THE DOWNFALL
'Life is but a vision--what I see
Of all which lives alone is life to me,
And being so--the absent are the dead,
Who haunt us from tranquillity, and spread
A dreary shroud around us, and invest
With sad remembrances our hours of rest.
The absent are the dead--for they are cold.'
BYRON.
FREUDENTHAL was full of ghosts for the Grävenitz: Madame de Ruth, her
dead friend; Zollern, who had bade her farewell for ever; and Eberhard
Ludwig, the unfaithful lover of her vanished youth. She walked in the
gardens, listening involuntarily for the voice which had so often called
'Philomèle beloved' from the orchard gate. There was no consolation on
earth for her, she knew that; all she had loved, all she had achieved,
her power, her great honours, were dead things. The forced inaction of
her future tortured her. How would she pass the long dreary hours of the
rest of her life? True, the Jewish community of Freudenthal had greeted
her with enthusiasm; they were faithful, these despised Israelites. For a
moment it had warmed her heart back to a little interest in living. She
busied herself with the affairs of the village, but she was used to a
press of work, of governing, of vital interests; how could these minor
matters occupy her for long?
She tried to read, but though her eyes followed the lines her thoughts
flashed away to Ludwigsburg. She struck a few chords on the spinet;
unconsciously her fingers glided into a melody Eberhard Ludwig had loved,
and only a sob broke from her lips when she would have sung. Ghosts at
Freudenthal? She was the ghost herself; she was the shadow of bygone
days--the poor, yearning, broken-hearted ghost.
They came and told her that Serenissimus had returned from Berlin, and
that he had been greeted by the news of the Erbprinz's serious illness.
Prince Friedrich had fallen ill of a nervous fever, they said. Ah, yes!
she told herself she had caused it; in her morbid sadness she took the
blame of every untoward occurrence upon her shoulders. She had caused
Friedrich Ludwig to fall ill, for great emotions must perforce shatter so
frail a being as he was, and she had tortured him, tempted him.
One day two travelling coaches rolled into Freudenthal--the Sittmann
tribe arrived. It was but ill received by the Grävenitz. Why had they
come? she asked. Her sister informed her that Serenissimus had broken up
the court of Ludwigsburg; he was to reside henceforth at Stuttgart. Had
she not heard? Oh, yes! His Highness was reconciled with the Duchess, and
it was disagreeable for former members of the Ludwigsburg court nowadays.
This latter was said in a whiny tone of reproach.
'Get you gone to your own apartments, my sister and my sister's brats! If
stay you must at Freudenthal, then stay, but leave me now,' the Grävenitz
said; and though she was no longer the all-powerful Landhofmeisterin,
still there was that about her which made the parasites shrink back. But
they had done enough, had they not? in telling her thus roughly that the
woman she had loathed and despised with all jealousy's venom during
twenty years, had triumphed over her at last.
The Grävenitz stood before one of the most galling of life's lessons, she
had to bow to the inexorable commonplace. Her whole being was agonised;
she was breasting the dark waters of despair, she was living a tragedy,
but everyday life had to go on as usual: the necessary routine of it, the
dressing, the eating, the lying down to rest at night. She heard the
village children singing on their way home from school, and the
harvesters driving merrily to the fields. Sometimes she would cry out in
protest against Nature, against the unalterable, indifferent working of
the universe: the smiling sun, the peace of summer evenings. All things
went their way heedless of her tragedy.
Summer blossomed gloriously; then the long, weary days grew shorter, and
autumn brought endless nights to the stricken woman. Once, twice she had
written to Serenissimus, but no answer came to her.
The Erbprinz still battled with death. Eberhard Ludwig and Johanna
Elizabetha watched together at his bedside, and the Erbprincessin sat
stonily silent in the darkened room whose gloom seemed deepened by the
poor girl's overshadowed mind.
Then in October came the news that Death had conquered; the Erbprinz had
passed away, and the Erbprincessin, half-mad already, had fallen into
such despair that her clouded soul grew utterly black, and she raved in
hopeless insanity. Truly God's hand was heavy upon Wirtemberg.
A few days after this terrible news the Grävenitz, wandering moodily in
the Freudenthal garden, heard the rattle of an approaching troop of
horse. He was coming to fetch her, of course--her lover, her trusted one.
She had known he must come! And she hurried away to her tiring-room to
don her finest raiment. She would meet him like a bride. Was it not
fitting that she should be gorgeously attired on this great day of
triumph--this renascence of joy in her life?
The gown of golden cloth lay spread out for her; she always kept it
ready, for she knew he would come.
'Quick, Maria,' she called, as with trembling hands she began her toilet;
'quick! His Highness comes!' She seemed young again, with flushed cheeks
and shining eyes. Then her sister Sittmann burst into the room.
'Wilhelmine, I hardly know how to tell you--it is----' she said, but the
Grävenitz interrupted her.
'You need not--for I know--I always knew.' She stood before the mirror
fastening a diamond ornament into her hair, and her glowing eyes met her
sister's reflected in the glass.
'Good lack, sister! what ails you?' she cried, for the Sittmann's face
was ashen, and she gazed at the Grävenitz in terrified bewilderment.
'Who do you think has come, then? Wilhelmine, you are mad! It is a troop
of horse, headed by Roeder, with a warrant for your arrest.'
The diamonds slipped from the Grävenitz's fingers, and fell unheeded on
the floor, while all the glow and youth faded from her face.
'What are you saying? It is you who are mad--I know--it is his Highness,'
she stammered hoarsely, seemingly incapable of comprehending the meaning
of her sister's words. Suddenly her vigour returned, her courage, and
that perfect grip of startling events which had stood her in good stead
for many years.
'Where are they? Maria, bolt all the doors--quick, girl! In the court,
you say? Tell them I am in the garden, send them round, then shut and bar
each window.' She gave her orders clearly and calmly, like some general,
the practised commander in a hundred sieges. By this time all the inmates
of Freudenthal had gathered at the door of her apartment: Baron Sittmann
and his sons, the brothers Pfau, a horde of serving men and women. Once
more the Grävenitz seemed to be the great Landhofmeisterin whose lightest
word was law, and they did her bidding without question or comment.
'Back, all of you, I will speak with Baron Roeder.' She moved to her
bedchamber window which looked upon the garden. Below, on the terrace,
stood Roeder and another officer consulting together in low tones, while
through the garden tramped the soldiers, seeking her whom they had
treated with royal honours for twenty years. She flung open the window
and stood before the two officers.
'Monsieur le Baron Roeder,' she said slowly, 'to what do I owe the
pleasure of your visit? I am rejoiced to see you; but kindly desire your
men to spare my garden--they are ruining my flowers.'
Roeder looked dumbfounded.
'Certainly, your Excellency,' he stammered, 'but I must crave a word with
you immediately.'
'I regret, Monsieur, that illness confines me to my room. I cannot
receive you. Tell me your business from where you are.' She spoke
mockingly, looking down at the man below.
'Impossible! Madame, I must speak with you face to face,' he said
angrily; and indeed it was an absurd situation.
'We are face to face, Monsieur de Roeder, and I pray you tell me your
mission without delay. I am fatigued with standing so long. Come, I am
not in the habit of waiting, Monsieur.'
'Then, Madame, I arrest you in the Duke's name. You are my prisoner, and
if you will not come quietly, I shall be obliged to use force,'--this
with a gesture towards the soldiers, who had formed into line behind him.
'I am Countess of the Empire, Landhofmeisterin of Wirtemberg, and none
but my superior can arrest me, Monsieur. Also, this house of mine is on
free territory, subject only to the authority of the Emperor. I refuse to
be arrested, I refuse to give you admittance, and I command you to
withdraw.' She spoke perfectly calmly, with the tone given by the habit
of command, which she had wielded for nigh upon a quarter of a century.
Roeder hesitated; what she said might be true, and he greatly feared her,
but he had his orders from the Duke. He recalled his Highness's words
when he had intrusted him with the Grävenitz's arrest: 'I have not done
enough. God's vengeance is not fulfilled. The witch-woman, the
Land-despoiler is still at large in my country, and God has taken my only
son from me. I must purge my land of this sinner--punish her--break her
in atonement,' his Highness had said. The Duke was firmly persuaded that
so long as the Grävenitz remained free, God's wrath would be on
Wirtemberg, and the notion was fostered by her enemies. No one spoke of
her now save as the 'Land-despoiler,' that name which the peasantry had
called her in secret for many years.
'Madame, give yourself up peaceably, or I shall force my way in,' Roeder
called to her; but she had gone from the window, and the house was
shuttered, and with closed doors.
Then began the work of breaking into the manor of Freudenthal. Twenty
soldiers hacked in the doors with axes, while the rest stood sentry
keeping the Jews at bay, for the members of the Jewish settlement
gathered round, eager to protect their friend; but they were unarmed, and
the inherited submission of their oppressed race made them poor
protectors. The soldiers poured into the house. Roeder was received
before the Grävenitz's door by Madame de Sittmann. She implored him to
spare her sister, who, she assured him, was really ill. The door leading
from the Grävenitz's apartment was bolted from within. He knocked loudly,
but there being no response, he summoned the soldiers to break it in.
With a crash the door yielded, falling inwards. And then he saw his
quarry. She stood in the middle of the room, erect, vigorous, a very
flame of hatred burning in her eyes. She was clad in the golden gown
which she had donned in honour of joy's return; on her breast was the
order of St. Hubertus, and the jewels of Wirtemberg gleamed on her neck
and in her hair. Never had she looked more beautiful, more magnificent
than in this hour of her defeat, and even Roeder stood silent and abashed
before her.
'Well, Monsieur le Baron de Roeder,' she said, 'so you have defied me
again? See here, I curse you; you have called me a witch, and you are
cursed by me. It will not bring you happiness.'
'It is my duty, Madame,' he replied steadily. Her face changed.
'You are right, man; I grow petty in my old age. See, I forgive you.
Alas! my hour has struck.' She held out her hands towards him. 'Do not
bind my wrists, I will come. It is useless to fight Fate. Ah, Roeder!
Roeder! whither are you dragging me?' Her potent charm was alive in every
word. After all, it was a greater weapon than curses; she knew that, and
used it now.
'I thank your Excellency for aiding me in my terrible task,' said Roeder
huskily. 'Is there anything in which I may serve you before we start?'
'No, Monsieur, I am ready; only permit my maid Maria to accompany me, and
to bring such things as are necessary for my comfort,' she said quietly.
'It is against his Highness's orders, Excellency,' he began; but she
smiled at him, la grande charmeuse, and as usual she conquered.
* * * * *
Sadly the cortège left Freudenthal. Only once did the Grävenitz break
down. As she passed the orchard gate where Eberhard Ludwig had so often
stood on summer evenings calling 'Philomèle beloved,' she bent her head,
and, sobbing bitterly, murmured: 'Change is Death.'
* * * * *
The fortress of Hohenasperg stands about half a league from Ludwigsburg.
In the midst of rich orchards this gaunt rock rises abruptly from the
plain like some huge fist of a heathen god, threatening the peace of the
fruitful land with sombre menace. From heathen days it was named Asperg,
after the Aasen or Germanic gods, whose sacred mountain it was. Round
this stronghold men fought for centuries: naked barbarians against Roman
legions; rebellious knights of old against Imperial troops; Protestant
generals against the armies of the Holy Roman Empire; later,
Wirtembergers against the invading Frenchmen. Asperg, impregnable in war
time, was a prison in times of peace; from its dark walls and giant
ramparts escape was impossible for the prisoner. The very name of Asperg
was a terror, its shape was awe-inspiring. And hither they brought
Wilhelmine von Grävenitz on that smiling October afternoon. Slowly her
coach rumbled up to the grim gate over which a sinister lion's head
frowns down at those who enter this stern prison. The arms of Wirtemberg
are emblazoned on each side of the lion's head, surmounted by that ducal
crown for which the Grävenitz had made so audacious a struggle.
Her coach drew up before this gate and Roeder bade her descend. Here his
charge ended, he had conveyed the Land-despoiler to durance vile. The
governor of the prison met his prisoner at the gate. A bluff-mannered
Wirtemberger, short of stature, red of visage, and with fiery little
twinkling eyes beneath heavy, bristling eyebrows. A fierce bull-dog man
he looked, but his appearance belied him; for he was a tender-hearted
gentleman, and received his prisoner with a courteous consideration which
many a polished courtier would not have offered to the fallen tyrant. Up
the steep, dark, well-like road to the inner courtyard he led the
Grävenitz, followed by Maria, who wept bitterly.
'I have orders to lodge you safely, Excellency. Safe you will be here,
and I do not purpose to restrict your liberty greatly,' he said as he
ushered her into a small chamber with a door leading on to the ramparts.
Two sentries stood on either side of the entrance to her apartment, but
for the rest the room was clean and pleasant, and commanded a fair view
of the plain beneath.
'I thank you, Monsieur, for your kindness,' she said, approaching the
barred window. Then she gave a little cry, like to the moan of one
wounded when a fresh agony is inflicted.
'Give me a cell, Monsieur--a dungeon; only not that--not that--if you
have mercy in your heart!' she pointed tragically through the window. In
the dying sunlight lay the great palace of Ludwigsburg, the rounded
roofs, the terraces, and the Château Joyeux of La Favorite in the midst
of flowering parterres.
'I regret, Madame, believe me. I regret infinitely, but I have not
another apartment to offer you. Do not look from the window overmuch,
Madame.' The old man's voice broke and he put out his strong rough hand
to draw her away from the beautiful, peaceful view. But how inconsistent
is the human heart! She waved him away, and stood as though rooted to the
spot, her eyes fixed upon the scene of her passed happiness.
* * * * *
At first the tumult in her heart shut out the peace which was silently
waiting for admittance; the peace of seclusion bringing those calm
thoughts which wait upon the fevered soul of man in Nature's vast
aloofness. Gradually the beauty of the fruitful plain with its cornfields
and rich orchards, the mystery of the far-off hills on the horizon, the
poetry of the distant, dark-blue line of the forests, the song of the
wind murmuring through those few trees which had sprung up on the
fortress terraces and ramparts unabashed by warfare; gradually this peace
came to the Grävenitz, and she grew calm. True, she agonised when her
eyes fell upon Ludwigsburg, and she raged when the prison governor told
her of the march of events in Stuttgart; but still she knew a greater
peace, a more equable inner life than had been hers in the day of her
power.
A commission waited upon her, demanding the restitution of the jewels of
Wirtemberg. Some she had carried with her to Hohenasperg, some had been
already found at Freudenthal. It cost her a pang to part with the jewels.
Had not Eberhard Ludwig given each one to her with a lover's vow, a
passionate word?
They demanded also that she should give up certain locks of his
Highness's hair which she had unlawfully retained for purposes of
detestable magic. She made answer that she had but one strand of his hair
in a diamond locket. She said that she had worn this on her heart for
twenty years. 'Is that magic, Messieurs?' she asked. Had they known it,
they had indeed touched upon one of her sorceress secrets--the charm of a
woman who can love a man with undying poetry and romance. They told her
that she must give up this pathetic lock of hair, that she retained it to
brew love potions and such abominations. They took it from her, leaving
her the empty crystal locket with its encircling diamonds.
'How you fear me, Messieurs!' she said with a flash of her old defiance.
Then they left her with her empty locket and her empty life.
Yet her atonement was only beginning; 'the wages of sin is death,' and
worse than death a long-drawn agony of humiliation and loneliness.
Abasement, shame, defeat, fear, inaction, loneliness, yearning--all these
she had drunk in her cup of suffering, but in the dregs there remained
one more drop of gall--jealousy.
Now, in the spring before she left Ludwigsburg, she had been annoyed by a
rumour which had caused much commotion among the Wirtemberg peasants, and
even the courtiers had been infected with a wave of superstitious
interest. In the house of Wirtemberg there is a legend which tells how
Count Eberhard the Bearded, in humility and repentance of his youthful
sins, made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem accompanied by twenty-four noble
youths bound by sacred vows to purity and godly life. When Count Eberhard
was praying before the Holy Sepulchre, of a sudden a withered
whitethorn-tree quickened and blossomed in token of God's grace, and a
priest in Eberhard's following prophesied that so long as the world
lasted, this thorn-tree should flower whenever the noble race of
Wirtemberg should bloom anew. Piously the pilgrims bore the thorn-tree
back to their native land, and set it in a fair and sheltered spot near
to the abode of a venerable hermit. Here Count Eberhard instituted an
order of prayerful monks, garbed in fair blue habits, and for many
generations these holy men tended the thorn-tree, building giant supports
beneath its spreading roots and vigorous branches. In Protestant days the
poor thorn-tree was forgotten, save by the peasants who clung to their
old legends and vowed that, whenever an heir was born to the house of
Wirtemberg, the aged thorn put forth a flowering branch.
It happened that, shortly before the Grävenitz was banished from
Ludwigsburg, Eberhard Ludwig, in the course of his wood wanderings, came
to Einsiedel where stood the ruined monastery and the fateful thorn-tree.
An old peasant woman, who was gathering sticks for her fire in the
deserted monastery garden, told him of the legend, and, pointing to the
whitethorn, exclaimed: 'You who are a traveller, go to the palace and
tell the Duke that the thorn has blossomed. Tell him to leave the wanton
Land-despoiler, and go back to his true wife. God has caused the thorn to
bloom anew in token of pardon, and there will be an heir born to
Wirtemberg to take the place of the dying Erbprinz.' Now the Erbprinz was
not dying when the old crone spoke these words, but Eberhard Ludwig,
always feverishly anxious for his son's welfare, hurried back to
Ludwigsburg in an agony of fear and related the peasant woman's prophecy,
and the strange fact of that ancient thorn-tree putting forth a spray of
white blossom. Her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin had been much offended
by the story, and had mocked Serenissimus for his credulity.
Of course when, shortly after this event, Eberhard Ludwig repudiated his
mistress and returned to his neglected Duchess, popular report
immediately had it that the whitethorn had prophesied the happy
occurrence, and that her Highness Johanna Elizabetha was to become a
mother. This the Grävenitz had heard during her sojourn at Freudenthal,
but it was in November at Asperg that she heard the Duchess was indeed
with child. At first she vowed she did not believe it; it was an absurd
story started by the believers in that ridiculous thorn-tree; but when
the fact of her Highness's pregnancy could be doubted no longer, the
Grävenitz fell into an agony of jealousy. She paced her small room like
some tortured tigress; she cursed all men; she sobbed in a passion of
anger. Waking or sleeping the thought never left her. Her dreams were for
ever of Eberhard Ludwig and the woman she hated. God, how she despised
her! How she shuddered at the thought of her motherhood. She told herself
that it was disgust, and even as she formulated the thought she knew that
it was envy--cruel, aching envy which tortured her. She was jealous,
then? She? The very supposition was an abasement. Could she be jealous of
that dull, heavy woman, with her reddened eyes? But she would be the
mother of his child. . . .
They told her that prayers for her Highness's safe delivery were offered
up in all the churches in Wirtemberg, and that there was immense
rejoicing in the land. There was no doubt then, and the Grävenitz's
dreams were unending of the Duchess holding out a beautiful man-child to
Eberhard Ludwig, who smiled in happiness and peace.
At length one day in December Maria told her that there were exciting
rumours in the village which nestles at the base of the fortress rock of
Hohenasperg. The Duchess was sick unto death, they said, and the doctors
were entirely puzzled. Into the Grävenitz's heart there crept a ray of
hope. God forgive her! she prayed for death to visit Stuttgart's castle.
Daily she sent Maria to the village to learn the news. One day the
governor came to her and told her he had a terrible thing to communicate.
Good, honest man, he often spent an hour with his prisoner telling her
news of the outer world.
'The Duchess has suffered a cruel disappointment, Madame,' he said; 'all
Wirtemberg will condole with her. Her hopes are ended, the doctors have
been mistaken, there will be no heir to the Dukedom. Her Highness suffers
from dropsy. Great heavens! what ails you?' he cried, for the Grävenitz
had flung herself back into her chair, convulsed in a horrible paroxysm
of mirthless laughter.
* * * * *
The plain below Hohenasperg was white with snow--a light fall, which lay
thinly on the even ground but had failed to whiten the fortress rock,
where only patches clung, emphasising the sombre colour of the stone
hill. The sky was leaden, lowering, sinister, pregnant with unborn snow.
A company of horsemen took its way up the steep road leading from the
village of Asperg to the fortress. Following this cavalcade was a coach
drawn by four horses. The Grävenitz, standing on the west terrace,
watched the horsemen approach. She wondered idly if another State
prisoner was being conveyed to Hohenasperg. She saw the leader of the
troop parleying with the sentry. He showed a document to the man; then
the outer gate swung back and the cavalcade was hidden from her sight
between the gloomy walls of the steep, dark lane leading up to the second
or inner gate. She turned away; after all, these things were of no
account to her. That was one of her agonies; she to whom all things had
mattered, the much occupied, the ruler, the indefatigable
administrator--she was forced into lethargic quiescence. Every hour was
empty for her. She turned away listlessly. The afternoon was drawing to a
close. It would be a white world to-morrow, she reflected, for those
swollen clouds could not hold the snow longer.
The prison governor was coming along the terrace towards her. She greeted
him in friendly fashion; but at first he spoke no word, only took both
her hands in his.
'I have bad news, Madame,' he said, after a pause.
'Ah! tell me; I am used to sadness now. What is it? O God! but it is not
some accident to Serenissimus?' she said. The old man shook his head.
'No, Madame, but you are to be removed from my care. And I fear----' he
began.
'Death? Would he dare? After all, perhaps, it were better,' she said
calmly.
'No, not that; you are to be moved to Hohen-Urach. . . . Madame, they
will try you for your life. Alas! his Highness believes you have cast a
spell upon the Duchess and caused her misfortune. Asperg is too close to
Stuttgart.'
She smiled at him. 'It does not signify, dear friend. One prison is like
another, I suppose; but I shall miss my jailor! Let me thank you,
Monsieur, for your great courtesy to the fallen Land-despoiler.' She
spoke almost gaily, and the governor turned away his head.
'I would help you, Excellency; pray God I may be able to serve you one
day,' he said huskily.
'Tell them I shall start to-morrow, when the snowstorm is over. I shall
be prepared.'
'I regret--Excellency--In truth, I scarce know how to tell you--It is
ordered that you shall travel to-day--immediately,' he said.
'A prisoner has no choice, Monsieur,' she answered bitterly.
* * * * *
As the cortège passed out of the Hohenasperg gate, the first snowflakes
fell, and when they reached the village at the foot of the hill there was
a whirling storm.
The journey to Urach through the snow was terrible. For hours the
cavalcade wandered in the snowdrifts between Nürtingen and Urach, and
when at length the unhappy woman was housed for a few hours' rest in a
village inn, her slumber was broken by the sounds of rude merriment in
the hall below her sleeping-room, where the peasants were dancing. She
was wont to say afterwards that this trivial episode had been one of her
most painful experiences. Her nerves were on the rack, for she expected
that some cruel trial awaited her at Urach. She was terribly weary from
the long hours of wandering, and from cold and exposure; her pride had
been galled by the gaping, laughing, jeering, mocking crowd of peasants
which had stood round her while the captain of the guard made
arrangements for her night's lodging. Then her sensitive ear was tortured
by the peasants' music, which beat on and on in monotonous, inharmonious
measure all through the night.
If suffering is atonement for sin, certain it is that the Grävenitz
agonised at Urach. Her imprisonment was infinitely more rigorous than it
had been at Hohenasperg. The governor treated her with scant
consideration, and answered her questions shortly. He forbade the
faithful Maria either to go to the town or to speak with the other
inhabitants of the fortress prison. Thus the Grävenitz had no knowledge
of the doings in the world. She tasted real imprisonment, the torture of
being entirely cut off from human interests. Also she was left in
ignorance of her future. Death, banishment, perpetual imprisonment? She
knew nothing. She penned passionate appeals to his Highness, but the
governor informed her that he could forward no writings from a prisoner
awaiting trial.
'When shall I be tried, and for what offences?' she demanded.
'I am not at liberty to say,' he returned, and left her.
She fell ill, or feigned to do so, and when the apothecary tended her she
offered him vast sums if he would tell her what had occurred in
Stuttgart. The man reported this to the prison governor, who further
restricted the Grävenitz's liberty in punishment. She was no longer
permitted to walk on the ramparts. She grew really ill after this. For
many days she lay upon the rude pallet, which was called bed at Urach,
and, turning her face to the wall, refused to take nourishment. Maria, in
an agony of fear, sought the governor and told him her Excellency lay
dying.
'A very curious coincidence,' said the governor musingly.
'How, sir? I do not understand,' inquired Maria.
'It is said that his Highness lies dying also; there can be no harm in
telling you that,' replied the cautious official. Maria, burdened with
her sorrowful secret, returned to watch over her beloved mistress. For
weeks the Grävenitz pined in hopeless sadness and physical illness, then
her old spirit returned, and she faced life again. Maria had not told her
that Serenissimus was sick unto death, dead perhaps by this time; she
knew not, for none at Hohen-Urach would answer the witch's serving-maid.
Spring came, and the Grävenitz petitioned the prison governor to permit
her to walk on the ramparts as before. Unwillingly the man acceded to her
request, and once more she was at liberty to breathe the air of heaven,
and to feast her eyes upon the majestic view of the hill-country. But
there was pain for her, even in this her one enjoyment, for from the
rampart she looked down upon that little hill-town of Urach which had
seen her in the heyday of her youth and love. She could even see the
windows of the Golden Hall where she had held high revel on that summer
night so long ago, and whence she had fled before the Emperor's stern
decree. Remembrance was pain, and yet her thoughts lingering in the past
brought her echoes of joy and laughter. What matter if the echo was
softened by a sigh?
At length, in August, an attorney waited upon her in her prison. He was
charged to defend her in her trial, he said. A semblance of justice was
to be meted out to her; she should benefit by the pleadings of a man of
law. This personage was a village notary, and all unfitted by knowledge
or experience to battle against the skilled prosecutors. And yet she was
grateful; for, at least, she would thus learn of what she was accused.
The list of her crimes was appalling. Firstly: treason. Secondly:
purloining of lands and monies. Thirdly: witchcraft and black magic.
Fourthly: bigamous intent. Fifthly: attempted murder. It is
characteristic of the age that the fifth indictment should not have been
the first.
Her treason consisted in having grasped the reins of government from the
hand of their rightful wielder, his Highness Eberhard Ludwig of
Wirtemberg; in having kept back from his knowledge many facts in the
administration of the country, and destroying documents addressed to him.
Also in having been untrue to him in word and deed. Almost comic this
last--a sort of topsy-turvy adultery charge!
'Purloining of lands and monies.' She replied that if his Highness's
presents were accounted to her as peculation, she had been guilty. For
the rest she, having governed the country in his name and with his
sanction, had made free use of the revenues for legitimate and public
official purposes, exactly as do other rulers, be they kings, dukes, or
ministers of state.
To the charge of witchcraft and black magic she refused to make answer,
save that she denied harming man, woman, child, or beast. She was still
hoist with her own petard: the pitiful belief in the potency of her
absurdities.
Bigamous intent she repudiated proudly. She had been married in all legal
form, and according to the ancient privileges of ruling princes to take
to wife whom they chose, provided they, by open and public decree,
declared any prior union null and void. It had pleased the Emperor as
over-lord to decide otherwise, and she had bowed to this decision, thus
forfeiting her just rights. For this she could not be punished, she
averred.
The attempted murder she denied absolutely. It was an absurd story
founded on the indiscretion of an insane servant, whom she had dismissed
from her service.
For the rest, she referred her accusers and her judges to the first, and
only competent witness on her side, viz. his Highness Duke Eberhard
Ludwig of Wirtemberg.
Such in few words are the contents of the massive dossier of her trial,
and her dignified answers.
The details these gentlemen of the law permitted themselves to prepare
are numerous, and unfit for publication to-day. Her alleged misconduct
(she being mistress, not wife--the term seems strangely applied!) is
accompanied with a dozen disgusting stories, which it must be said were
entirely fabricated for the trial; and, as she herself pointed out, the
chief and only competent witness on her side was the man she had loved
and lived with for over twenty years,--who, however, was the very person
to permit the commencement of this trial, and must have read and approved
the accusations in all their revolting details! He also, and he alone,
could prove that the woman had governed, purloined, etcetera, with his
sanction. He alone could say whether he had made free gifts to his
beloved mistress of lands, jewels, and monies; or whether she had
appropriated them without his consent.
Concerning the witchcraft charge it is difficult to exculpate the
Grävenitz, seeing she herself refused to deny her magic practices, and
there is little doubt that she possessed that magnetic or hypnotic power,
the use whereof our ancestors called witchcraft. It is curious to
speculate how much of this power, in wonderfully subtle and varied forms,
exists in every human being of whom we say: 'They have great personal
charm.'
The village notary carried the Grävenitz's answers to Stuttgart, and for
many weeks the unhappy woman heard no more of her trial. She waited in a
fever of impatience, but she dared not make any endeavour to obtain news
for fear the governor should see fit once more to restrict her little
liberty.
Her pride was not broken; it was terribly sentient, quivering with
painful defeat and humiliation. Worse than all was the silence she was
forced to maintain. She spoke with Maria, but the good, tender-hearted
peasant, though she sympathised passionately and with that noble loyalty
of which such women are capable, yet she could not comprehend or respond
to the workings of her mistress's brain, could not offer consolation to
the cultured mind.
In truth, it was a terrible downfall, a disaster; this gorgeous life,
this towering success, which of a sudden had been broken, flung down into
the very depths of mortal abasement.
The summer days passed. Autumn came, and still no news arrived from
Stuttgart, nor did the notary return to give her information. Suspense
deepened to melancholy, and, as the days dragged by, melancholy was
supplanted by despair. 'I shall die in Hohen-Urach,' she said to Maria.
At length towards the beginning of November the notary arrived.
'Your trial will take place soon, Excellency,' he said. 'It has been
retarded by his Highness's illness; that being over, the matter will
proceed.'
The man rubbed his hands in self-satisfaction. He was persuaded that the
authorities in Stuttgart had chosen him for his qualities of mind and
knowledge of law, and he had become a very important personage in his own
estimation and in that of his cronies in the village.
'His Highness's illness, Herr Märkle? I pray you tell me what has ailed
the Duke?' Her voice shook a little, but the man had spoken so airily
that she could not believe the Duke's illness had been serious.
'Ah, Excellency! you were unaware of the sad circumstances? Yes, truly, a
long and painful malady; lung trouble it was.'
'It is over then? quite passed? I rejoice,' she returned.
'Yes, Excellency; it ended a week ago. His Highness died in his sleep.'
She looked at him for a full moment as one deaf, who, knowing some one
has spoken some word, hears not and wonders pitifully. The notary had
turned away and busied himself with writings and documents on the table.
Already his thoughts were rehearsing a wonderful oration he would speak,
a masterpiece of pleading. What a great man he was, to be sure! Of
course, he would move to Stuttgart. His ambition soared--surely a very
great lawyer.
A rustle of silken garments in the room behind him, and two hands fell on
his shoulders: hands of iron they seemed.
'Say that again; you do not know what you have said.' It was a strange
voice which spoke: a voice so hoarse, so toneless, that the fat little
man trembled, recalling in a flash the stories of witches' transformation
into ravening wolves or terrible demons. He wriggled round. The Grävenitz
stood over him, her hands upon his shoulders, her eyes like two flames
scanning his face.
'Say what, Excellency? I do not know----' The trivial fact of the Duke's
death and of this woman's agony had been lost for him in his dream of his
own judicial splendour.
'What did you say of his Highness? Tell me, or I will kill you,' she
returned in the same fearful voice.
'I said what all the world knows: that the Duke Eberhard Ludwig died from
lung trouble, on the 31st of October--a week ago,'--he answered angrily,
struggling to remove those gripping hands from his shoulders.
'It is a lie! Another lie to torture me. Go, you lying, cruel devil--the
Duke shall punish you.'
She was mad for the moment; sense, dignity, all was swept away in her
terrified fury. She pushed the man from the room, her murderous hands
gripping and bruising his shoulders with demoniacal force.
'Go, liar!' she cried, as she thrust the little man through the door.
She stood silent and motionless. 'He said that all the world knew,' she
whispered hoarsely.
She flung herself face downwards on the stone floor of the prison-room,
moaning and biting her hands like one possessed of a devil.
* * * * *
Duke Karl Alexander, successor to Eberhard Ludwig, was a gallant
gentleman, hero of a hundred battles. He was received in Wirtemberg with
popular enthusiasm, in spite of the damning fact that he was a Roman
Catholic. He reassured his people by swearing to uphold the Evangelical
Church. This being so, he began his reign with the entire approbation of
the Wirtembergers, and in the press of business and rejoicings the trial
of the Grävenitz seemed forgotten. Still, the mass of carefully prepared
accusations remained, and the gentlemen of the law but bided their time.
Meanwhile the chorus of approval in Stuttgart wavered; for if Eberhard
Ludwig had countenanced the Land-despoiler, Karl Alexander was also ruled
by a favourite, into whose hands he confided the administration of the
Dukedom. This favourite was Joseph Süss Oppenheimer, a Frankfort Jew. To
the horror of officialdom, Süss was made Minister of Finance, and, in
point of fact, chief adviser to the new Duke.
Unheard of that a Jew should be admitted into the government! That one of
the despised race should appear at court; not only appear, but rule,
direct all things, be the familiar friend of a noble Duke!
If money had been levied by the Grävenitz, far heavier taxes were imposed
by Süss Oppenheimer. If the court at Ludwigsburg had been brilliant and
lavish in the Land-despoiler's day, it was the scene of an unending
series of costly festivities under the new régime. And if the late Duke's
mistress had been ruinous to the country's finance, the new Duke
maintained half a dozen such ladies in the greatest splendour. Süss was
accused of arranging the Duke's relations with these ladies, and of
sharing their favours with his unsuspecting patron. It is certain that
the Jew led a dissolute life, and that his amours were numerous.
The Wirtembergers were in despair, and murmured more ominously than ever;
but they were powerless. Süss was master of the situation, exactly as the
Grävenitz had been before.
Of all this the prisoner at Hohen-Urach knew nothing. She succeeded in
persuading the governor to forward a letter from her to her brother,
Friedrich Grävenitz, in which she implored him to visit her; but she
received no answer from that estimable personage. In point of fact, he
was in an awkward predicament himself. True, he had sided against his
sister openly, but the Duke, not relishing a too glaring reminder of the
past, had commanded him to retire to Welzheim. At Eberhard Ludwig's death
Grävenitz waited upon Karl Alexander, who, honest gentleman, disapproved
of a brother showing open hostility and ingratitude to a sister, and
begged the petitioner to return to his country-seat.
Now Grävenitz, to his horror, found that he was implicated in his
sister's misdemeanours. Had he not shared in the benefits of her
peculations? In vain he protested, denouncing his sister and benefactress
in pompous self-righteous words and writings. But the legal authorities
paid no heed, and intimated briefly that Welzheim did not belong to him,
although he held it in his possession; nine points of the law certainly,
but not conferring ownership. He was directed to relinquish Welzheim to
the new Duke's representatives. This he declined with many high-flown
expressions, which, however, the legal gentlemen considered beside the
point at issue; and Count Friedrich Grävenitz was lodged in his own
palace in Stuttgart, under arrest and well guarded. He was tried for
peculation, but the prosecution ceased when Friedrich Grävenitz consented
to deliver up Welzheim to his Highness the Duke, and to pay a fine of
fifty-six thousand gulden. He was liberated and permitted to leave the
country, which he did, repairing to Vienna where he appealed to the
imperial tribunal for justice.
When he received his sister's letter he was under arrest, and later his
own affairs absorbed him. So the Grävenitz's appeal remained unanswered.
The appointed day came for her trial, and the village notary spoke his
dreamed-of oration. The tribunal listened, or appeared to listen, but the
sentence was a foregone conclusion. Wilhelmine von Grävenitz, Countess of
Würben, late Landhofmeisterin of Wirtemberg, was condemned to death.
Yet it was written in her book of Destiny, that Vienna should interfere
in all the important events of her life. The Emperor intimated that, as
Countess of the Empire, she could not be put to death without his
consent, and this he withheld. Süss Oppenheimer[2], Wirtemberg's Minister
of Finance, had appealed on her behalf. The sentence was commuted to
perpetual imprisonment and forfeiture of all lands, monies, and jewels.
This information was imparted to her by the prison governor. She received
it calmly, merely remarking: 'Death would have been much shorter.' She
had sunk into an apathy since the news of his Highness's decease.
The winter passed without event. Spring found the Grävenitz grown
white-haired, and she had fallen into the habit of patient, indifferent
acquiescence in all things. Maria wished her to walk upon the ramparts
for an hour's fresh air? Very well, she would go.
'Your Excellency must eat, must sleep, must rest.'
'Certainly; it does not matter. I will do as you say, Maria.'
It was as though she gave her body into the peasant woman's command; her
soul was elsewhere, in that mysterious land into which her eyes seemed to
be for ever gazing with painful, straining effort, seeking--seeking and
imploring.
Towards the end of May, an official document was brought to the governor
of Hohen-Urach. It contained the pardon of Wilhelmine von Grävenitz,
provided she undertook to leave Wirtemberg for ever, and to abandon any
future claims upon land or property of all sorts in the Dukedom. The
governor was directed to accompany the lady to the frontier, with an
escort of two hundred horse. Further, he was to place in her hand, at the
moment of her passing out of Wirtemberg territory, a sum of a hundred
thousand gulden, 'in fair compensation for any loss incurred,' it was set
forth in the pardon. With this surprising document was a sealed letter
addressed to the Grävenitz, which was to be delivered immediately.
The governor repaired to the prisoner's apartment, but found it deserted.
The Grävenitz was taking the air upon the ramparts. He found her leaning
over the stone parapet, gazing, as usual, into the distance with those
terrible, haunted, unseeing eyes. In vain the valley was radiant with
Spring's tender treasury; she gazed unseeing at the wealth of blossom,
the feathery green of the beech-trees, and at the rounded hills so rich
in sombre firs enhancing the wondrous youth of the beech leaves; at the
little hill-town, red-roofed and sheltered, clustering round the old
castle. All this peaceful beauty of Nature's renascence was nothing to
her. As she had said, death would have been much shorter; this long-drawn
agony, this numb pain, was death in life.
'I have the happiness to announce to your Excellency that his Highness
the Duke has granted you pardon. When it suits you to travel, I am to
accompany you to the frontier under escort,' the governor said coldly.
She turned her eyes upon him, but she gave no sign of comprehension; once
only she started and winced, when he said his Highness the Duke,
otherwise she remained unmoved and unresponding as one deaf. He waited a
moment for her to speak, then slowly repeated his announcement.
'Where am I to go to?' she said at last in a low, uncertain voice.
'Where it pleases your Excellency. Anywhere out of Wirtemberg.'
She turned to Maria who stood behind her. 'Have I a house anywhere? I
have forgotten,' she said.
'Surely, surely, Excellency; your castle at Schaffhausen,' replied the
peasant woman.
'Very well; we will start to-morrow for Schaffhausen,' the Grävenitz
answered in her new, broken, docile voice.
'There is a letter for you, Madame,' the governor told her.
'A letter? Who should write to me? The dead do not write.'
'O Madame! Madame! read it; there may be good news,' cried Maria.
'Good news? Good news for me? There can be none. Do you not know that
there can be none?' she said tonelessly.
Even the governor's eyes were wet as he handed her the letter. She broke
the seal listlessly.
'I send you the best terms I can make for you, in remembrance of the
Judengasse of Stuttgart, and in gratitude for your kindness to my
race.--JOSEPH SÜSS OPPENHEIMER.'
* * * * *
Fastened in one corner of this short missive glittered a little jewel.
The Grävenitz looked long at it, not comprehending. Then a scene of her
past came back to her--she was in a darkened room, which smelt of
strange, sweet essences, and a Jewish boy sang a Hebrew love-song.
Joseph Süss Oppenheimer, the Jew, had proved himself, in this instance,
to be truly what Eberhard Ludwig had called him in pleasantry many years
ago--'un preux chevalier.' One who could render homage and service to a
fallen favourite.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Joseph Süss Oppenheimer was the son of Michaele, a famous Jewish
beauty, daughter of Rabbi Salomon of Frankfort, a musician of talent.
Michaele was not only possessed of wonderful beauty, but God had blessed
her with a glorious voice. She married Rabbi Isaschar Süsskind
Oppenheimer, also a singer and musician, and together the couple wandered
from city to city, and from palace to castle, discoursing sweet melodies.
The lady's morals suffered from this vagrant life, and the Jewish
community of Frankfort stood aghast at her amours. Jewish women are
usually remarkably virtuous, and Michaele's evil reputation was easily
achieved.
There was an ugly story concerning the birth of Joseph Süss. In brief, he
was reported to be a love-child; but the dates do not tally, and it is
certain that Rabbi Isaschar accepted the infant as his own. From his
mother Joseph Süss inherited marvellous personal beauty, and from both
his parents his musical gift. From the mother too, if we are to believe
all the tales, he received a nature of abnormal, passionate sensuality.
At an early age Süss was sent to his relatives in Vienna, the famous
bankers Oppenheimer. Here the boy was reared in splendour and refinement,
and instructed in the intricacies of banking, usury--in short, in
finance. He repaired occasionally to his family in Frankfort, halting on
the road to visit an aged relation in Stuttgart, Frau Widow Hazzim, at
whose house in the Judengasse he made the acquaintance of Wilhelmine von
Grävenitz.
Süss matured early, and became, not a musician as he had boasted in his
childhood, but a very capable financier. He fell in with Duke Karl
Alexander of Wirtemberg during a sojourn at Wildbad. His Highness sought
a secretary and treasurer, and he was immediately captivated by the young
Jew's personal beauty, his fascination, his vivid intelligence, and
knowledge of business. The Duchess was interested, attracted, and
delighted in Süss's music and the haunting charm of those ancient Hebrew
melodies which his father, Rabbi Isaschar, had taught him. Süss was taken
into his Highness's service, and when Karl Alexander succeeded his cousin
Eberhard Ludwig in the Dukedom of Wirtemberg, the Jew accompanied his
patron to Ludwigsburg and Stuttgart. He was made Minister of Finance and
became, in reality, ruler of the court, for the Duke gave over everything
to his trusted favourite. The treasury was exhausted by the Grävenitz's
magnificence, and Süss set to work to replenish the empty chests.
It would be too long to recount here the endless money-raising schemes
which were put in motion by Süss; suffice it to say, that never had
Wirtemberg been so squeezed even in the time of Eberhard Ludwig. But if
Süss procured vast sums, he spent them as readily. The festivities at
Ludwigsburg were more opulently splendid and more numerous than ever, and
the Duke had six mistresses and a favourite to enrich instead of one
Land-despoiler! Süss lived like a prince--and a very lavish prince at
that--and the money, of course, came from the Duke's treasury. Now
Michaele's heritage became noticeable; if the Duke had six mistresses
Süss had sixty. No woman could resist him; they said he was so gloriously
handsome, so witty, so 'differing from the rest of mankind,'--not an
original statement from amorous dames!
Thus Süss inherited his mother's nature, and together with his unbridled
passion for love came the illimited desire for, and need of, gold.
By the first, he incurred the hatred of those men--husbands, brothers,
fathers of the women he took for his pleasure; by the second, the undying
animosity of the oppressed taxpayers. The end came swiftly. Four years of
debauch and lavish expenditure, and death fell suddenly upon Karl
Alexander of Wirtemberg. He died at nine of the clock one evening, and
the next dawn saw Joseph Süss a hunted fugitive. He was caught between
Ludwigsburg and Stuttgart, and immediately thrown into prison. Here he
languished, a prey to terrible anxiety and remorse; his only visitants
were pastors of the Christian religion who tortured him with argument.
'You are a Jew, but you do not even adhere to the damnable tenets of your
vile cult,' they said.
'I am a man and no coward, and I will not abjure the faith of my
fathers,' he responded. They held out spurious hopes of pardon would he
swear to the pure faith of the Crucified, but Süss remained nobly
obdurate. Then the Church--she to whom Christ bequeathed His sweet
message of pardon, of tenderness, and of leniency--deserted the faithful
Jew, and the law of human cruelty and punishment took hold of him. He was
accorded no trial. His sins were as scarlet indeed; besides, he of the
despised race had dared to rule. The name Jew was a stigma in itself, and
this word the people howled round the tumbril which bore the erstwhile
gorgeous favourite to a death of ignominy. A few women in the crowd
sighed and shed a tear when they saw the godlike beauty of the man,
broken to pathetic ruin by adversity, white-haired, vilified, aged by his
degradation; but chiefly the crowd howled and reviled, and the men spat
in the Jew's face and covered him with a load of horse-dung and foul
ordure. They hung him finally after unspeakable tortures. Then his body
was left to rot in Stuttgart's market-place in the sight of all. A
hideous carrion dangling in a silver cage, which his judges had caused to
be constructed as a terrible warning to those who would profit by the
favour of princes.
Tragic enough in itself, this story of the downfall of a superb ruler and
courtier, the more appalling, when we consider that it was chiefly a
cruel triumph of race hatred. No unbaptized Jew in German history has
risen to such official eminence as Joseph Süss Oppenheimer, and there is
little doubt that, had he not been of the race of Israel, even though he
had committed the same crimes, he would not have suffered this fearsome
death.