wickedness. I am ready to do all that I can to deliver you from this
trouble. Let us calmly consider how this can be done. You cannot, in
such a state of passionate feeling, decide what would be good for you,
for your judgment is not unbiased enough to choose your own course. To
what old house that a tenant rents or a landlord opens, do not painful
recollections attach? Even he who lives a simple life in a strange
neighborhood, cannot escape the attacks of idle gossip. Turn away your
thoughts from that common woman. It would not become either you or me
to depart like fugitives on her account. What have we done, Ilse, to
lose our self-respect? There is only one wise method of dealing with
the evil work of foolish and perverse accidents, to go forward firmly
and to care little for it. Then the dissonance will pass away and
perish of itself in the noise of daily life. Those who allow themselves
to be disturbed by it, increase it by their own sorrow. Suppose that we
were suddenly to leave this house, you would carry away with you the
feeling of having left like one who had been conquered, and you would
be incessantly pursued by the consciousness of a discordant murmur
behind us which would not be silenced."
"You speak coldly and wisely," exclaimed Ilse, deeply incensed; "in
spite of what you say, though, you little feel the injury your wife
suffers."
"If you now had the self-possession for which I always admired you, you
would not allow such unjust complaints to pass your lips," replied her
husband, gloomily. "You must know that if I saw you in danger, I would
this very hour take you away. Must I now waste words with you to tell
you that. But even against the gossip of the weak, this residence is
the best defense, for the Prince is away and you remain behind with
your husband."
"I know the cause of this indifference," murmured Ilse.
"You know what binds me here," exclaimed the Professor, "and if you
were to me what you ought to be, the sharer of my hopes, and if you had
the same feeling for the value of the treasure which I seek, you would,
like me, feel that I should not needlessly turn away. Bear with this
residence, dear Ilse, however irksome it may appear to you," he
continued encouragingly, "the longest period is past. I am invited to
pursue my quest in the country-chateau of the Princess; there I
anticipate that I shall find what will set us free."
"Do not go," exclaimed Ilse, approaching him; "do not leave me in this
dreadful insecurity, in a terror that makes me shudder at myself and
every strange sound that I hear in these rooms."
"Terror," exclaimed the Professor, displeased, "terror of spirits.
Rarely is life among strangers so easy and comfortable as this
residence is to us; there may be discord everywhere, and it is our own
fault if we allow it to master us."
"Do not go," cried Ilse again. "Yes, there are spirits that pursue me,
they hang day and night above my head. Do not go, Felix," she
exclaimed, raising her hand; "it is not the manuscript alone that
allures you, but the woman who awaits you there. This I have known ever
since the first day we came to this town. I see how the magic of her
superficial soul ensnares you. I have until to-day struggled against
this fear, from the confidence I had in my loved husband. If you go
now, Felix, when I would like to cling to you, when I seek every moment
for comfort from your voice, I shall begin to doubt you and to have the
fearful thought that my trouble is indifferent to you, because you have
become cold to me."
"What are you thinking of, Ilse?" cried the scholar, horrified; "is it
my wife that speaks thus? when have I ever concealed my feelings from
you? and can you not read in my soul as in an open book? Then, was it
this that lay so heavy on your mind? Just what I should not have
considered possible," he said, frankly and sorrowfully.
"No, no," cried Ilse, beside herself; "I am unjust, I know it; do not
attend to my words. I trust you; I cling to you. Oh! Felix, I should be
driven to despair if this support breaks under me."
She threw her arms around his neck, and sobbed. Her husband embraced
her, and tears came into his eyes at the grief of his wife.
"Remain with me, my Felix," continued Ilse, weeping. "Do not leave me
alone just now. I have still a childish, simple heart. Have patience
with me. I have been ill at ease here; I do not know why. I cling to
you, and I tremble lest you should be alienated from me. I know that
you are mine, and I struggle with the fearful foreboding that I shall
lose you here. When you go out of the house, it seems to me as if I
must take an eternal farewell, and when you return, I look doubtfully
at you, as if you had changed towards me in a few hours. I am unhappy,
Felix, and unhappiness makes one distrustful. I have become weak and
faint-hearted, and I am afraid of telling you, because I fear that you
will on that account have less respect for me. Remain here, my beloved;
do not go to the Princess--at least, not to-morrow."
"If not to-morrow," he said, cheerfully, "then the next day, or some
other day. I cannot forego this short journey. To give it up would be a
wrong that we must not take upon ourselves. The longer I delay. Ilse,
the longer you will be kept within these walls. Even from your point of
view, is it not prudent to do quickly what would make us free?"
Ilse released herself from his embrace.
"You speak sensibly at a moment when I had hoped for a far different
tone from your heart," she said quietly. "I know, Felix, that you do
not wish to give me pain, and I hope that you are true in what you now
say, and conceal nothing from me. But I feel in the depths of my heart
a long-accustomed pang that has often come over me in sorrowful days
since I have known you. You think differently from what I do, and you
feel differently in many things. The individual and his sufferings
signify little to you in comparison to the great thoughts that you
carry about with you. You stand on a height, in a clear atmosphere, and
have no sympathy with the anguish and trouble in the valley at your
feet. Clear is the air, but cold, and a chill seizes me, when I see
it."
"It is the nature of a man," said the Professor, more deeply moved by
the restrained grief of his wife than by her loud complaints.
"No," answered Ilse, gazing fixedly before her, "it is only the nature
of a scholar."
In the night, when the scholar had been long sleeping, his wife rose by
his side and gazed, in the subdued light, on the countenance of her
loved husband. She got up, and held the night-lamp so that the yellow
light fell on his peaceful countenance, and large tears dropped from
her eyes on his head. Then she placed herself before him, wringing her
hands, and striving to restrain the weeping and convulsions which shook
her body.
_CHAPTER XXXV_.
IN THE PRINCESS'S TOWER.
When the Princess, at the urgent desire of her father, had returned to
her home, the illustrious family whose name she now bore made it a
condition, not only that she should pass some months of the year at the
residence of her deceased husband, but that she should have a special
establishment arranged for her in her father's capital. A compact to
this effect was concluded, the object of which was undoubtedly to
secure to the young Princess a certain degree of independence. In order
to fulfil the agreement in appearance, a princely castle in the country
was assigned to the Princess for a dwelling, as there was no suitable
building in the capital. The castle was half a day's journey from the
city, at the foot of a woody hill, surrounded by fields and villages--a
pleasant summer residence. The Princess had already spent some of the
months of her mourning there.
It was a warm day on which the Professor set off to go to the castle.
The air had not yet become cool after the storm of the night. There
were fleeting shadows and bright sunshine on the sky and earth; the
thick clouds sometimes cast a grey covering over the straight road
along which the learned man passed; but then again it lay before him
like a golden path, leading to the longed-for goal.
Thus did dazzling light and dark shadows flit through the soul of our
scholar. "The manuscript will be found; it is concealed from us," he
said to himself, and his brow became clouded. "If it should not be
found, many will read with astonishment how deceptive appearances were,
how near the possibility. Many will with regret resign the hope which
the words of the monk had inspired, yet none will feel this regret so
much as I shall. A thought which has for years occupied my fancy, and
directed my eyes to one object, has gained the mastery over me. The
free mind of man plays with the thousand impressions of ancient and
modern times: he restrains their power by the balance of his reason and
strength of his will. But with me a small image of the faded characters
of an old book has penetrated so deeply into my soul that the hope of
obtaining it makes the blood course through my veins, and the fear of
losing it paralyzes my energies. I know that my eagerness is too great;
it has hardened me against the childish anguish of my wife, and I
myself have not become stronger since I have trodden the uncertain path
of the poacher. Every one should be on his guard lest his dreams should
diminish the sovereignty of his mind. Even the dreams of the best
hours, when a soul innocently devotes itself to a great feeling, may
turn a man away from the straight path of duty, that lies nearest to
him."
A golden light broke over his countenance. "But if it is found! It is
only a small portion of our knowledge of ancient times that lies
concealed in it. And yet it is just this discovery that would pour a
flood of light upon a landscape hovering in twilight, and several
decades of ancient life would become visible to our eyes with as
distinct an outline as if they lay in a nearer past. The discovery
would solve a hundred doubts, and excite a thousand new ones. Every
later generation would rejoice in the great gain, and would seek, with
revived energy, for new disclosures. Even for her, who at the castle
shares so warm-heartedly in my anxieties, I wish the pleasure of this
discovery. To her also it would be forever a great remembrance, that
she had taken a kindly interest in the first labors of the searcher."
Higher rose the mountains and more brilliant became the coloring of
their masses. The line of hills in the foreground stood forth from the
misty distance; blue glimpses of the valley were visible through the
openings of the dark wood. The carriage rolled through a well-preserved
forest; a thick growth of firs and pines shut out the prospect for a
time; when the road led again into the open country, through grassy
meadows and groups of trees, the castle lay straight before the eyes of
the scholar. A massive, old-fashioned tower crowned with pinnacles rose
out of a low wood; the afternoon sun shone above, its rays forming long
streaks in the vaporous atmosphere. The brown walls stood out in the
lonely landscape, like the last pillar of a gigantic ruined castle;
only by the fresh-looking stone mullions of the well-fitted windows did
one perceive that it was a habitable abode. Adjoining the tower rose
the small chateau, with steeply-sloped roof and pointed windows; in its
moderate dimensions it formed a strange contrast to its massive
companion; but in spite of the disproportion of the parts the whole
formed a stately relic of the middle ages. One could well see that its
walls had afforded shelter and defense to many generations.
The tendrils of the wild vine twined up to the roof of the house and
round the windows of the tower, which rose in seven stories, supported
by strong buttresses. Thyme and grass grew above in the crevices of the
crumbling stone, but the grass which a few days ago had covered the
ground had been pulled up and the court and doors festively adorned for
the new occupants. Banks of flowers and plants in pots were placed
around in profusion. There was only one corner in which the hasty work
had not been finished, and the remains of mossy green on the ground,
and a swarm of blackbirds that fluttered round the tower, showed that
the building had stood uninhabited in a lonely country.
The Professor sprang from the carriage, the Marshal greeted him from
the balustrade, and led him into the unpretentious guest-chamber.
Shortly after he conducted him through a vaulted passage of the castle
to the tower. The Princess, who had just returned from a walk, was
standing, with her summer hat in her hand, at the entrance of the
tower.
"Welcome to my Solitude," she said; "happy be the hour in which this
old mansion opens its doors to you. Here you stand at the entrance of
my realm. I have made myself at home in almost every part of the tower;
it is our female fortress. When these solid oak doors are closed we
ladies can found an Amazonian kingdom, and without danger fire
fir-cones upon the whole male world, for this is the fruit that
flourishes best here. Come, Mr. Werner, I will take you to the place
where your thoughts linger more willingly than with children of the
present."
A winding stone staircase connected the stories of the tower, each of
which contained rooms and closets; the highest was a loft. The Princess
pointed mysteriously to the staircase.
"Yonder at the top, below the rafters," said the Princess to the
Professor, "the whole space is crammed with old household furniture. I
could not restrain my curiosity, so yesterday I just peeped into the
room; the things lie heaped up in wild confusion; we shall have much
work."
The Professor examined with pleasure the well-preserved stone-work of
the arched doors and the artistic work of the old-time lock-smith.
Little had been done in modern times to make the walls look respectable
or to repair damage; but any one who took interest in the chisel and
carving tools of the old builders, might perceive everywhere with
pleasure that the tower could easily be changed into a masterpiece of
ancient style.
The servant opened the door into the Princess's rooms. These also were
simply arranged. The broken painted glass of the small window had been
repaired with panes coarsely painted; only fragments of the old
pictures still adhered to the lead.
"There is still much to be done here," explained the Princess; "and we
shall gradually have everything arranged within the next few years."
The clatter of the Castellan's keys were heard in the anteroom, and the
Professor turned towards the door.
"One moment's patience," cried the Princess, and she flew into an
adjoining room. She returned in a grey cloak with a hood, which
enveloped her in its folds, only the delicate face, the large beaming
eyes, and smiling mouth being visible.
"It is only in this gnome costume that I venture to approach the dusty
spirits of the lumber-room."
They ascended to the highest story. While the Castellan was picking out
the key from the bunch, the Professor eagerly examined the door, and
remarked, "More beautiful mouldings by your old lock-smith."
"I have hopes," said the Princess.
"Everything looks that way," replied the learned man.
The heavy door creaked on its hinges, and a large room presented itself
to the eyes of the searchers. A bright light shone through the narrow
openings in the wall upon the mysterious apartment; atoms of dust were
seen whirling about in the straight, shafts of air, while before and
beyond all was confusion wrapt in semidarkness. Old furniture was piled
up in hopeless confusion; gigantic wardrobes with broken doors, heavy
tables with balls for feet, chairs with straight backs and leather
cushions, from which the horsehair bristled out; together with
fragments of old weapons, halberds, corroded greaves, and rusty
helmets. Indistinct and vague, the forms appeared among each other:
legs of chairs, flat pieces of wood with inlaid work, and heaps of old
iron lying all around. It was a chaos of frippery, the artistic
products of many centuries. Their hand touched the table at which a
contemporary of Luther had sat; their foot pushed against a chest which
had been broken open by Croats and Swede; or against the white
lacquered chair, with moth-eaten velvet cushions, on which a court lady
had once sat, in a hoop dress, with powdered hair. Now all lay together
in desolate heaps, the cast-off husks of former generations, half
destroyed and quite forgotten; empty chrysales, from which the
butterflies had flown. All were covered with a grey shroud of dust--the
last ashes of vanished life. What once had form and body, now, crushed
into powder, whirled about in the air; clouds of dust opposed the
entrance of those who came to disturb its possession; it hung to the
hair and clothes of the living intruders, and glided slowly through the
open door to the rooms, where varied colors and brilliant ornament
surrounded the inmates, in order there to carry on the endless struggle
of the past with the present--the quiet struggle that is daily renewed
in great and small things which makes new things old, and finally
dissolves the old in order that it may help to nourish the germ of
youthful life.
The Professor glanced like a hawk amidst the legs of tables and chairs
in the dusky background.
"Some things have lately been removed from here," he said; "there has
been some sweeping among the furniture in the front."
"I yesterday endeavored to clean a little," said the Castellan,
"because your Highness expressed a wish to enter here; but we have not
gone far."
"Have you ever formerly examined the furniture in this room?" asked the
Professor.
"No," replied the man. "I was only placed here last year by his
Highness the Sovereign."
"Is there any catalogue of the things?" said the Professor.
The man said there was not.
"Do you know if there are chests or trunks here?"
"I think I have observed something of the kind," replied the Castellan.
"Fetch the workmen to move the things," ordered the Princess. "To-day
every part of this attic shall be examined."
The Castellan hastened down. The Professor endeavored again to peep
among the piled-up masses, but the glaring light from above dazzled his
eyes. He looked at the princely child; she was standing in a costume of
bright color at the door, like the fairy of the castle, who has
ascended into the dwelling of the grey-bearded spirits of the house in
order to accept their homage.
"It will be a long work, and your Highness will not like the dragging
about of the dusty furniture."
"I will remain with you," exclaimed the Princess; "however contemptibly
small may be my share in the discovery, I will not give it up."
Both were silent. The scholar moved about impatiently among the chairs.
Moths fluttered in the clouds of dusty and a brown martin flew out from
the nest which it had built in a corner of the window. All was still;
there was no sound but a slight regular tapping, like a pendulum
striking the hour, in the desolate room.
"That is the death-watch," whispered the Princess.
"The wood-worm is doing its work in the service of nature, it dissolves
what is decayed, into its elements."
The sound ceased, but after a time began to tick again, then a second;
they tapped and gnawed incessantly, down, down, and further down! Over
the heads of the searchers the jackdaws were croaking, and further off
the song of the nightingale sounded softly upon the labor of those who
were unearthing the past.
The workmen came; they brought one article after another to the front
of the room. Thicker rose the discoloring dust; the Princess took
refuge in the anteroom, but the Professor did not leave his post. He
worked hard himself, raising and arranging things in the front row. He
went back for a moment to the door to take breath, the Princess
received him laughing.
"You have undergone a complete transformation. You look as if you had
been awaiting resurrection in this room, and I do not think I look much
better."
"I see a chest," said the Professor, and hastened back. Another
confused medley of chairs' legs and backs were lifted away, and the
workmen laid hold of a little chest which stood in the dark. "Set it
down," ordered the Castellan, who quickly passed a large brush over it.
It was carried to the light and appeared to be a trunk of pine wood
with an arched top; the oil color of the paint had disappeared in many
places. There were iron clamps at the corners, and a rusty key that
held fast the staple of the lock, but hung loosely in the wood. On the
cover of the chest, which was dusty and worn, a black '2' was visible.
The Professor had the chest put at the feet of the Princess. He pointed
to the cipher.
"This is probably one of the chests that the official of Rossau sent to
the castle Solitude," he said, with assumed composure, but his voice
trembled.
The Princess knelt down and endeavored to raise the cover, the lock
broke away from the wood, and the chest opened.
Above lay a thick book, bound in parchment. Quickly the Professor
pounced upon it, like a lion on his prey, but he laid it down again
immediately. It was an old missal, written on parchment, the cover
damaged and torn, the layers of parchment hung loosely in the book. He
put his hand again in the chest, a torn hunting net filled the
remaining space; beside that some damaged cross-bows, a bundle of
arrows, and small iron-work. He raised himself, his cheeks were pale,
his eyes glowed.
"This is No. 2, where is No. 1," he exclaimed. He hurried back into the
room, the Princess followed. "Forward, men," he cried out, "fetch the
other trunk."
The men continued their work.
"There is something here," said one of the workmen; the Professor
hastened to the spot, raised and drew it out, it was only an empty
chest.
The work went on. The Marshal also had been brought here by curiosity;
he eagerly viewed the old furniture, and caused those pieces to be
placed together, which, according to his idea, might be mended and used
in the castle. The staircase was filled with household goods, and one
of the servants' rooms was opened that the old things might be
deposited in it. An hour had passed, the room became more empty, the
sun was sinking, its rays reflected the image of the opening in the
wall on the opposite side; the other chest was not to be found.
"Remove everything," said the Professor, "even to the last piece of
wood."
A heap of old lances, broken glasses and pottery were fetched out of
the corner, also broken legs of tables, split pieces of veneered wood,
and in the corner a great pewter tankard:--the space was clear. On the
floor lay gnawed pieces on which the death-watch had already done its
work.
The Professor entered the door again.
"This room is cleared," he said, with forced composure, to the
Castellan. "Open the next room."
"I do not believe that you will find anything in it," replied the weary
man. "You will only find old shelves and stoves there that formerly
stood in the castle."
"Let us go in," said the Professor.
The Castellan opened the door hesitatingly; a second room, still larger
and less inviting, came to view; sooty earthen pans, bricks, and slabs
of slate, lay mountain-high at the entrance, and over these were wooden
tools that probably had been used in the last repairs of the castle.
"I am glad to see this," said the Marshal; "such a load on the upper
story is wrong. This lumber must be taken out of the tower."
The Professor had ascended a hill of slate slabs, and was seeking in
the darkness for another trunk, but the chaos was too great.
"I will have it cleared out immediately," said the Marshal,
consolingly, "but it may take a long time; we shall hardly get through
to-day."
The Professor looked imploringly at the Princess.
"Get more people," she commanded.
"Even with that it will soon be dark," replied the Marshal, prudently.
"We shall see how far we can get. At all events the Professor may
betimes to-morrow find the entrance prepared."
"Meanwhile let us shake the dust from our clothes," said the Princess,
"and come into my library; it lies just under us, you can there
overlook the work of the people who are clearing away. The chest shall
be conveyed into my library. I will take it with me, and shall expect
you."
Two men carried No. 2 into the library, and the Professor went
unwilling to his room to dress.
The Princess walked about the room where the old chest had been placed,
awaiting the return of the scholar. With a heavy heart she looked
forward to meeting him; she concealed in her soul a wish and a
commission. The Sovereign had taken leave of her this time with more
kindness than he had done for years; before her departure, he had led
her into a side room and spoken to her about Werner.
"You know that one cannot leave too much to honest Bergau; I should be
glad if you will also do your best to keep the learned man with us. I
have got accustomed to him in this short time and would unwillingly
miss his enlivening society. But I do not think of myself alone. I am
becoming old, and such a man would be of the greatest value to your
brother for his whole life--a man in full vigor, who is always
collected and calm in the midst of our distracting doings: I therefore
wish this intimacy to be preserved and increased for you both: for you
also, Sidonie. I have seen with especial satisfaction how
enthusiastically you enter into the studies of our learned men. Your
mind will not be sufficiently interested with the twittering of the
well-mannered birds who surround us; some assistance from a talented
person will open to you a nobler conception of the world. Endeavor to
gain this man: every kind of burdensome duty shall be spared to him;
what now makes his position uncertain shall be removed as soon as he is
installed with us. I do not insist upon your speaking to him, I only
wish it; and I wish you to believe that in this also I am thinking of
your future."
Without doubt this was the case.
The Princess had listened to the words of her father with the quiet
criticism that was customary between such near relations. But the words
of the Sovereign on this occasion met with such an echo in her soul,
that she expressed her willingness to speak to Mr. Werner.
"If you undertake this," the Sovereign said, in conclusion, "you must
not do it by halves. Employ all the mild influence that you can
exercise over him, obtain his square word and promise for whatever he
is inclined to accede to."
The Princess now thought over these words with disquietude. Ah! she
would gladly have conveyed to the heart of this much valued man the
wishes of her own, but she felt annoyed and perplexed that her secret
feelings should be made subservient to the will of another.
The Professor entered the library of the Princess; he gave a glance at
the casts and books which were lying about, just unpacked and
unarranged, and began:
"When one's hopes have been so much raised, it is difficult to bear
suspense. One cannot help laughing over the mocking accident which
brings us in contact with a monk whose work is of no value, and
withholds from us that of the other which is of immeasurable
importance."
The Princess pointed with her hand to the door: outside were heard the
steps of people carrying something.
"Only have a little patience; if there is nothing more to-day there may
be to-morrow."
"To-morrow!" exclaimed the Professor; "a whole night lies between.
Meanwhile the worm gnaws incessantly, and all the powers of destruction
are at work. Numberless are the possibilities that separate us from our
hope: that acquisition alone is certain which we have in our hands."
He examined the chest.
"It is much smaller than I imagined. By what accident did the missal
lie in it? It is not even certain whence it came, and it is still very
doubtful what may lie concealed in the other chest."
The Princess raised the top.
"Let us meanwhile pay attention to the little we have found."
She took up the parchment volume, and put it in the hands of the
learned man. Some leaves slipped out; the Professor caught hold of
them; his eyes contracted, he jumped up and hastened to the window.
"These leaves do not belong to it," he said, reading them. At last he
exclaimed: "A piece of the manuscript is found."
He held out the leaves to the Princess; his hand trembled, and the
agitation of his countenance was such that he was obliged to turn away.
He hastened to the table and searched the missal, opening it leaf by
leaf, from beginning to end. The Princess held the leaves in her hand
in eager expectation, and approached him. As he looked up he saw two
large eyes fixed on him with tender sympathy. Again he seized the two
leaves, "What I have here, he cried, is both valuable and discouraging;
one could almost weep that it is not more; it is a fragment out of the
sixth book of the annals of Tacitus, that we already possess in another
manuscript. These are two leaves of a parchment volume, but between
them many are lost. The writing is well preserved--better than I should
have expected. It is written by a German, in the characters of the
twelfth century."
"He looked quickly over the contents in the light of the setting sun.
The Princess glanced over his shoulder curiously at the thick letters
of the monk's hand.
"It is correct," he proceeded, more calmly, "the discovery is of the
greatest interest. It will be instructive to compare this manuscript
with the only one extant." He looked at it again. "If it is a copy," he
murmured, "perhaps both indicate a common source. Thus the manuscript
that we are seeking must be torn; these leaves have fallen out, and
perhaps during the packing up have been shoved into a wrong book. There
is much still that is mysterious; but the main fact appears to me
certain, that we have here a remnant of the manuscript of Rossau, and
this discovery ought to be a guarantee that the remainder is at hand.
But how much of it?" he continued, gloomily, "and in what condition
will it be?"
He again listened anxiously to the steps of the men who were clearing
away in the loft. He rushed out of the room up the stairs, but returned
in a few minutes.
"The work goes on slowly," he said; "as yet there is nothing to be
seen."
"I do not know whether to wish that it should go on quickly," exclaimed
the Princess, cheerfully; but her eyes gave the lie to her smiling
mouth. "You must know that I am very selfish in helping you to find the
manuscript. As long as you are searching you belong to us. When you
have obtained the treasure, you will withdraw yourself into your
invisible world, and the retrospect alone will remain to us. I have a
mind to close the remaining rooms of the house, and only to open one to
you each year, until you have become quite at home with us."
"That would be cruel not to me alone," replied the Professor.
The Princess stepped up to him. "I do not speak mere empty words," she
said, in a changed tone. "My father wishes you to make your home with
us. Bergau is commissioned to enter into business arrangements, but
they are not of the nature to determine your decision. Yet when I
express the same wish, that you should remain with us, I do it from my
own heart."
"This demand upon me is very unexpected," answered the learned man,
with astonishment. "My custom is to weigh such proposals calmly, and
from different points of view. I therefore beg your Highness not to
require an answer."
"I cannot let you off," exclaimed the Princess. "I should like to gain
you in my own way. You shall choose your office and occupation here as
freely as is compatible with our different relations: you shall have
every kind of distinction, and every wish that it is in the power of
the Sovereign to satisfy shall be fulfilled."
"I am a teacher in the University," replied the Professor. "I teach
with pleasure, and not without success. My whole nature and the course
of my education fit me for this vocation. The rights and duties which
enclose my life have a firm hold on me. I have pupils, and I am
engrossed with the work in which I wish them to partake."
"You will never find pupils that will be more truly devoted, or cling
more warmly to you, than my brother and myself."
"I am not a tutor who can for any length of time oversee the duties of
a prince; I am accustomed to the rigid method of the professor, and to
quiet labor among my books."
"This last part of your occupation, at least, will not be lost to the
world by your remaining here. This is just the place where you would
find leisure, perhaps more than among your students."
"This new life would bring me new duties," replied the Professor,
"which I should feel called upon to fulfill. It would occasion me also
distractions to which I am not accustomed. You invite a man whom you
regard as firm. True, in his own circle of life, that character he
possesses; but you have no surety that in another sphere of life he
will continue to be so. Do not believe that under changed circumstances
I shall retain the repose and calmness of effort that the mind of a
worker needs; and my dissatisfaction at inner disturbances would
certainly make itself felt upon those about me. But even if I could
hope for all regarding my home and my private relations that would make
life satisfactory to me, I must still take into consideration where I
can personally be most useful; and I am not at present convinced that
this would be the case here."
The Princess looked down sadly. The steps of the men who were to free
the manuscript from the piles of rubbish still continued to sound
above.
"Yet," continued the Professor, "if we were to be fortunate enough to
find the manuscript, many days, perhaps many years of my life would be
taken up by a new task, which would be so great that I might find my
University occupations a burden. Then I should have a right to ask
myself, in what surroundings I should best be able to advance this
work. In this case, I should also have a right to leave the University
for a long time. But if I do not find it, it will be painful to me to
part from here, for my soul will long hover restlessly about this
place."
"I will not let you off so easily," cried the Princess. "I hear only
the words, duty and manuscript. Is the liking that we show to you,
then, of no value to you? Forget, now, that I am a woman, and consider
me as a warm-hearted boy, who looks up to you devotedly, and is not
quite unworthy of your interest."
The Professor looked at the student who stood before him and did not
wish to be considered a woman. The Princess had never looked so
attractive. He gazed on the blushing cheeks, on the eyes which were
fastened so expressively on his countenance, and on the rosy lips which
trembled with inward emotion. "My pupils generally look different from
that," he said, softly, "and they are accustomed to criticize their
teacher more stringently."
"Be content for once," said the Princess, "with finding pure admiration
in a susceptible soul. I have before said how much I value your
acquaintance. I am no empress who governs a kingdom, and do not wish to
employ your powers in my interest. But I should consider it the highest
happiness to be in intimate relations with your mind, to listen to the
noble words you utter. I feel a longing to look upon life with the
clear eyes of a man. You have easily, as if in play, solved riddles
that have tormented me, and answered questions with which I have
struggled for years. Mr. Werner, you have taken a kind interest in me;
if you go from here, I shall find myself alone in those pursuits with
which I should most prefer being occupied. If I were a man I should
seek you as my teacher; but I am fettered here, and, I beckon you to
me."
The learned man listened, entranced, to the soft voice that spoke so
persuasively.
"I do not beg for myself alone," continued the Princess, "my brother
also needs a friend. It will be his task to take charge of the welfare
of many. What you could do for his mind would be for the benefit of
others. When I look away from the present, and dream of the future of
our princely house and of this country, I feel proud that we, brother
and sister, have a presage of what will be demanded in our time from
princes, and I feel an ambition that we should both, before all others,
show ourselves worthy of this high calling. I hope to see a new life
developed in my home, and my brother and myself surrounded by the best
minds of our nation. Thus we should live sensibly and earnestly
together, as our times require; it should be no pleasure-loving Court
after the old style, but a hearty intercourse between the Sovereign and
the mind of the nation. That will make us freer and better in
ourselves, and will be an advantage to the whole people; it will also
be a bright remembrance for future times. When I think of such a
future, then, Mr. Werner, I see you as the dear companion of our life,
and the thought makes me proud and happy."
The sun was setting, and its last rays fell glowing upon the Princess
and the head of the scholar. Sweetly sounded the song of the
nightingale among the elder-bushes; the Professor stood silent opposite
the beautiful woman who painted life to him in such rosy colors; his
heart beat and his strength failed him. He saw before him two eloquent
eyes, and the sound of the entreating words, "Remain with us," rang
with entrancing magic once more in his ear.
Something rustled near the Princess; the leaves of the manuscript which
she had taken fell to the ground. The Professor bent down to pick them
up, and as he raised himself again began, in a feeble tone:
"Your Highness takes a bright look into the future; my eye is
accustomed only to read single lines in the history of past ages. Here
lies my first task; my dreams hover about these leaves. I am only a man
of the study, and I should become less were I to endeavor to become
more. I know that I deprive myself of much, and in this hour, when a
vision of a brilliant life shines before me so invitingly, I feel this
more deeply than ever. But my greatest happiness must be, from within
quiet walls, to impress upon the souls of others what will there
blossom and bear fruit. My greatest reward must also be that in hours
of triumph, when filled with the consciousness of power, some pupil of
mine will give a fleeting thought to the far-distant teacher, who has
been but one among the thousands that have formed him, but one among
the many sowers in the limitless fields of science."
Thus spoke the scholar. But while speaking, with a severe struggle for
composure, what was true and honorable, he did not think only of the
truth, nor only of the treasure which he was seeking, but of the
greater one which he had left in order to pursue his quest with the
beautiful fairy of the tower. He heard the beseeching words, "Do not
go, Felix," and they were a timely warning. "When I return to her, will
she be contented with me?" thought the innocent man. He was spared the
necessity of asking the question.
The rolling of a carriage was heard below, and the steps of the servant
who was coming to announce an arrival.
"Is your will so inflexible, your intention so firm!" exclaimed the
Princess, passionately. "But I am also obstinate; I shall continue my
entreaties. War between us two, Mr. Werner! Farewell, till evening."
She hastened down the steps. The evening light disappeared behind dark
clouds; the mist hovered over the meadows and hung on the tops of the
trees; and the daws flew croaking round the walls of the tower. The
door of the room above creaked on its hinges, and the Castellan rattled
his keys, while the scholar looked lovingly at the leaves which he held
in his hand.
_CHAPTER XXXVI_.
ILSE'S FLIGHT.
Ilse was awakened by her husband's parting kiss; she sat at her
bed-side and listened to the sound of the rolling wheels.
"This has been a fearful night," she said; "after tears and anguish
there came bad dreams. I was hanging over a precipice; from the depth
below, concealed by fogy arose the noise of a waterfall. Felix standing
above, held me by a handkerchief; his strength was giving way; I felt
that, but I had no anxiety about it in my dream. I wished that Felix
would let me go, and not sink with me. Pass away in peace, my dream, to
thy portals of ivory; thou wast a good dream, and I have no cause to be
ashamed of thee.
"He is on his journey, and I am alone. No, my Felix, you are with me,
even when I do not hear your voice. Yesterday I was angry with you; I
am sorry for it. I bear you within me, just as you have taught me, that
the soul of man passes into and rests in others. That part of Felix
which I preserve within me I will keep honorably, and quietly cherish
in this hateful house."
She opened the curtains.
"It will be a gloomy day again; the finches are already sitting at the
window, crying for the dilatory woman who has slept beyond the
breakfast hour of her little ones. Outside all is in bloom, and the
large leaves of the Schubart-plant blow about joyously in the moist
air. But this rain will be more than my father likes; the seed will
suffer. The good God cannot please us all at the same time; we are
indeed covetous.
"At home they gossip about me; my neighbor did not say the worst that
she knew. I have not been used to this. When I became the wife of my
Felix I thought myself raised above all the meanness of the world, but
I now feel its sting in my soul."
She passed her hand over her eyes.
"No tears to-day?" she cried springing up. "When my thoughts course
wildly through my brain I will prove to myself that I have something of
the scholar's character in me, and will calmly look into my own heart
and quiet its beatings by prudent reflection. When he first came to our
house, and the noble spirit of his conversation aroused me, his image
pursued me into my room. I took a book, but I did not know what I read;
I took up my accounts, but I could not put two and two together; I
observed that all was confusion within me. Yet it was wrong to think
thus about a man who was still a stranger to me. Then in my anguish I
went into the nursery, tidied all my brother's and sister's things, and
saw whether the boy's clothes needed mending. I was then a regular home
body. Ah, I am so still; I hope it will help me now. I will put all my
things together for I feel as if I should take a journey to-day, and
that it will be well to have all prepared."
She opened the closet, drew out her trunk, and packed it.
"But where to?" she asked herself. "Far away? How long it is since I
had wings like a swallow, and could gaily fly with my thoughts into
foreign parts! And now the wings of the poor little swallow are broken.
I sit alone on my branch; I would gladly conceal myself in the leaves,
and I dread the fluttering and the chattering of my neighbors."
She supported her weary head with her hands.
"Where should I go to?" she sighed; "not to my father; nor could I now
look with pleasure on mountains and old monuments. How can one have a
heart for the forms of nature and the achievements of past nations when
one's own life is racked and disturbed?
"My Felix said that one should always consider oneself the child of the
whole human race, and be elevated by the high thought that millions of
the dead and living are united to us in an indissoluble unity. But who
of those who were and are about me will relieve my tormented soul of
the pangs that constantly trouble me? Who will deliver me from
dissatisfaction with myself and from fear about the future? Ah me! It
may be a teaching to inspire man in hours of exaltation, when calmly
contemplating all about him, but for him who is writhing in torment and
affliction, the teaching is too high, too high!"
She took from the shelf her little Bible, which had been given her by
the good Pastor on her departure from her father's house, and drew it
out of its cover. "I have long neglected to read you, dear book, for
when I open your pages I feel as if I had two lives; the old Ilse
revives who once trusted in your words; and then again I see myself,
like my husband, criticizing many passages, and asking myself whether
what I find in you is according to my reason. I have lost my childish
faith, and what I have gained instead gives me no certainty. When I
fold my hands in prayer, as I did when I was a child, I know that I
dare pray for nothing but strength to overcome, by my own exertion,
what now casts down my spirit."
The gardener entered the room, as he did every morning, with a basket
of flowers which the lord of the castle sent her. Ilse rose and pointed
to the table.
"Set it down," she said, coldly, without touching the basket.
She had, at other times, frequently expressed to the man her pleasure
in the beautiful flowers he had cultivated. It had always given him
pain that the illustrious personages of the castle never noticed his
rare plants, and he had been so pleased with the warm interest taken by
the strange lady that he brought the flowers every morning himself, and
pointed out to her the new favorites of the conservatory; he had cut
for her the best he had.
"The others do not notice them," he would say; "and she remembers the
Latin names too."
He now placed the basket of flowers down with a feeling of
mortification.
"There are some new specimens of the calceolaria," he began,
reproachfully; "they are of my own raising: you will not see others of
this kind."
Ilse felt the disappointment of the gardener. She approached the table,
and said:
"They are indeed very beautiful; but flowers, dear sir, require a light
heart, and that I have not now. I have ill repaid your kindness to-day;
but you must not be angry with me."
"If you would only look at the grey-spotted ones," exclaimed the
gardener, with the enthusiasm of an artist; "these are my pride, and
are not to be had anywhere else in the world."
Ilse admired them.
"I had taken great pains for many years," continued the gardener. "I
had done all I could to obtain good seed, but only common ones came;
after I had almost lost courage, the new kinds blossomed all in one
year. It was not my art," he added, honestly: "it is a secret of
nature; she has given me good fortune, and relieved me from my cares
all at once."
"But you took pains and did your best," answered Ilse; "when one does
thus, one may trust to the good spirit of life."
The gardener went away appeased; Ilse looked at the flowers.
"Even he who sent you has become to me an object of dread. Yet he was
the only one here who showed me uniform kindness and treated me with
respect. Felix is right: there is no reason for us to be disturbed on
his account. Who knows whether he is much to blame for the disagreeable
reports about this house. I must not be unjust towards him; but when I
look at his flowers, it seems as if an adder lay within them, for I do
not know whether his soul is pure or impure. I do not understand his
ways, and that makes me uncertain and fearful."
She pushed the basket away, and turned from it.
The maid who waited upon her came into the room, with a troubled
countenance, and begged permission to go away for the day, as her
mother was very ill in a neighboring village. Ilse asked kindly about
the woman, and gave the girl the desired permission, with good wishes
and advice. The maid went slowly out of the room; Ilse looked
sorrowfully after her.
"Her heart, too, is heavy. It is well that Felix is not at home, for I
can now be alone with my sorrow. It will be a quiet day, and this will
be welcome after yesterday's storm."
Again there was a knocking at the door; the Castellan brought the
letters that the postman had given him for the Pavilion. There were
letters from her brothers and sisters who kept up a regular
correspondence with their distant Ilse. A ray of joy passed over her
serious face.
"This is a pleasant morning greeting," she said. "I will to-day answer
my little band in detail. Who knows whether I may have time for it next
week."
She hastened to the writing-table, read, laughed, and wrote. Her
uneasiness had passed away; she chatted like a lively child in the
language and thoughts of the nursery. Hours flew in this occupation.
Gabriel brought up and carried away the dinner. When in the afternoon
he found her still bending over the letters, he lingered by her and
hesitated whether he should speak to her; but as Ilse was so deeply
engrossed in her work, he nodded and closed the door.
Finally, Ilse wrote to her father. Again her thoughts became sad,
anguish rose from the depth of her heart, and lay like a burning weight
on her bosom. She left her writing-table, and paced hastily about the
room. When she came to the window, she saw the lord of the castle
coming slowly along the gravel path towards the Pavilion.
Ilse stepped back quickly. She was not unaccustomed to the short visits
of the Sovereign; but to-day she felt fearful, the blood rushed to her
heart, she pressed her hands over her bosom, and struggled for
composure.
The door flew open.
"I come to inquire," began his Highness, "how you bear your solitude.
My house also has become empty, my children are gone from me, and it is
lonely in the great building."
"I have employed my leisure in intercourse with distant friends,"
answered Ilse.
She would not on this occasion mention the children to the Sovereign.
"Are the little ones who play about in your home amongst these
friends?" he asked laughing. "Have the children again expressed their
wishes to you?"
He took a chair and invited Ilse to be seated. His demeanor made her
more composed; his manner was that of a discreet and well-intentioned
person.
"Yes, your Highness," replied Ilse; "but this time my younger sister,
Luise, was the most active correspondent."
"Does she promise to become like you?" asked the Sovereign, kindly.
"She is now twelve years old," replied Ilse, with reserve; "she is
sentimental upon every subject and every blade of grass excites her
fancy. It appears as if she were to be the poetess of the play-room. I
do not know how these fantastical ideas have come into our family. In
her letter she tells me a long story, as if it had happened to herself,
and yet it is only a tale which she has read somewhere. For since I
have left my home, more story-books have reached it than were there in
my youth."
"Probably it is only childish vanity," said the Sovereign, kindly,
"that leads her to substitute an invention for truth."
"That is it exactly," answered Ilse, more cheerfully. "She pretends
that she lost her way in the wood, and that when she was sitting
sorrowfully among the toad-stools, the little animals whom she was in
the habit of feeding in our court-yard,--the white mouse in the cage,
the cats, and the shepherd's dog,--placed themselves about her and ran
before her till she found her way out of the wood. The cat together
with the mouse, your Highness; that was silly! This story she related
boldly as if it were the truth, and expected me to think it touching.
That was too much--but I have given her my opinion of it."
The Sovereign laughed, laughed from his heart. It was a rare sound that
echoed through the walls of the dark room, and the god of love above
looked down with surprise on the joyous man.
"May I ask how you criticized this poetic state of mind?" asked the
Sovereign. "There is a poetical idea in the tale, that the kindness
shown to others will always be repaid when required. But it is
unfortunately only an poetic idea; gratitude is seldom met with in real
life."
"One ought not, in life, to trust solely to the help of others,"
replied Ilse, firmly; "and one ought not to show kindness to others in
order that it may be repaid. There is indeed a strange pleasure felt
when some chord which one has struck brings back its echo to one's
heart; but one should not trust to it. A child that has lost its way
should make good use of its five senses in order to find its way home
by itself. But, certainly, one ought not to put forth poetical ideas as
if they were real incidents. I was obliged to scold her; for, your
Highness, girls in these days must have right ideas taught them, or
they will soon lose themselves in dreams."
The Sovereign laughed again.
Where are the wise and good animals, Lady Ilse, that will give _you_
friendly counsel in your time of need?
"You are too strict," continued the Sovereign. "The witch fancy
deceives the judgment of even us grown-up people; one is fearful
without reason, and one hopes and trusts without justification. The
person who could ever command a true, impartial judgment of his own
position, would have a freedom that would make life hardly endurable."
"Fancy confuses us," answered Ilse, looking round, "but it warns us
also."
"What is warmth of feeling, and devotion to others?" continued the
Sovereign, sorrowfully. "Nothing but subtle self-deceit. If I now am
flattered by the joyful feeling that I have succeeded in sharing the
wealth of your heart, that too is only a deception; but it is a dream
which I carefully cherish, for it does me good. With a happiness which
I have long been deprived of, I listen to the honest tones of your
voice, and the thought is painful to me that I shall ever be without
the sweet enjoyment they afford. It is of greater value to me than you
imagine."
"Your Highness speaks to me as to a true friend," replied Ilse, drawing
herself up; "and when I take to heart the kindly tone in which you now
express your sympathy, I have to believe your honesty and sincere
intentions. But this same fancy, which you blame and praise, disturbs
also the confidence which I would gladly have in your Highness. I will
no longer be silent about it, for it pains me after such kind words, to
foster any unfounded feeling against you." She rose hastily. "It
disturbs my peace of mind to feel that I dwell in a house which the
feet of other women avoid."
The Sovereign looked astonished at the woman who, with such firmness,
controlled her inward excitement.
"The fortune-teller," he murmured.
"Your Highness knows well what fancy does," continued Ilse,
sorrowfully. "It has tormented my soul, and made it difficult for me in
this place to believe in the esteem of which your Highness assures me."
"What have they been telling you?" asked the Sovereign, in a sharp
tone.
"What your Highness ought not to desire to hear from my lips," replied
Ilse, proudly. "It is possible that the master of a Court considers
such things with indifference. I say that to myself. But it is a
misfortune to me to have been here: it is a stain on a spotless robe,
and I fix my eyes wildly upon it; I wash it away with my hand, and yet
it always lies before me, for it is a shadow that falls from without."
The Sovereign looked gloomily before him.
"I shall not use the subterfuges that you put into the mouth of a
master of a Court, for I feel at this moment, deeply and passionately
like you, that an injury has been done your honor. I have only one
excuse," he continued, with passion: "you came here as stranger to us,
and I little thought what a treasure lay concealed near me. Since that,
in our slight intercourse, you have awakened in me a feeling to which I
yield irresistibly. It is seldom permitted me by fate to say
undisguisedly what I feel. I disdain to use the impassioned language of
a youth, for I do not wish to disquiet you. But do not think that I
feel less strongly towards you because I know how to conceal my
emotion."
Ilse stood in the middle of the room, and a burning color rose to her
cheeks.
"I beg your Highness not to say another word, for it is not right that
I should listen to you."
The Sovereign laughed bitterly.
"I have already wounded you, and you quickly make it plain that I
labored under an illusion when I hoped for your affection. And yet I am
so completely your slave, that I beg of you not to refuse your sympathy
to a passion which glows so warmly within me, that it has at this
moment entirely deprived me of my self-control."
Ilse gasped:
"I must away from here."
"Renounce that idea," cried the Sovereign, beside himself. "I cannot be
deprived of your presence or of the sound of your voice. However
slightly it may gladden me, it is the happiness of my days--the one
great feeling in a life without pleasure or love. The knowledge that
you are near me maintains me in my struggle against thoughts that
stupefy me in gloomy hours. Like the devout pilgrim who listens to the
bell of the hermitage, I listen to the slightest chord that vibrates
from your life into mine. Consent to accept the devotion of a lonely
man," he continued, more tranquilly. "I vow never more to wound your
delicate feelings. I vow to be contented with that share of your life
which you will freely give me."
"I repent of every word that I have spoken to your Highness, and I
repent of every hour in which I have thought with reverence of you,"
exclaimed Ilse, with kindling anger. "I was a poor trusting child," she
continued, excitedly. "I bowed submissively to my Sovereign before I
saw him as he is; now that I know him, he excites abhorrence in me, and
I gather up my garment and say. Monster, begone from me!"
The Sovereign fell back in his chair.
"It is an old curse that echoes in my ears from these walls; it is not
your own heart that drives me from you. From your lips should only come
words of love and compassion. I am not a tempter, I am myself a
wanderer in the wilderness, with nothing about me but desert sand and
towering rocks. I hear the laughter of children; I see the fair-haired
group passing by me; I see two eyes fixed on me with kindly greeting,
and a hand, with the filled cup, which beckons to the weary one; and,
like a vision of mist, it has all disappeared. I remain alone, and I
sink to my destruction."
He closed his hands over his eyes. Ilse did not reply. She stood,
turned from him, looking through the window at the clouds which flitted
across the heaven.
All was quiet in the room. Nothing moved, and no one spoke. At last the
Sovereign rose slowly: he approached Ilse. There was a glassy look in
his eye, and he moved with effort.
"If I have wounded you by what I have said in a moment of overwhelming
passion, forget it. I have proved to you that I am not yet free from
the weakness that hopes to gain a heart which would beat in unison with
mine. Remember only that I am an erring one who sought comfort from
you. It was an humiliating request: if you cannot respond to it, do not
be angry with the wretched one who asks."
He gazed on her with a long, protracted look of burning passion,
deadly, wounded pride, and something more, that inspired her with
terror, but she looked him firmly and rigidly in the face. He raised a
warning finger, and left the room.
She listened to his tread as he went away, marked every step as he
descended, and when he closed the house-door, pulled the bell.
Gabriel, who was standing in the anteroom, entered quickly.
"I wish to go away from here," exclaimed Ilse.
"Whereto, Mrs. Werner?" asked the frightened servant.
"Where to?" echoed in Ilse's ears.
"To my husband," she said; but, as if listening to her own words, she
shuddered. He also was in a house of the Sovereign. He was with the
daughter of the wicked man. He himself was not safe there--his wife
would not be safe with him. Where to? The question whirled in her head.
The son of the cruel man was with her father, so she must not go home;
her neighbour had said so. She sank her head as if stunned. A feeling
of helplessness lay like a dead weight upon her; but she raised herself
again, and approached Gabriel. "I will leave this city to-day--at
once."
The servant wrung his hands.
"I knew it would come to this," he exclaimed.
"You knew it," asked Ilse, gloomily; "and neither I nor my husband did?
Was it seen to every passerby, and yet a secret to him and me?"
"I noticed that there was something about this place that seemed
uncanny," answered Gabriel, "and that no one trusted the distinguished
gentleman who just now left. How could I tell you what seemed only my
foolish fancy?"
"It is not well to pay too little attention to people's talk," replied
Ilse; "I wish to go to some place where I can find a woman, Gabriel.
Get a carriage for me immediately, and accompany me to Mrs. Rollmaus.
We will leave everything here, and you must return to the house, that
you may be on the spot when my husband comes back."
"Where shall I get a carriage?" asked Gabriel, hesitatingly.
"From the city, and not from the castle stable."
Gabriel stood and reflected. At last he said, abruptly:
"I shall go; be careful to prevent the lackey from learning that you
are preparing for a journey."
"No one shall know it," said Ilse.
Gabriel hastened away, and Ilse locked the door and flew into the next
room. There she collected all that was indispensable for the journey.
She closed all the cupboards and wardrobes, and put the keys in a
bunch. "When Felix comes, he shall not say I ran away unthinkingly."
She went to his writing-table, and sealed up the letters in a packet.
"So that no curious eye can look upon you," she said. When she packed
up the letters of the children and her own answers, a shudder came over
her, and she concealed the bundle rapidly beneath other papers. She was
ready, and Gabriel had not yet returned. He seemed to linger long. With
firm steps she went through the rooms. "You have grown more strange to
me the longer I have dwelt here. What has become of the brilliant
impression of the first evening? It was a cold splendor, hostile to my
life. I would gladly root up every recollection of it from my soul."
She placed herself on the spot where, in the night, she had looked on
her sleeping husband. "That was my last sorrowful look at his dear
face; when shall I see it again? I go from you, Felix; who would have
thought it when we stood together before the altar? I leave you behind
among wicked men; you also in danger, and I go away alone, to seek
safety for myself far from you. Who would have said some days ago that
I should have marked him a liar to his face? I go, Felix, in order to
save myself for you. Think of that, and do not be angry with me. I
would not have gone for less cause." She sank down on a cushion, and
wrung her hands with tearless sorrow. She lay for a long time in this
condition. At last there was a knocking at the outer door. She jumped
up and opened it, but she drew back terrified when she beheld the pale
countenance of her faithful servant.
"I have not ordered a carriage," said Gabriel, "for it would be of no
use."
"What do you mean?" asked Ilse, angrily.
"Any carriage that went from here would not take Mrs. Werner where she
wishes, but only where another wishes."
"Then we will go ourselves, and take a vehicle in the city."
"Wherever we go," replied Gabriel, "we shall be observed, and if I
attempt to call a carriage it will be taken from us."
"You are frightened yourself, Gabriel, and see danger where none
exists," replied Ilse, annoyed.
"If we could only get an honest man to take you to Mrs. Rollmaus,"
continued Gabriel; "but it is doubtful whether you could get there. Do
you see that man below by the castle? He goes slowly as if he were
taking a walk, but he never turns his eyes from this house. That is one
of our spies, and he is not the only one."
"Who has told you that?" asked Ilse.
"I have a good friend here who belongs to the castle," replied Gabriel,
hesitating. "Do not be angry, Mrs. Werner, that I asked him, for he
knows all their tricks. It is possible, he said, that we may succeed;
for one cannot assume that all the people of the city are robbers or
deceivers, but it is uncertain and dangerous."
Ilse seized her hat and cloak.
"I am going, Gabriel," she said, quietly. "Will you accompany me?"
"Dear Mrs. Werner, wherever you wish," answered Gabriel. "But first
listen to my proposal. My acquaintance thinks that the safest way would
be, if the Crown Inspector should fetch you himself in the evening. The
evenings are dark, and you may then perhaps be able to leave the house
without the lackey or any one else remarking it."
"A prisoner!" exclaimed Ilse. "Who is your acquaintance?" she asked,
looking sharply at Gabriel.
"He is true as gold," Gabriel assured her, "and I will willingly tell
you later, but I beg you not to ask me to-day, for he has desired, for
his own safety, that no one should be told."
"I trust in your faithfulness," replied Ilse, coldly; "but you yourself
may be deceived; I will not follow the advice of a stranger."
"He has offered me a horse," said Gabriel, "it is outside the city. If
you will give me a line to the Crown Inspector, I will ride there and
bring the carriage in good time."
Ilse looked gloomily at the servant.
"Many hours must pass away, and I will not remain here alone. I will go
on foot along the high road to my friends."
"Look, Mrs. Werner, at the sky; a storm is coming."
"I do not care for it," exclaimed Ilse; "it is not the first time I
shall have gone through the rain. If you do not choose to accompany me,
you may wait here for my husband, and tell him that I have gone away to
my home, and when I am with good people I will write to him."
Gabriel wrung his hands; Ilse put on her cloak.
Suddenly loud altercation was heard on the floor below. Gabriel hastily
opened the door; the bass voice of a stranger was scolding the lackey
vehemently:
"But I tell you I am not the man who will allow the door to be shut in
his face; she is at home, I say."
Ilse threw off her hat and cloak, sprang down the stairs, and called
out.
"Mr. Hummel!"
"Your most obedient servant, Mrs. Werner," cried out Hummel. "I come
immediately, only I will first express to this major-domo my high
opinion of him. You are a scoundrel, sir, and an object to whom I wish
such treatment as he deserves--a well-seasoned switch and a tight
halter. I am coming, Mrs. Werner." He ascended the stairs heavily. Ilse
flew to meet him, led him into her room, and was so overcome that she
laid her head on his shoulder and wept.
Mr. Hummel was silent, and looked sympathizingly at Ilse.
"So these are Court ways?" he asked, softly; "and this is the fashion
in which people act here?"
"My husband is away. I wish to leave this place; Mr. Hummel, do help me
to escape!"
"That is exactly my situation," said Mr. Hummel: "I am implicated,
myself, in an elopement affair. I have come to this city in order to
convey to you a request from my daughter Laura, and to bring matters to
some settlement with the clergymen here. But where do you wish to go
to?"
"To kind friends who will take me to my father's house."
"That will certainly be the right course," replied Mr. Hummel.
"In times of despair, when everything totters in the world, the child
should go back to the father. His faithfulness remains; she is twenty
years old before that of the husband begins. As your father is not
here, allow one who knows what it is to feel anxious about a child to
take the place of a father to you."
Ilse clung to him: Mr. Hummel pressed her hand, after his fashion,
tenderly; but it was a hard pressure.
"Now for composure and cool blood. It can be no small matter which
moves you so strongly. I will not leave you until I see you well
protected." He looked at Gabriel, who made him a sign. "Do not trouble
yourself further in the matter. Be quietly seated, and allow me to
confer with Gabriel. I will take care of everything for you, and I
shall answer for everything."
Ilse looked at him thankfully and seated herself obediently. Mr. Hummel
beckoned Gabriel into the next room.
"What has happened here?" he asked.
"The master has gone away for a few days; meanwhile Mrs. Werner has
been treated in an unseemly way; great wickedness is carried on here,
and they will not let her go."
"Not let my lodger go?" cried Mr. Hummel; "ridiculous! I have a
passport to Paris in my pocket, we will skip over this country like
grasshoppers. I will fetch a conveyance immediately."
Gabriel shook his head. The confidants again conferred together. Mr.
Hummel came back and said, with greater seriousness, to Ilse:
"Now I must beg of you to write a few lines to the Crown Inspector--to
the husband, not to his wife, otherwise there would be confusion. You
must request him, immediately after the receipt of this letter, if he
is willing to do a great kindness, to come here in a closed carriage,
to stop in the suburb, at the Black Bear; and he must not leave his
carriage. Nothing further. This letter Gabriel will convey to him. How
he does so is his affair, not ours; if he chooses to fly, like this
ambiguous genius on the ceiling, who has forgotten its overcoat, it
will be so much the better. Now the letter is written, forgive me if I
read it. All right and accurate--away, Gabriel, quickly. When you have
passed the castle, then make speed: till then, act like a composed
philanthropist. I will allow you to whistle my Dessauer, if you can. If
they ask you any questions, say you are attending to some business for
me."
Gabriel hastened away. Mr. Hummel placed his chair in front of Ilse,
and looked at his watch.
"You will have to wait five hours for the carriage if all goes right.
Meanwhile you must bear my company, I will not leave the house without
you. Do not be troubled at the delay. I am glad of it; for I wish to
speak with you as with an honorable woman, to whom I can take off my
hat with true respect, concerning my own affairs, which I have much at
heart. We have time enough for it. I have also brought some papers to
the Professor; they are of little importance, but I will lay them on
the table, and we shall sit opposite each other like people of
business. Then I should be glad if you would give that Judas in the
servants' chamber a few instructions for me. Have the goodness also to
take everything away that might lead him to suppose that you and I were
going to elope."
Ilse looked round her, undecided.
"What shall I say to the man, Mr. Hummel?"
"You are so good a housewife," replied Hummel, politely, "that I can
leave entirely to you to decide what you will provide for me. I have
been travelling the whole day," and he made a significant gesture
towards his waistcoat.
"Ilse jumped up; in spite of all her anxieties, she could not help
laughing, and said:
"Forgive me, Mr. Hummel."
"That is the right frame of mind," replied Hummel; "there is no better
remedy for tragic spirits than a well spread table. I beg, therefore
that you will send not only for one plate, but for two. I could not eat
if you were looking on. Believe me, Mrs. Werner, the noblest feelings
are not to be depended on if an honest piece of bread and butter is not
impressed on them as a stamp. It makes people calm and firm--and you
will have occasion for these virtues to-day."
Ilse rang the bell.
"If the knave appears," proceeded Mr. Hummel, "mention to him my name
and my firm. I do not generally travel incognito, and I wish not to be
looked upon as a mystery here."
The lackey appeared. Ilse gave him orders to fetch the necessary
refreshment, and asked him how it was he had denied her dear landlord
admittance.
The man stammered an excuse, and went away hastily.
"When I came to the house I was aware that all was not right here. I
asked after you at the castle and received no satisfactory answer. I
asked a man at the back of the castle who was wandering about, which
was your house. He looked at me like a crossbill. You were travelling,
he declared, and he tried to discover my secret. Thereupon there was a
short conversation, in which cross-bill showed his spite because I in
ignorance called him by his proper title of spy. The sentinel came up
at this, and I saw that these jovial comrades had a great mind to
arrest me. Then a young gentleman appeared, who asked the other the
cause of the disturbance, and said he knew that you were at home. He
accompanied me up to this house, asked my name politely, told me also
his own, Lieutenant Treeclimber, and advised me not to be frightened
away, that the servants were insolent, but that you would be rejoiced
to see an old friend. He must be known to you."
The lackey laid the table. Whenever he offered Mr. Hummel a dish, the
latter gave him a withering look, and did not endeavor to make his
office easy to him. While the servant was removing the things, Mr.
Hummel began:
"Now permit me to talk of our affairs, it will be a long account; have
you patience for it?"
The evening had set in, darkness lay over the dismal house, the storm
came on, the windows rattled, and the rain poured down. Ilse sat as in
a dream. In the midst of the stormy scenes of the past day and the
uneasy expectation of a wild night, the comfortable prose of the Park
Street rose before her, where, fearless and secure, she was at peace
with herself and the world,--so far as the world was not vexatious. But
she felt how beneficial this contrast was; she even forgot her own
position, and listened with deep sympathy to the account of the father.
"I am speaking to a daughter," said Mr. Hummel, "who is going back to
her father, and I tell her what I have said to no one else: how hard it
is to bear my child's wish to leave me."
He spoke about the child whom they both loved, and it was pleasant
intercourse between them. Thus several hours passed.
The lackey came again, and asked respectfully whether Mrs. Werner had
sent Gabriel away.
"He has gone upon a commission for me," grumbled Mr. Hummel, to the
inquirer; "he is looking after some money matters with which I did not
choose to burden your honesty. If any one inquires from the city for
me, I must beg, Mrs. Werner, to request this man to say that I am at
home."
He again looked at his watch.
"Four hours," he said. "If the horse was good, and Gabriel did not lose
his way in the dark, we may expect him every moment. If he has not
succeeded, you may still be without anxiety; I will still take you from
this house."
The bell below rang, and the house door opened--Gabriel entered. There
was a gleam of pleasure in his countenance.
"Promptly, at ten, the carriage will stop before the inn," he said,
cautiously; "I have ridden hastily in advance."
Ilse jumped up. Again the terrors of the day and anxiety for the future
passed through her mind.
"Sit still," admonished Mr. Hummel again; "violent moving about is
suspicious. I will meanwhile hold council once more with Gabriel."
This council lasted a long time. At last Mr. Hummel came back, and
said, very seriously:
"Now, Mrs. Werner, prepare yourself; we have a quarter of an hour's
walk. Yield yourself quietly to our guidance; all has been carefully
considered."
Mr. Hummel rang. Gabriel, who had returned to the spy on the ground
floor, entered as usual, and took several keys and a screw-driver out
of his pocket, and said, cautiously:
"The first week we were here I closed the small back staircase and
secured the door with a large screw; the people do not know that I have
the keys."
He went to one of the back rooms and opened the entrance to a secret
staircase. Mr. Hummel glided after him.
"I wished to know how I was to let myself in again," he said, returning
to Ilse. "When I have taken you away some one must be heard moving
about here as your spirit, otherwise all the trouble would be lost.
Gabriel will take you down the back staircase, while I go out at the
front door and keep the lackey in conversation. I will meet you a short
distance from the house among the bushes; Gabriel will bring you to me,
and I will be sure to be there."
Ilse pressed his hand anxiously.
"I hope all will go well," said Mr. Hummel, cautiously. "Take care to
have a cloak that will disguise you as much as possible."
Ilse flew to her writing-table and in haste wrote these words:
"Farewell, beloved; I am gone to my father."
Again sorrow overpowered her; she wrung her hands and wept. Mr. Hummel
stood respectfully aside. At last he laid his hand on her shoulder:
"The time is passing away."
Ilse jumped up, enclosed the note in an envelope, gave it to Gabriel,
and quickly veiled herself.
"Now forward," admonished Mr. Hummel, "out of both doors. I go first.
Good bye, Mrs. Werner," he called out, through the open door; "I hope
you will rest well."
He stepped heavily down the stairs, the lackey was standing on the last
step.
"Come here, young man," shouted Mr. Hummel, "I wish to have you stuffed
after your death, and placed before the council house as a model for
later generations of the love of truth. When I return you may depend
upon it I shall again give myself the pleasure of expressing my high
opinion of you; then I will reveal to the Professor the consummate
meanness of your character. I have a great mind to make your
worthlessness known in the daily paper in order that you may become a
scare-crow to the world."
The servant listened with downcast eyes, and bowed mockingly.
"Good-night, courtling," said Mr. Hummel, going out and closing the
door behind him.
Mr. Hummel walked with measured tread from the house, turning to the
left side where a path entered a thicket; there he concealed himself.
The rain poured, and the wind roared in the tops of the trees. Mr.
Hummel looked cautiously about him when he entered the darkness of the
spot where Gabriel and Prince Victor had once spoken to one another of
the ghosts of the castle. There was a slight stir in the thicket, a
tall figure approached him and seized his arm.
"Good," said Mr. Hummel, in a low tone; "go back quickly, Gabriel, and
expect me in time. But we must seek out dark paths and avoid the
lights; you must conceal your face under your veil when we come into
the open."
Ilse took the arm of her landlord and walked along, covered by the
great umbrella which Mr. Hummel held over her.
Behind the fugitives the tower clock struck ten, when the outline of
the inn outside the gate was seen against the darkened heaven.
"We must not be too early nor too late," said Mr. Hummel, restraining
the steps of his eager companion. At the same moment a carriage came
slowly towards them out of the darkness. Ilse's arm trembled. "Be
calm," begged Mr. Hummel; "see whether that is your friend."
"I recognize the horses," whispered Ilse, breathless. Mr. Hummel
approached the coachman's covered seat, and asked, as a password, "From
Toad?"
"Ville," answered a firm voice. The Crown Inspector sprang down to
Ilse; there was a little movement in the carriage, the corner of the
leather curtain was lifted, and a small hand was put out. Hummel seized
and shook it. "An agreeable addition," he said. Without speaking a
word, the Crown Inspector unbuttoned the leather curtain. "My dear
friend," cried a trembling female voice from within. Ilse turned to Mr.
Hummel; "not a word," he said; "a pleasant journey to you." Ilse was
pushed in; Mrs. Rollmaus seized hold of her arm, and held it firmly;
and while the Crown Inspector was again buttoning the curtain, Mr.
Hummel greeted him. "It gives me great pleasure," he said, "but for an
exchange of cards this is not a favorable opportunity. Besides which,
our classes, according to natural history, are not the same. But
punctuality at the right time and goodwill were mutual." The Crown
Inspector jumped upon the coachman's box and seized the reins. He
turned the carriage, Mr. Hummel gave a farewell tap upon the wet
leather curtain, the horses trotted off quietly, and the carriage
passed into the darkness.
Hummel looked after it till the heavy rain concealed it from his view,
cast one more searching glance down the now empty road, and hastened
back to the city. He went to the Pavilion through the most remote part
of the grounds; at the spot where Gabriel had put the lady under his
charge, he dived into the deep shade of the trees, and made his way
cautiously through the wet bushes to the back of the house. He felt
along the wall. "Stop on the threshold," whispered Gabriel; "I will
take off your boots."
"Cannot I be spared this court toilet?" grumbled Hummel. "Stocking-feet
are contrary to my nature."
"All will have been in vain if you are heard on the staircase."
Hummel slipped up the stairs behind Gabriel into the dark room. "Here
are Mrs. Werner's rooms. You must move backwards and forwards in the
dark, and sometimes move the chairs, till I call you. There is now
another spy, they are talking together below. I fear they suspect that
we have something on hand. They look at me askance. The lackey every
day carries the lamps from the sitting-room, and nothing must be
altered; it would create suspicion if he did not hear some one moving
about in the next room. When all is quiet, then the lackey leaves the
house, and we can speak to one another."
"It is against my conscience, Gabriel," murmured Hummel, "to remain in
a strange house without the permission of the owner or lodger."
"Quiet," warned Gabriel, anxiously; "I hear the man on the stairs; close
the door behind me."
Mr. Hummel stood alone in the dark. He placed his boots near the
arm-chair, walked around them, and sometimes gave them a push. "Very
gently always," he thought, "for they are the movements of a
Professor's wife. The demands which now-a-days are made on a
householder exceed all imagination. An elopement from the house of a
stranger, and acting the part of a lady in the darkness of night." The
steps of men were heard outside, and he again pushed his boots.
"Darkness in a strange house is by no means desirable," he continued,
to himself. "I have always had a hatred of a dark room since I once
fell down into a cellar; this gloom is only good for cats and rogues.
But the most lamentable thing for a citizen is, that his boots should
be withheld from him." He heard a light tread in the next room, and
again moved the chair.
At last all became quiet in the house. Mr. Hummel threw himself back in
the chair, and looked wearily around the strange room. A pale ray of
light fell from without through a crevice of the curtains, and the
tassel of the curtain and the gilded top of a chair glimmered in the
darkness. Now at last Mr. Hummel might put on his boots, and then for a
time he occupied himself with severe comments upon the world. His usual
hour for rest had meanwhile come, and he was tired from his journey; he
sank gradually into a dreamy state, and his last distinct thought was,
"there must be no snoring in this princely darkness." With this
intention he closed his eyes, and said farewell to the cares of the
world.
In his sleep it appeared to him as if he heard a slight noise; he
opened his eyes and looked about the room. He saw indistinctly that the
wall looked different from what it had done. The large mirror that
before stood there, seemed to have vanished, and it appeared to him as
if a veiled figure stood in its place and moved. He was a courageous
man, but his limbs now trembled with terror. He barricaded himself
behind a chair. "Is this a magic lantern?" he began, with stammering
voice; "if so, I beg you not to disturb yourself; I admire your skill,
but have not my purse with me. But if you are a man, I should like a
more distinct knowledge of the fact. I call upon you to show yourself
in substance. I have the honor of introducing myself to you in this
scanty light. Hat-manufacturer, Henry Hummel; my papers are correct--a
passport to Paris." He put his hand into his breast pocket. "As a
respectable citizen is bound to defend himself in these dangerous
times, it has been inserted in my passport, _avec un pistolet_. I beg
you kindly to bear this in mind." He took out a pocket pistol and held
it before him. He again looked at the spot; nothing was to be seen; the
mirror stood as before. He rubbed his eyes. "Stupid stuff," he said;
"it was, after all, only a sleepy fancy."
The door of the house was closed outside. For a while Mr. Hummel stood
looking round suspiciously, and perspiration rose on his brow. At last
he heard Gabriel's knock at the door; he opened it, took the light
quickly from his hand, and approached the mirror so as to throw the
light upon the frame and wall.
"It seems to stand firm as iron," he said to himself; "it was only a
deception."
But he hastily seized his hat, and took the servant out of the room.
"I have had enough for to-day," he muttered; "I wish to get out of this
house as quickly as possible. I do not like to have you remain here
alone, Gabriel. Early to-morrow I will call for you; I have business
for the whole day in the city. Endeavor to sleep; in our beds we shall
both think of this intrigue and of her who is still seeking a secure
roof for protection from night-storms and spirits."
Ilse traveled through the night; the rain poured in torrents around
her, the storm howled through the trees, and the water splashed high
from the ruts about the horses and carriage. It was only between the
figures of the men on the front seat that she caught glimpses of the
midnight sky, which hung heavy and dark above the fugitives. Sometimes
a glimmer of light twinkled from the window of a house, and then again
there was nothing but rain, storm, and black night. She maintained a
terrified silence during the ghostly journey, Mrs. Rollmaus still
clasping her hand. Ilse was driving into the world, a storm-lashed
world, poor in light and rich in tears. There was uncertainty and
fearful anxiety everywhere, whether she thought of the loved one whom
she left behind her in the hands of the persecutor, or saw before her
the troubled countenance of her father, and the fields of the estate
where the young man dwelt whose neighborhood now threatened her with
new trouble; but she sat erect.
"When he returns to the door over which the dark angel hovers, he will
ask in vain for his wife. But I have done what I had to do: may the
sovereign Lord of life watch over me."
There was the sound of a horse's hoofs behind the carriage; it
approached nearer. Where the private road to the estate branched off
from the highway, a cavalier galloped up on a foaming horse; he spoke
to some one on the coachman's seat, the carriage and rider rushed
forward side by side for a few moments, then the rider reined in his
horse. The Crown Inspector threw a branch of a tree into the carriage.
"The rider has brought this for Lady Ilse; it is from the tree under
her window, and the reckoning is paid."
_CHAPTER XXXVII_.
THE LORD HIGH STEWARD.
At the same hour in which Ilse was listening to the comforting words of
her landlord, the carriage of the Lord High Steward was driving to the
tower castle of the Princess. The Princess received the announcement
with astonishment, and flew down to her reception-room. The Professor
caused the chest with its contents to be taken to his room, and was in
the act of bending over the manuscript, when the High Marshal entered
below to deliver himself of his commission. Meanwhile the Princess
awaited the old gentleman.
The Lord High Steward had been appointed to the honorable office of
attendance upon the Princess: it was a considerate way of removing him
from the person of the Sovereign. At the same hour every morning his
carriage was to be seen standing before the wing of the castle which
was occupied by the Princess. His personal relations to the young
Princess appeared cool; in Court society he was treated by her with
just as much distinction as was needful, and petitioners learnt
sometimes that their requests were imparted to him. He was esteemed by
the citizens on account of his benevolence, and was the only one of the
lords of the Court concerning whom one never heard an unfavorable
opinion. He dwelt in an old-fashioned house surrounded by gardens, was
unmarried, rich, without relations, and lived quietly by himself. He
was, it was supposed, without influence; he was not in favor, and was
therefore treated by the young cavaliers with chivalrous condescension.
He was, notwithstanding all this, indispensable to the Sovereign and
the Court. He was the great dignitary who was necessary for all
ceremonious affairs; he was counsellor in all family matters; he was
ambassador and escort in all transactions with foreign powers. He was
well known at most of the courts of Europe, had acquaintances in the
great diplomatic bodies, and enjoyed the special favor of various
rulers whose good will was of importance to the Sovereign; and as in
our courts the reputation that one enjoys at foreign capitals is the
standard of the judgment of the palace, the correspondence which he
carried on with political leaders in foreign countries, and the
abundance of broad ribbons of which he had the choice, gave him with
the Sovereign himself an authority which was at the same time
burdensome and valuable; he was the secret counsellor for the Court and
the last resource in difficult questions.
The servant opened the door of the Princess's room with a profound bow
to the old gentleman. Indifferent questions and answers were exchanged,
the Princess entered the adjoining room and intimated to her faithful
lady-in-waiting by a sign that she was to keep watch in front. When the
conversation was secure from the ear of any listener, the demeanor of
the Princess altered, she hastened up to the old gentleman, seized him
by the hand, and looked inquiringly at his earnest countenance:
"Has anything happened? No trifle could have caused you to take the
trouble of coming into this wilderness. What have you to say to your
little daughter,--is it praise or blame?"
"I am but fulfilling my duty," replied the old lord, "if I make my
appearance in order to take your Highness's commands, and to ascertain
whether the residence of my gracious Princess is suitably arranged."
"Your Excellency has come to complain," exclaimed the Princess, drawing
back, "for you have not one kind word for your little woman."
The High Steward bowed his white head in apology:
"If I appear more serious than usual to your Highness, it is perhaps
only the fancies of an old man which have intruded themselves at an
unseasonable time. I beg permission to relieve myself of them by
discussing them with your Highness. The health of the Sovereign is a
cause of anxiety to us all: it reminds us of the transitory nature of
life. Even the good humor of Prince Victor does not succeed in
dissipating my troubled thoughts."
"How does my cousin?" asked the Princess.
"He overcomes the difficulties of being a Prince in a wonderful way,"
replied the High Steward; "but he is sound to the core; he knows very
well how to manage serious things cleverly. I rejoice," added the
courtier, "that my gracious Princess feels warmly towards a cousin who
is faithfully devoted to her Highness."
"He has always been true and kind to me," said the Princess,
indifferently. "But now you have punished me severely enough. What you
have to say to me confidentially must not be carried on in this way."
She took a chair, and pushed it into the middle of the room.
"Here, sit down, my worthy lord, and allow me to hold the hand of my
friend when he tells me what makes him anxious on my account."
She fetched herself a low tabouret, held the right hand of the old lord
between hers, looking earnestly into his eyes.
"Your Highness knows the way of giving me courage to make bold
requests," said the courtier, laughing.
"That is more to the purpose," said the Princess, relieved; "I now hear
the voice and hold the hand of him in whom I most love to trust."
"But I wish for your Highness a nearer and stronger support than
myself," began the old lord, earnestly.
The Princess started.
"So it was that which occasioned your Excellency's journey?" she
exclaimed, with agitation.
"That was the anxiety which occupied me. It is nothing--nothing more
than an idea," said the High Steward, inclining his head.
"And is that to tranquilize me more?" asked the Princess. "What has
hitherto given me the power to live but your Excellency's ideas?"
"When your Highness, while still in widow's weeds, was called home, the
wish of the Sovereign, making it a duty to attend upon you, was welcome
to me; because I thereby obtained the right of carrying on this
conversation with your Highness."
He motioned with his hand to the seat, and the Princess again hastened
to place herself by his side.
"Now when I see your Highness before me in the bright bloom of youth,
richly gifted and fitted to confer the greatest happiness on others and
to partake of it yourself, I cannot forbear thinking that it is wrong
for you to be debarred from the pleasures of home."
"I have enjoyed this happiness and have lost it," exclaimed the
Princess. "Now I have accustomed myself to the thought of renouncing
much. I seek for myself a compensation which even you will not consider
unworthy."
"There is a difference between us of more than fifty years. A mode of
life, proper for me, an unimportant man, may not be permitted the
daughter of a princely house. I beg the permission of my beloved
Princess," he continued, with a gentle voice, "to draw aside to-day the
curtain which has covered a dark image of your early youth. You were
witness of the scene which separated the Sovereign from your
illustrious mother."
"It is a dark recollection," whispered the Princess, looking up
anxiously at the old lord; "my mother was reproaching the
Sovereign,--it was something concerning the fateful Pavilion. The
Sovereign got into a state of excitement that was fearful. I, then but
a little girl, ran up and embraced the knees of my mother; he dragged
me off, and--" the Princess covered her eyes. The old lord made a
motion to stop her, and continued:
"The after-effect of the scene was ruinous to the life of a noble
woman, and also to that of yourself. Then for the first time the
diseased irritability which has since darkened the Sovereign's spirit
displayed itself; from that day the Sovereign sees in you the living
witness of his guilt and his disease. He has for years endeavored to
wipe away from you that impression by kindness and attentions, but he
has never believed himself to be successful. Shame, suspicion, and fear
have continually ruined his relations with you. He will not let you go
away from him, because he fears that in your confidence to another man
you might betray what he would fain conceal from himself. He
unwillingly gave in to the first marriage, and he will oppose a second,
for he does not wish to see your Highness married again. But in the
hours when dark clouds lie over his extraordinary spirit, he rejoices
in the thought that your Highness might lose the right of secretly
reproaching him. The thought that he did an injury to the princely
dignity of his wife gnaws within him, and he is now occupied with the
idea that your Highness might under certain circumstances forget your
position as princess."
"He hopes in vain," exclaimed the Princess, excitedly. "Never will I
allow myself to be degraded by an unworthy passion; it has not been
without effect that I have been the child of your cares."
"What is unworthy of a princess?" asked the High Steward, reflectively.
"That your Highness would keep yourself free from the little passions
which are excited in the quadrille of a masked ball there can be no
doubt. But intellectual pastime with subjects of great interest might
also disturb the life of a woman. Easily does the most refined
intellectual enjoyment pass into extravagance. More than once has the
greatest danger of a woman been when under powerful external
excitement, she has felt herself to be higher, freer, nobler than her
wont. It is difficult to listen to entrancing music and to preserve
oneself from a warm interest in the artist who has produced it for us."
The Princess looked down.
"Supposing the case," continued the High Steward, "in which a diseased
man, in bitter humor, should meditate and work for such an object, the
sound person should guard himself from doing his will."
"But they should also not allow themselves to be disturbed in what they
consider for the honor and advantage of their life?" cried the
Princess, looking up at the old man.
"Certainly not," replied the latter, "if such benefits are in fact to
be gained by the playful devotion of a woman to art or learning. It
would be difficult for a princess to find satisfaction in this way. No
one blames a woman of the people when she makes a great talent the
vocation of her life; she may satisfy herself as singer or painter and
please others, and the whole world will smile upon her. But if my
gracious Princess should employ her rich musical talent in giving a
public concert, why would men shrug their shoulders at it? Not because
your Highness's talent is less than that of another artist, but because
one expects other objects in your life; the nation forms very distinct
ideal demands of its princes. If, unfortunately, the ruling princes of
our time do not find it easy to answer to this ideal, yet to the ladies
of these illustrious families the serious tendency of the present day
makes this more possible than in my youth. A princess of our people
ought to be the noble model of a good housewife,--nothing more and
nothing else: true and right-minded, firmly attached to her husband,
careful in her daily duties, warm hearted to the needy, kind and
sympathizing to all who have the privilege of approaching her. If she
has intellect, she must beware of wishing to shine; if she has a talent
for business, she must guard herself from becoming an _intrigante_.
Even the great social talent of virtuosoship she must exercise with the
greatest discretion. A well-weighed balance of female excellence is the
best ornament of a princess; her highest honor, that she is better and
more lovable than others, without parading it, with goodness and
capacity in everything, and with no pretensions of any kind. For she
stands too high to seek conquest and acquisition for herself."
The Princess sat near the speaker, her head supported on her arm,
looking sorrowfully before her.
"My beloved Princess does not hear me speak in this way for the first
time," continued the Lord High Steward. "I have often felt anxious
about the dangers which a high-flown spirit and active fancy prepare
for you, the cradle gift of an envious fairy, who has made your
Highness too brilliant and attractive. It is owing to these brilliant
gifts that you have not the same aristocratic nature as your
illustrious brother, the Hereditary Prince. There is too lively a
desire in you to make yourself appreciated, and to influence others.
One can leave your brother with full confidence to his own good nature.
Every attempt to persuade the soul of the much-tormented child has come
to naught. But you, that delicate artistic work of nature which now
gazes at me with those open eyes, I have endeavored constantly to guard
from an over-refined coquetry of sentiment. I am now the severe
admonisher to high duties, because I anticipate the dangers which this
love of conquest in your soul will bring upon yourself and others."
"I hear a severe reproof in loving words," replied the Princess, with
composure. "I should marry again in order to become distinguished."
"My dear Highness, I wish that you may obtain this great aim as the
wife of a husband who is not unworthy of your devotion. Only in this
way can a princess expect true happiness. Even this happiness cannot be
gained without self-denial, I know it; it is difficult to every one to
control themselves. To those who are born in the purple this virtue is
ten times more difficult than to others. Forgive me," he continued, "I
have become talkative, as often happens to us old people at Court."
"You have not said too much, my friend, nor too little," said the
Princess, much moved. "I have always cherished the hope to live on
quietly for myself, surrounded by men who would teach me the highest
things that it is possible for a woman to acquire. On this path also I
find tender duties, noble bonds which unite me with the best, and such
a life also would not be unworthy of a princess; more than one have, in
former times, chosen this lot, and posterity respects them."
"Your Highness does not mean Queen Christina of Sweden," replied the
High Steward. "But to others also this lot has seldom been a blessing.
Your Highness must remember that when a princess surrounds herself with
wise men, she means always one man who is to her the wisest."
The Princess was silent, and looked down.
"We have now long discussed the possible position of a princess," began
the old gentleman; "let us now consider the fate of the men who would
be united by tender bonds to the life of an illustrious lady. Granted
that she should succeed in finding a friend, who, without unseemly
pretensions, would attach himself with self-denial and real devotion to
the active and varied life of a princess. He must sacrifice much and
forego much; the right of the husband is that the wife should devote
herself to him, but in this case a man must fetter the powers,--nay,
even the passions of his nature,--for a woman who would not belong to
him, whom he could only cautiously approach at certain hours as a
friend unto friend; who would consider him at first, to a certain
extent, as a valuable possession and a beautiful ornament, but finally,
under the best circumstances, as a useful bit of furniture. The
greatest sufferer in such a position would be the artist or scholar. I
have always felt compassion for the walking dictionaries of a princely
household. Even men of great talent then resemble the philosophers of
ancient Rome, who, with the long beard and the mantle of their schools,
pass through the streets in the train of some distinguished lady."
The Princess rose, and turned away.
"Better, undoubtedly, is the situation of the man," concluded the High
Steward, "whose personality allows him to guide, by silent work, the
life-current of his high-born friend. Yet even he must not only himself
lose much of what is most delightful in life, but, even with the purest
intentions, he will not always be able to give pleasure to his
princess. He who would be more than a faithful servant diminishes the
security of his princely mistress. Should such chivalrous devotion be
offered, a noble woman should hesitate to accept it, but to endeavor to
attract it does not become a princess."
Tears rushed to the eyes of the Princess, and she turned quickly to the
old man.
"I know such a life," she exclaimed; "one that has been passed in
unceasing self-denial--a blessing to three ladies of our family. O my
father, I know well what you have been to us; have patience with your
poor ward. I struggle against your words; it is a hard task for me to
listen to you, and yet I know that you are the only secure support that
I have ever had in this life. Your admonitions alone have preserved me
from destruction."
Again she seized his hand, and her head sank on his shoulder.
"I loved your grandmother," replied the old man, with trembling voice;
"it was at a time when such things were lightly thought of. It was a
pure connection; I lived for her; I made daily self-sacrifice for her.
She was unhappy, for she was the wife of another, and her holiest
duties were made difficult to her by my life. I guarded your mother
like an anxious servant, but I could not prevent her from being unhappy
and dying with the feeling of her misery. And now I hold the third
generation to my heart, and before I am called away I would like to
impress my life and the sufferings of your mother as a lesson on you. I
have never been so anxious about you as I am now. If my dear child has
ever felt the heart of a fatherly friend in my words, she should not
lightly esteem my counsel now, whatever brilliant dreams it may
dispel."
"I will think of your words," exclaimed the Princess. "I will endeavor
to resign my wishes; but, father, my kind father, it will be very hard
for me."
The old gentleman collected himself, and interrupted her.
"It is enough," he said, with the composure that befitted his office;
"your Highness has shown me great consideration to-day. There are
others who also desire their share of your Highness's favor."
There was a knock at the door. The waiting-woman entered.
"The servant announces that Lady Gotlinde and the gentlemen are waiting
in the tea-room."
"I have still some business with his Excellency," answered the
Princess, gently. "I must beg Gotlinde to take my place in entertaining
our guest."
* * *
Evening had descended upon the castle-tower, the bats flew from their
hiding-places in the vacant room; they whirled about in circles,
astonished that they had awoke in an empty habitation. The owls flew
into the crevices of the tower, and searched with their round eyes
after the old arm-chairs, on which they had formerly waited for the
stupid mice; and the death-watch, which the scholar had carried down
from the lonely room, gnawed and ticked on the staircase and in the
rooms of the castle among living men. The rain beat against the walls,
and the stormy wind howled round the tower. The wife of the scholar was
driving through the night, flying like a hunted hare; but he was pacing
up and down his room, dreamily forming from the discovered leaves the
whole lost manuscript. And again he wondered within himself that it
looked quite different from what he had imagined it for years.
The wind also howled about the princely castle at the capital, and
large drops of rain beat against the window; there, also, the powers of
nature raged and demanded entrance into the firm fortress of man. The
darkness of the night seemed to pervade the halls and the decorated
rooms like gloomy smoke; only the lamps in the pleasure-grounds threw
their pale light through the window, and made the desolate look of the
room still more dreary. The melancholy tones of the castle clock
sounded through the house, announcing that the first hour of the new
day was come. Then again silence, desolate silence, everywhere; only a
pale glimmer from the distance on the covers of the chandeliers and the
golden ornaments of the walls. Sometimes there was a crackling in the
parquet of the floor, and a draught of wind blew through an open pane
upon the curtains, which hung black round the window like funeral
drapery. Here and there fell a scanty ray of light on the wall, where
hung the portraits of the ancestors of the princely house in the dress
of their time. Many generations had dwelt in these rooms; stately men
and beautiful women had danced here. Wine had been poured out in golden
goblets; gracious words, festive speeches, and the soft murmur of love,
had been heard here; the splendor of every former age had been outdone
by the richer adornment of later ones. Now everything had vanished and
withered; the darkness of night and of death hung over the bright
colors. All those who had once moved about and rejoiced in the
brilliant throng, had passed away into the depths. Nothing now remained
of these hours but a dreary void and dismal stillness, and one single
figure which glided about on the smooth floor, noiseless like a ghost.
It was the lord of this castle. His head bent forward as in a dream, he
passed along by the pictures of his ancestors.
"The timid doe has escaped," he whispered; "the panther made too short
a spring: in rage and shame he now creeps back to his den. The powerful
beast could not conceal his claws. The chase is over; it is time to set
at rest the beatings of this breast. It was only a woman--a small,
unknown human life. But the jade Fancy had bound my senses to her body;
to her alone belonged whatever remained in me of warmth and devotion to
human kind."
He stopped before a picture, on which fell the gloomy light of an
expiring lamp.
"You, my steel-clad ancestor, know what the feeling is of him who flies
from home and court, and has to give up to his enemy what is dear to
him. When you fled from the castle of your fathers, a homeless
fugitive, pursued by a pack of foreign mercenaries, there was misery in
your heart, and you cast back a wild curse behind you. Still poorer
does your descendant feel, who now glides fleeting through the
inheritance that you have left him. To you remained hope in your hard
heart; but I to-day have lost all that is worth the effort of life. She
has escaped my guards. Where to? To her father's house on the rock!
Cursed be the hour when I, deceived by her words, sent the boy among
those mountains."
He dragged himself onward.
"The third station on the road to the end," he meditated, "is idle and
empty play, and puerile tricks. So said the learned pedant. It
coincides; I am transformed into a childish caricature of my nature.
Miserable was the texture of the net which I drew around her; a firm
will could have broken it in a moment. He was right; the game was
childish: by a stroke of a quill I wished to hold him fast, and, before
the art of the Magister had accomplished its purpose, I disturbed the
success of the scheme by the trembling haste of my passion. When the
news comes to him that his wife has fled, he also will pack up his
books, and mock me at a safe distance. Bad player, who approached the
gaming-table with a good method, to put piece after piece on the green
cloth, and who in his madness flung down his purse and lost all in one
throw. Curses upon him and me! He must not escape from me; he must not
see her. Yet, what use is there in keeping him, unless I encase his
limbs in iron, or conceal his body below, where we shall all be
concealed when others obtain the power of doing what they will with us?
You lie. Professor, when you compare me to your old Emperors. I am
alarmed at the thought of things which they did laughing, and my brain
refuses to think of what was once commanded by a short gesture of the
hand. A ball and dice for two," he continued; "that is a merry game,
invented by men of my sort; as it turns up, one falls and the other
escapes. We will throw the dice. Professor, to see which of us shall do
his opponent the last service; and I will greet you, dreamer, if I am
the fortunate one that is carried to rest. Does thy wit, philosopher,
extend far enough to see thy fate, as happened to that old astrologer,
of whom thy Tiberius inquired about his own future? Let us try how wise
you are."
He again stood still, and looked restlessly on the dark pictures.
"You shake your heads, you silent figures; many of you have done injury
to others; but you are all honorably interred, with mourning marshals
and funeral horses. Songs have been sung in your honor, and learned men
have framed Latin elegies, and sighed that the golden shower has ceased
that fell upon them from your hands. There stands one of you," he
exclaimed, gazing with fixed eyes on a corner; "there hovers the spirit
of woe, the dark shadow that passes through this house when misfortune
approaches it--guilt and atonement It passes along bodiless to frighten
fools, an apparition of my diseased mind. I see it raise its hand--it
scares me. I am terrified at the images of my own brain. Away!" he
called out, aloud, "away! I am the lord of this house."
He ran through the room and stumbled; the black shadow hastened behind
him. The Sovereign fell upon the floor. He cried aloud for help through
the desolate space. A valet hastened from the anteroom. He found his
master lying on the ground.
"I heard a shrill cry," said the Sovereign, raising himself up; "who
was it that screamed above my head?"
The servant replied, trembling:
"I know not who it was. I heard the cry, and hastened hither."
"It was myself, I suppose," the master returned, in a faltering tone;
"my weakness overcame me."
* * *
In the early morning the Professor called to the Castellan, and rushed
up the staircase of the tower. He went about the room, pushing boards
and planks in all directions; he found many forgotten chests, but not
that which he sought. He made the Castellan open each of the adjoining
rooms; went through garrets and cellars; he examined the forester, who
lived in a house near by, but the latter could give him no information.
When the Scholar again entered his room, he laid his head on his hands;
prolonged disappointment and the consciousness of his impotence
overmastered him. But he chid and restrained himself.
"I have lost too much of the cool circumspection which Fritz said was
the highest virtue of a collector. I must accustom myself to the
thought of self-resignation, and calmly examine the hopes which still
remain. I must not be ungrateful also for the little I have gained."
He could not sit quietly by the discovered leaves, but paced
thoughtfully up and down. He heard voices in the court-yard; hasty
running in the passages; and at last a lackey announced the arrival of
the Sovereign, and that he wished to see the Professor at breakfast.
The table was spread among blooming bushes on the side of the tower
that faced the rising sun. When the Professor entered under the roof
which protected the place from rain and the rays of the sun, he found
there, besides the household and Marshal, the forest officials and the
Lord High Steward, who thought, with more anxiety than the Professor,
of the sudden arrival of the Sovereign. The old lord approached the
Scholar, and spoke on indifferent subjects.
"How long do you think of remaining here?" he asked, politely.
"I shall request permission to return to the city in an hour; I have
accomplished what I had to do."