'My honour is wounded, I will depart!' wailed this estimable personage;
and he forthwith craved Eberhard Ludwig's permission to leave Wirtemberg.
'God speed you hence!' cried the Landhofmeisterin; and Forstner departed,
thinking he went of his own free will.
'My four hundred thousand gulden!' bewailed Serenissimus.
'Procure more from the Geheimräthe, and refuse to pay arrears to the
workmen,' counselled Wilhelmine. Which course being adopted and
peacefully accepted by the Italians, it would look as though they had, in
truth, received their due. But no one has ever known where went the four
hundred thousand gulden.
Forstner retired to Strassburg, and for several years there was no word
of him.
The building at the Erlachhof went on apace now. Gulden flowed regularly
and without stint, and each day more foreigners arrived to give their
talents in return for broad gold pieces. Painters, sculptors, gilders
came from north and south, and the Wirtembergers looked on aghast. Then
was issued an astounding order. His Highness commanded some seven hundred
of Stuttgart's rich merchants and burghers, also each trade guild in the
country, to construct at their expense a number of houses near the
Erlachhof. In this arbitrary decree, for the first time, the new palace
was officially styled Ludwigsburg, after its lavish creator, Eberhard
Ludwig.
The guilds of trade protested loudly, asking what it would advantage them
to have houses in Ludwigsburg. The merchants and burghers followed suit.
They received scant consideration of their protest. If they would not
obey, his Highness would find himself compelled to levy a tax upon them.
A tribute so exorbitant as to cripple them for years; whereas did they
obey, he promised to purchase each mansion which the builder did not
desire to inhabit. It was the better way, and forthwith the building
began. But there was a further clause in the ducal mandate: the houses
must be constructed according to Frisoni's plans and drawings, approved
by his Highness. Again the burghers protested, but they were silenced by
the Duke's promise to purchase.
Not only was a magnificent palace to be erected, but a town was to be
conjured up as well, and from Frisoni's plans it appeared that it was to
be a town of courtiers' houses. Bitter discontent reigned at Stuttgart,
and the guards round the Jägerhaus were doubled.
But there was rejoicing in the Grävenitz camp. Things were going
admirably for the satellites, the grasping, hungry parasites. Madame de
Ruth and Zollern alone might have spoken some moderating word, but the
old courtesan was swept off her feet by Wilhelmine's brilliancy, and
Zollern dreamed of Ludwigsburg as a new Catholic centre.
Time did not hang heavy on Wilhelmine's hands during the years which
elapsed ere the Corps de Logis and the two small pavilions at
Ludwigsburg were completed. In spite of the frantic haste with which the
work was carried on, it was found impossible for the Duke to take up his
residence in his new palace till the spring of 1711.
Meanwhile a new project engrossed the Landhofmeisterin's attention.
Although she fully intended to occupy the palace itself, she deemed it
expedient to possess an independent castle at Ludwigsburg, and on the
foundations of the Schafhof, another small hunting lodge near the old
Erlachhof, she caused a miniature summer palace to be erected. This she
named La Favorite. It was constructed according to a plan in Mansard's
'Châteaux Joyeux.'
The Schafhof had been connected with the Erlachhof by a magnificent
avenue of chestnut-trees, which remained for the most part intact save
where a few trees had been cut to leave space for the fine terracing on
the north side of the new Corps de Logis of Ludwigsburg. Still there was
a shady avenue, commencing from the lowest terrace and following the
gentle rise of the ground up to the Schafhof. This avenue she of course
retained, merely causing the branches to be cut back, in order to leave
an unbroken view of La Favorite from the windows of the Corps de Logis.
A host of gardeners laboured at the wood round the Châteaux Joyeux,
turning the rough ground into a series of gracious flowering parterres.
The interior of Wilhelmine's little palace was a dream of beauty. Every
room was panelled in white, and each panel encircled by a graceful design
in gold, which terminated in gorgeous devices on the ceilings. For the
most part the rooms were curtained with the Grävenitz yellow. The floors
were a triumph of the wood-inlayer's art, the chairs and tables were of
gilt or of inlaid rosewood. It was a house of sunshine: all Wilhelmine's
windows looking full southward or westward, while on the colder north and
east sides were the domestics' apartments.
At length, in the July of 1711, the Corps de Logis and the small
adjoining pavilions were ready for occupation, and the long eastern and
western side-wings were so nearly completed that it was possible to lodge
the chief personages of the court, and the army of serving men and
women. The garden terracing was terminated, and the water for the
numerous fountains laid on.
La Favorite was ready for its capricious namesake, and the town of
Ludwigsburg counted some two hundred new houses. The old posting inn,
formerly a dilapidated peasant's habitation, barnlike and unpromising
enough to the traveller, had become a fine mansion with many guest
chambers. The peasant innkeeper, who regarded every foreigner as an
intruder, was replaced by a magnificent gentleman with condescending
manners.
Enterprising venders of all sorts hurried to the new centre of opulence.
Already an obsequious personage from Paris had taken up his abode in a
room of one of the new houses, and a painted board hanging from his
window informed the passers-by that he was permitted to style himself
Coiffeur to her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin, to Serenissimus the
Duke, and to the court in general. Along with this gentleman arrived
several spruce ladies, one of whom was reported to be his wife, but
opinions varied as to which of the eight possessed this honour. These
demoiselles were expert dressmakers, and plied many other trades
necessary for the beautifying of court ladies. A French corset-maker
appeared on the scene, and a famous vender of cosmetics. In fact, there
were not wanting all the elements which must ever be at hand for serving
the whimsies and necessities of noble dames. The titles of these court
purveyors were in the Landhofmeisterin's keeping, and were only
procurable by payment of a good round sum.
* * * * *
The sun was sinking in a glory over the grim mount of Hohenasperg, that
sinister, frowning fortress-prison which threatened conveniently near to
Ludwigsburg, ready to lodge those unfortunate enough to incur the
displeasure of Serenissimus, or, more accurately, of her Excellency the
Landhofmeisterin. The departing sun left a flaming radiancy which hung
over the 'mansardé' roofs of Ludwigsburg, and was reflected again and
again in the waters of the hundred garden fountains.
All day a hurrying stream of vehicles had rumbled into the courtyard,
setting down the servants and effects of his Highness of Wirtemberg, and
of the lady who ruled his destiny. Frisoni was in a mighty pother; he ran
round the room excitedly, moving a chair, smoothing out a fold in the
curtains, drawing a table to another position. He hopped hither and
thither like some gay little monkey. Suddenly a tremendous shout went up
from the three thousand Italian workmen who had been permitted to
assemble near the gilded gates to witness the arrival of the court.
First came a large detachment of the Silver Guard, which were to take up
quarters in the newly completed barracks at Ludwigsburg. Then followed a
company of Cadets à Cheval, two hundred youths of noble family attired in
crimson uniforms with black velvet slashings and silver braidings. After
these rode an hundred equerries to his Highness, uniformed in light blue
with silver facings. Then came a file of richly painted coaches conveying
the holders of court charges, each coach escorted by four mounted
troopers. Then the musicians on white horses with gorgeous red velvet and
gold trappings. A second detachment of the Silver Guard numbering about
five hundred, and at last the great gilded coach and six hove into sight.
On both sides rode Cadets à Cheval, their ordinary crimson and black
slashed uniforms embellished by short cloaks of silver cloth, which fell
from each youth's shoulders on to the horse's haunches. In the coach sat
his Highness on the left, and the Landhofmeisterin on the right, the seat
which custom, etiquette, and morality set apart for the Duchess, who,
poor soul, mourned in solitude at Stuttgart, while her place in the
pageant was taken by the beautiful, evil woman, Wilhelmine von Grävenitz.
But oh! how lovely she was, this adventuress! She looked indeed well
fitted to be the chief personage of this magnificence. Her garments, as
usual, were of golden yellow; on her flowing, powdered curls she wore a
little round hat with a waving white plume, fastened by a diamond clasp.
On her breast glittered the broad riband and the white enamel stag, whose
antlers bore the diamond cross of the order of St. Hubertus. The little
hat was strangely like a crown; the baton of the Landhofmeisterin's
office, which she held in her hand, resembled a sceptre: it was of gold,
and ablaze with precious stones. A travesty, no doubt, an absurdity, an
insolence, but how fine it all looked! The Duke wore a white satin
long-coat, embroidered with gold, and on his breast shone the St.
Hubertus stag and cross. Truly the prince of some fable, seated beside a
gorgeous princess.
Behind the golden coach followed two hundred life guards, uniformed in
white and silver, and with drawn swords. Then came his Highness's forest
guards, in green, with silver bandoliers and hunting horns, each with the
white St. Hubertus stag and cross embroidered large upon the breast.
After these rode the court pages, the Duke's secretaries, the officers of
the household. And finally, three companies of the Wirtemberg regiments
which had fought at Blenheim under Eberhard Ludwig.
A crowd of peasants from neighbouring villages had gathered outside the
gates of Ludwigsburg; they raised a shout when they saw their Duke. He
bowed, and the Landhofmeisterin also bent her head in dignified
salutation. Immediately the shouting ceased, and a low ominous groan went
up, intermingled with sibilant hissings. Wilhelmine grew pale, and shot a
glance of hatred towards the peasants. His Highness spoke rapidly in a
low tone to the cadet who rode at his elbow. The youth galloped back
along the line of the cortège, and delivered an order to the captain of
the 1st Regiment of Wirtemberg Cavalry. And as the gilded coach rolled in
at the palace gates, Wilhelmine heard with satisfaction the howls and
curses of the peasant crowd, which was being dispersed by the soldiers'
swords.
When the Landhofmeisterin entered the palace of Ludwigsburg, the military
brass instruments and drums in the courtyard ceased playing, and as the
lovers passed over the threshold a strain from graceful, delicate,
stringed instruments greeted them.
'Welcome to our house of harmony!' whispered Serenissimus, bending to
kiss his mistress's hand.
Slowly and with dignity they were led by Frisoni through the beautiful
rooms--the huge, gilded banqueting hall, the ball-rooms, the
withdrawing-rooms, the picture-gallery, the audience-chamber, the
card-rooms, the theatre. The little Italian caught the note of
Wilhelmine's ceremony, and he showed Ludwigsburg to her as though she
were a princess bride, entering for the first time the palace of her new
dominions, instead of an enterprising mistress, part designer and wholly
inspirer of each nook and corner of a nation's ruin in stone and marble.
They passed up the broad white marble staircase, and Frisoni solemnly
conducted them to his Highness's private apartments--the antechamber, the
audience-closet, the writing-room, and the sleeping-room.
'The apartments of her Excellency are situated in the west pavilion. If
your Highness wishes to inspect them we must pass downstairs once more,
to gain the entrance to the pavilion,' he said gravely.
Eberhard Ludwig, smiling, bade him lead the way, though, of a truth, he
knew a shorter way by a small door leading through the statue gallery
directly from his apartments to the decorously closed pavilion.
In solemn procession, Serenissimus leading the Landhofmeisterin, preceded
by Frisoni as guide, passed down the chief stair, and from the lower
antehall to the door of the west pavilion. Here were the apartments of
the great Landhofmeisterin. On the ground floor the room for her personal
attendant, the wardrobe-room, her Excellency's library and business-room,
where the various affairs of the Landhofmeisterin's office were to be
transacted. Then up a narrow stair to the first floor to a large
antechamber, a sleeping-room, a private writing-room, and above another
small stair leading to the powdering-room.
All these rooms were little masterpieces of various arts, chief among
which that of the wood-inlayer--the floors, the walls, the doors being
profusely inlaid with precious woods. Everywhere the arms of Wirtemberg
were interwoven with the Würben and Grävenitz devices, and with the
emblems of the chase and of music--symbols of the Duke-hunter and his
beloved musician-mistress.
The courtiers who followed his Highness and the Landhofmeisterin
expressed their admiration discreetly, Zollern and Madame de Ruth leading
the chorus of approval.
At length the ceremonious inspection was concluded, and the courtiers
hurried away to view their own quarters, leaving her Excellency in the
pavilion, and Serenissimus in his sumptuous Corps de Logis.
When the courtiers' steps ceased to echo in the corridor, Wilhelmine drew
a little golden key from her bosom and, approaching a panel in the
antechamber wall on the first floor, fitted it into a keyhole which was
artfully hidden in the intricacies of the inlaid design. She turned the
lock and a small door flew open. She stepped through and found herself in
the corridor of statues. Directly facing the hidden panel door she found
another similar lock masked beneath the outstretched hand of one of the
many plaster Amorini. Here again a small door sprang open beneath her
touch, and she entered the Duke's sitting-room. Her entry, however, was
further hidden by an arras of Gobelin tapestry fitted on a wooden
partition running down one side of his Highness's room. At the end
nearest the entrance to his sleeping-chamber, a small portion of this
partition flew back upon touching a spring, and revealed a narrow
doorway. Little wonder that both Eberhard Ludwig and Wilhelmine smiled
when the Italian conducted them down and up the staircases and through
innumerable rooms ere they reached the apartments of the
Landhofmeisterin!
Serenissimus was standing at the window of his writing-room overlooking
the courtyard. In his hand was a closely written page, and his face wore
a look of distress and perplexity. He turned sharply when he heard
Wilhelmine's step, and, flushing deeply, he crushed the paper into the
breast of his coat. She was quick to note the movement, and the Duke's
evident embarrassment.
'A letter, Monseigneur, which you would hide from me?' she said. Like
most women in illegitimate positions she was easily suspicious, and all
letters, petitions, every scrap of paper destined for her lover, were
carried for inspection to the omnipotent Landhofmeisterin ere they were
permitted to reach their destination.
'Yes, Madame, a letter from a private friend,' returned the Duke, his
embarrassment turning to anger.
'Ah! something not intended for me? I crave your Highness's forgiveness.
I came to say a word of my great happiness in being indeed installed in
our House of Harmony,' she sneered bitterly, and turning, would have
hurried back to her apartments; but Serenissimus followed her, and laying
his hand on her arm drew her towards him.
'There are things in each life which can never be told. Beloved, there is
a seal on my lips which honour has impressed with her fair image. I
cannot tell you what is in this letter. Believe me, it is no pleasant
thing that I hide from you; it would not make you happy to read these
lines. Also, they are unimportant, for I do not heed them.'
She prayed him to tell her. How could she rest if she knew he had a
thought apart from her? It gave her anxiety, she said, that it was
something disagreeable. She used all her arts of attraction, of
seduction, but he remained obdurate. Then she flamed into anger and left
him with a bitter word.
To celebrate his Highness's entry into Ludwigsburg, a masked ball had
been commanded to take place on the evening following the arrival of the
court. The Duke and his mistress met at supper after the episode of the
letter, but the Landhofmeisterin avoided his Highness's eye and seemed
absorbed in conversation with Zollern. During the evening she played faro
at her own table, and early took her leave, pleading that she was
fatigued. On the morning of the masked ball his Highness attended a
stag-hunt, and thus it fell out that he and Wilhelmine did not meet to
discuss the vexed question of the letter.
The beautiful ballroom at Ludwigsburg was brilliantly illuminated by a
thousand waxen tapers which burned in the huge crystal chandeliers. The
Landhofmeisterin's own musicians discoursed rhythmical strains from the
gallery, and a gay motley crowd moved on the inlaid polished floor. There
were dominoes of every colour, bizarre, fantastic shapes; and somehow
this masked assemblage had a strangely sinister appearance, a mysterious
lurking menace seemed to emanate from it.
The Landhofmeisterin was easily recognisable from her great height. For a
moment she had contemplated dressing in man's clothes, but Serenissimus
had dissuaded her. The Duke's domino was of 'Grävenitz yellow' of the
same hue as that of the Landhofmeisterin. Madame de Ruth had refused to
go masked.
'My old face is mask enough,' she said; and Zollern, delighted to escape
the ordeal of a travesty, had declared he would keep his old friend
company. So the two sat together and made merry over the grotesque
appearance of the other guests.
At first, many had approached the undominoed couple and, under cover of
carnival licence, some had ventured to say sharp things to the old
courtesan, but each in turn retired discomfited before the sting of
Madame de Ruth's quick wit. The Landhofmeisterin stood near to her
friend. She felt strangely lonely in this disguised crowd, and
Serenissimus held aloof from her. She saw him exchanging compliments with
a light blue domino, from whose supple movements Wilhelmine guessed to be
a young and graceful woman.
A sudden wave of jealous fear invaded the Landhofmeisterin's heart. And
leaving her safe place behind Madame de Ruth and Zollern, she walked out
into the crowd of revellers. Instantly several masks left the dancing,
laughing, whirling main stream and approached the newcomer. 'Fair mask,
come tread a measure!' 'Do you seek love or amusement here?' and many
other meaningless absurdities were squeaked into her ear by some unwary
ones who had not recognised the much-feared Landhofmeisterin in the tall
yellow-clad figure. She shot a glance of contempt at her interlocutors
and pushed past them. Of a sudden she was surrounded by a circle of
red-garbed gnomes who danced round her. 'Let me pass, good people,' she
said; and when they would not, she broke through the chain of their arms
and hurried on. They would have followed, but a black mask caught the
ringleader and whispered in his ear, and the laughing gnomes fell back
murmuring together.
The Duke was still dallying with the blue domino; Wilhelmine saw him lead
her to one of the windows which opened out on to the terraces. She
followed swiftly, hardly hearing the comments and whispers of the
revellers who took this occasion to convey insulting words to the hated
woman. As she reached the window in whose balcony she knew her lover to
be, she felt a hand on her arm. She turned angrily.
'What do you want? how dare you hinder me?' she said. It was a tall, thin
domino who accosted her, entirely black, and with a skull and crossbones
embroidered in white upon the breast. A startling figure, and to
Wilhelmine's overwrought nerves it seemed to be the figure of Death come
to snatch her life's glory and happiness from her in this her triumph of
the completion of the palace.
'What do you want of me?' she said again, conquering her superstitious
fear.
'I would speak to you, Madame; I have a warning to give you.' The voice
was deep and low, and after the squeaky tones which the revellers
affected in order to disguise their natural voices, this man's bass notes
sounded hollow and funereal.
'Speak then here,' she answered.
'No; my warning must be given to you where none can hear,' he responded;
and once more laying his black-gloved hand on her arm, he drew her away
from the window towards a door which led down a short flight of steps
into the moonlit garden. Did the man mean murder? It flashed across
Wilhelmine that she was going blindly into danger. She paused on the
topmost step of the flight.
'I will go no further; speak now, or I leave you here.' Her voice was
calm, though her hands were trembling a little.
'I am sent to tell you that your hour has come; that your ill-gotten
power, your evil triumphs, are waning.' His voice was deep, sonorous,
impressive.
'Who sends you?' she asked. Coming from the brilliantly lit rooms and the
stir and noise of the ball, this sudden interlude in the still, moonlit
garden, with the strange, sinister, black-robed figure, seemed to her
like a dream.
'I am sent by one you have ruined, in the name of the many you have
injured! and yet, in mercy, I bid you fly while there is time!' the
stranger answered.
'Ah! Mercy? This is some absurd fiction; no one has mercy upon me,' she
said bitterly.
'Yes, I have. I came to deliver my message, and yesterday I saw your
entry into Ludwigsburg. I saw the peasants cruelly driven back by the
soldiers' swords. I saw the great monument you have raised here to your
shame, this mad, mock court of yours, and I hated you! but then I saw
your youth, your beauty, and I vowed I would warn you, that you might
carry this, your true wealth, to some atonement for your sins. I bid you
fly; the Duke has information against you which must spell ruin for
you--ruin and death.'
'You are mad,' she said quietly.
'No; I am not mad, unless compassion is madness.'
She drew off her mask, and, in the clear white moonlight, turned her face
upon him--that strange, haunting face of hers, which Eberhard Ludwig said
no man could forget.
'And so you had compassion because you saw me?' she laughed. 'Your
mission is absurd, but I forgive you because some generous thought was
yours even for the Grävenitzin.' She was all woman at that moment; the
hard, cruel oppressor, the ruling Landhofmeisterin, was banished from her
being, she was fascination incarnate.
'How beautiful you are--how beautiful----!' the black mask whispered.
'Tell me who you are,' she said, and smiled at him.
'An enemy who would turn friend, and more--if he looked too long at you,'
he answered slowly.
'Tell me your name,' she asked once more.
'No; my name you will never know, only I have warned you.'
'I thank you,' she said gravely, and gave him her hand. He bent and
kissed it, and vanished into the shadow of the garden. She stood a moment
looking after her unknown visitor. Ruin and death, he had said. She
pondered on why this stranger should have warned her. Evidently an enemy
with an evil plan against her, turned aside by some man's whim, some
sudden mood caused by the sight of her beauty. Flight, he counselled,
flight for her! No! she would battle to the last, but she would not
neglect the unknown's warning. In a flash it came to her that this man
was connected with the letter which the Duke had refused to communicate
to her. She replaced her mask and returned to the ballroom. Still the
same monotonous whirling crowd, the pattering feet of the dancers, the
din of the music.
She searched for Serenissimus. He was standing with a group of masks at
the lower end of the hall, and did not observe her. She made her way
slowly through the crowd to the other side of the room, and slipped
through the door into the ante-hall. Immediately two lackeys sprang
forward to inquire her Excellency's pleasure. She waved them away and
passed onward, out to the terrace, and towards her pavilion. The sentry
at her door saluted her, but she gained her own ante-hall without meeting
any of her waiting men, even Maria was gaping in the crowd in the
courtyard probably.
Wilhelmine paused a moment in her antechamber on the first floor. She
listened attentively, and called Maria under her breath, but no answer
came. Then she drew out the little key, approached the door leading to
the statue gallery and opened it gently. The gallery was in darkness,
save where a faint white radiance was reflected from the moonlit garden
without, but that side of the palace lay in deep shadow. She crept on and
groped for the lock beneath the plaster Amorino's hand. At first she
could not find it, but after some moments she felt the tiny keyhole, and,
fitting the key, she turned it and the door swung open. She glided in
behind the arras, and found the spring which opened the partition. She
listened; there was no sound from the room within. She pressed the
spring, the tapestry door opened silently beneath her touch, and she
passed into the Duke's writing-closet. Here the moon shone full in, white
and ghostly. Wilhelmine's mind flew back to that far-off night at
Güstrow, when in the moonlight she had stolen the key from under her
mother's pillow. How she had trembled! She had been a child in experience
then, a very different being from the strong, self-confident woman she
knew herself to be nowadays. And yet she trembled in the moonlit room as
she had trembled then. What was that? The moonlight falling in sheeny
silver through the window, seemed to her to take the shape of a tall,
white woman's figure. She remembered the grim old legend of that Countess
of Orlamünde, murderess of little children, who haunted all the palaces
of her descendants. In the castle at Stuttgart, they said, the White Lady
walked, her pale trailing garments streaked with blood. Could she wander
here too in new, gorgeous Ludwigsburg? Almost Wilhelmine turned and fled,
but the remembrance of her dire peril came to her. She looked bravely at
the moonlight--there was no ghost there; it was only the Lady Moon, witch
of the night, throwing her cold, false smiles through the casement.
Wilhelmine went forward boldly. She must find the letter at any cost; its
contents threatened her, and she must know.
The Duke's bureau was locked. She pressed the secret spring in vain. Was
she doomed to be baffled, after all? She remembered that her own bureau
was identical with his Highness's. Resolutely, with that patience which
is born of hazardous undertakings, she glided away through the arras
door, through the black gallery, and regained her apartments. She heard a
movement in her sleeping-room, and Maria came to her.
'Your Excellency, pray forgive that I was not here.'
Even Maria must not know why she had left the ballroom, she thought.
'Go to Madame de Ruth's apartments. A black silk domino lies in the
wardrobe; go, bring it to me. I would change my colour and play a merry
jest upon some friends.' The maid departed. Now all was clear for some
time, for Madame de Ruth's apartment lay at the far end of the east wing.
Swiftly she sought the key of her bureau; it was hidden in a secret
drawer beneath the writing-desk. She took it, and passed through the
little door again. Once more she listened behind the arras; it seemed to
her as if something moved. She paused, then gently reopened the tapestry
door and peered in. The room lay silent, deserted, white and ghostly as
before. She passed in, and fitted her key into the bureau. The lock
yielded and the bureau flew open. Letters, documents, drawings, plans for
hunting excursions--all the usual occupants of Eberhard Ludwig's bureau.
She could see enough in the moonlight. Ah! here a creased paper. She
caught it up and examined it. Yes; this must be the thing she
feared--four large pages filled with cramped characters. She looked more
closely. Forstner's writing! She almost laughed. This, then, was what his
Highness had hidden so scrupulously from her! Thanks to the unknown's
warning, she had come on the track of her most deadly enemy. Had the
black mask not spoken, she might have forgotten the letter. She closed
the bureau carefully and stepped behind the arras, shutting the tapestry
door carefully. She was now in perfect darkness. She groped along the
wall to find the lock of the gallery door. Great God! what was that? A
movement near her, an icy touch on her hand. The White Lady's death-grip!
and yet better that, she thought, than any human being's presence; better
that than for any mortal to have seen her rifling the Duke's bureau. She
sought wildly for the lock. At last she found it and slipped in the key.
As the door sprang open something pushed past her--a huge, black shape.
'Mélac!' she called in a strained voice, and the powerful beast came to
her and rubbed his cold nose upon her hand. Only the wolf-hound, then,
who had been sleeping in the darkness behind the arras. She laughed when
she remembered her ghastly fear of the White Lady's death-grip!
She regained her own room. Maria had not returned from Madame de Ruth's
apartment. She kindled a light from her steel tinder-casket and set a
waxen taper aglow. Then she began to read Forstner's letter.
'Monseigneur, my Prince, and once my friend! Though it has been your
pleasure to discredit me, I cannot rest until I have let you know the
truth. You are being grossly abused, your noble trust and love made mock
of by a creature too vile for human words to describe. A woman, who to
her other lovers holds you up to scorn and ridicule! yes, ridicule of
your passion, making mock, betraying the secrets of your bed. Besides, it
is she who has the gulden which you accused me of purloining; she to whom
half your revenues are carried, and you are doled out a paltry sum which,
after all, you spend again upon this creature. You are weary of her, too;
all your Dukedom knows that right well--weary of her, and you dare not
dismiss her! The people laugh: your subjects, your friends, strangers,
other princes, all Europe laughs. See her! observe her hideous faults,
her foul blemishes of mind and body, her filthy actions!' Then followed
the names of his rival lovers, and a list of the vast sums she had
filched from the ducal treasury. All this set forth so cleverly, with
such apparent proof, that she trembled as she read. There were official
business transactions accurately quoted and put in such a light as to
seem to be robberies. It was a dangerous letter for her--half truth, half
falsehood, difficult to unravel, impossible to deny entirely. 'Honour
binds you, you say,' the epistle continued. 'Ah! my Prince! you have a
toy which has turned to a viper in your hand! Throw it from you! Other
princes have done so, and the world has applauded. Take a fair and noble
mistress, one younger, less rapacious. Consider this woman: already she
grows gross; in a few years' time she will be a mountain of flesh; her
eyes are dimming, her lips are paler, her teeth less white than they were
when she came from her obscure home.'
Wilhelmine, in all the magnificence of her beauty, of her maturity, read
thus far quietly; then, raging, she sprang to her feet.
'I could have forgiven you some of your insults, Forstner, but this is
too much! By God! by God! you shall suffer! I swear it by my salvation!'
She read on: details too disgusting, too gross to write down here, foul
accusation upon accusation, hideous blasphemies against her bodily
beauty.
Of a truth, not even a saint could have forgiven the writer of that
letter--and Wilhelmine von Grävenitz was no saint.