In the fine old Dom church of Prague, sat Frederic, king of Bohemia,
and many of the principal personages of his court. The faint sunshine
of a cold November day shone through the tall windows, and one of the
pale chilly beams lighted on the bald head and white hair of an old
man raised above the rest in a high pulpit, who, with outstretched arm
and vehement gesticulation, was declaiming violently against "the
woman of the seven hills, and all who bore about with them the mark of
the Beast." His piety, indeed, was somewhat blasphemous, and his
illustrations exaggerated in character and homely in language, till
they became almost ludicrous; but still there was a fierce, rude
eloquence about him, which captivated his hearers and enchained their
attention. Every eye was turned towards him, every ear was bent to
hear, when suddenly a dull heavy sound shook the building, and made
the casements rattle in their frames.
The preacher paused; the congregation turned round and gazed in each
other's faces; and then, roar after roar, came the peal of the
artillery from the field where all Frederic's hopes were to find their
final overthrow.
The young monarch started up with a look of consternation; the
congregation followed; and all seemed taken by surprise, and
thunderstruck at an event which might have been foreseen by
themselves, and had been foreseen by others for weeks before. But
there are states of moral apathy--lethargies as it were of the mind,
which seem sent by fate to prevent the near impending destruction from
giving to the doomed a warning to fly from its approach. Remonstrances
had often reached Frederic's ear; urgent appeals had been made to his
judgment; every intelligence of the enemy's movements had been
communicated to him--but, sunk in listless idleness, or carried away
by the pursuit of pleasure, or wrapt in the visions of a fanatical
religion, he would not listen, or he would not believe, till the
cannon of the field of Prague roused him thus at once in horror and
wonder from the long torpor in which he had lain.
The battle had begun, and he was absent; his subjects and his friends
were shedding their blood in his defence, and he was not there to
share their peril and direct their efforts. But it was still not too
late, he thought. He would fly to the field; he would encourage his
soldiers by his presence; he would put himself in the front of his
host; he would perish or preserve the crown he had gained. He
hearkened not to the preacher, though Scultetus in a loud voice called
on all to wait and listen to a concluding prayer. He heard not the
eager but reasonless questions of his surrounding courtiers; he did
not even mark the pale face of Camerarius; but, waving his right hand,
and grasping his sword scabbard with the left, he exclaimed aloud, "To
the field! To the field! Our friends and brethren are dying in arms in
our cause! To the field! To the field; and God defend the right!"
Thus saying, he strode at once out of the church, and hurried back
towards the palace, calling loudly for his horse. A page ran on to
bring out a charger: and many others followed, in search of arms, they
said; but few were ever seen again by the young monarch's side.
"Where is my horse?" cried Frederic vehemently, as he reached the
gates of his residence; "quick, quick! Lose not an instant. Tell the
Queen I have gone to lead the troops; tell her--"
"Which horse will your Majesty ride?" demanded an officer of the
stables, running forth.
"Any one, fool!" exclaimed the King--"hear you not the cannon?--Aught
which will carry me to my friends without.--Away! Stay not to
talk!--Have it here in a moment!"
"Will you not arm, sire?" said an old officer, in a persuasive tone.
"No!" cried Frederic, sternly; "as I am, with my bare breast, will I
face them. Speed is the only armour I would use.--But these men will
drive me mad.--Where is my charger?--In the name of pity--in the name
of Heaven, see some one what they are doing! Men will call me
coward--my name will be a by-word. They will say, for centuries to
come, that, while his brave soldiers were bleeding before Prague,
Frederic of Bohemia shunned the field where his crown was to be lost
or won."
"Here comes your royal charger," cried a voice; and, springing
forward, the monarch put his foot in the stirrup and vaulted on the
horse's back.
"Follow, follow! All that love me follow!" he cried, and without
waiting for any one, dashed down at headlong speed towards the gates.
The way was long, the streets narrow and steep; but on, on went the
unhappy prince till the small triangular space of open ground before
the inner ward lay within sight. Then ran up a half-armed guard; and,
approaching close to his horse's side, said in a low voice, "They fly,
they fly, your Majesty!"
His look, his tone, were ominous; for he spoke as if he were afraid
that his words might be heard by any one near; but still Frederic
asked with a sinking heart, "Who fly?"
"Our men, sire," answered the soldier.
"Then I go to rally them," cried the King, "or to die with those who
stand."
"That might have done an hour ago," said the soldier, bluntly; "but it
is now too late."
It is the fate of misfortune to hear hard truths; and this was the
first bitter sting of many that Frederic was yet to feel. He stopped
not to answer, however, but pushed on past the man, catching a sight
at the same time of several of his attendants spurring down after him.
The soldiers of the guard-house scarcely saw his approach; for they
were all gazing eagerly forth from the outer gate; but, just beyond
the drawbridge, he perceived a rude Bohemian bleeding from several
wounds, and leaning for support against the masonry.
"Ah, sir, the day is lost," cried the man, as the monarch rode past;
"the troops are all flying towards Brandeis; half the Hungarians
drowned in the river; the infantry all in route; the cannon
taken----." Frederic listened to no more, but still spurred on,
dashing his horse through the guards at the outer gate, and gazing
eagerly towards the hill.
Who was it coming so rapidly towards him, followed by half a dozen
troopers and a single banner? Old Christian of Anhalt, bloody and
dusty from the fight, where he had fought hand to hand; no hat upon
his head, his grey hair streaming in the wind, his head bent sadly
down almost to his horse's neck, and his hands grasping tightly the
reins with a bitter and convulsive clasp.
"Anhalt!" cried the King.
"It is all lost, my lord, as I knew it would be," said the old
soldier, in a low deep voice. "Back with us into Prague as fast as may
be. The Bavarian is at our heels.--Let the walls be well manned, and
the cannon pour forth their shot upon the enemy, if they come too
near. Let the gates be closed, too; the fugitives are taking another
way.--Your safety and the defence of Prague are now all we have to
think of. We must have counsel with all speed.--You, gentlemen," he
continued, turning to those who followed, "away to the Rath-house in
the old town, as fast as you can ride; take measures with the
magistrates for the sure guarding of the walls; and, hark you,
Dillingen, gather every information you can of the temper of the
people, and let the King hear at the Hradschin. You will find me
there, in case of need.--Come, my lord, come; it is vain thinking of
what cannot be remedied. The future, the future! still the future! We
may make a good fight yet, if Mansfeld will but help--Not serve under
me! Why, I will be his horseboy, if he will fight like a man.--Come,
my lord.--Nay, nay, be not so cast down! 'Tis but a battle lost after
all. I trust we shall see many such before we die, and win many a one
to boot;" and grasping Frederic's hand kindly, he led, rather than
followed, the Monarch back into the city, giving orders, as they
passed the gates, that they should be closed and defended. The news
had already spread through Prague that the royal army had been
defeated. There were men who had seen the rout from a church steeple;
the tale had been carried from mouth to mouth, and from house to
house; there was scarce a babbling child who did not know it, and
repeat it; and, as Frederic and his train passed by, almost every door
had its group of men and women, who eyed him, some sadly, some
sullenly--but few, if any, showed a mark of reverence. Some,
especially where there was a cross over the door, suffered a
half-suppressed grin to appear, as the unfortunate Prince rode by; and
then went and talked in low tones to their neighbours, pointing
significantly over the shoulder to the royal group. All that he saw
made the young Monarch's heart more sad; and, when he reached the
palace, he led the way straight to the ante-room of his wife's
apartments.
The first person whom he met there was Agnes Herbert; but she saw that
disaster and ruin were in his eyes, and she dared not ask any
questions. Not a servant had been found in the court, or on the
staircase, or in the hall below; and Frederic, turning to her, said in
a sad but gentle tone, "I beseech you, lady, seek some of the people,
and tell them to send us what counsellors they can find; above all,
Dohna and Camerarius."
"Camerarius!" cried Christian of Anhalt, warmly; "we want counsel with
men, not with weak and doubting subtle-wits like that.--Give us the
Princess and Dohna.--Old Slick, I fancy, is dead; for I saw him charge
desperately to rescue my poor boy, who is wounded and taken, I hear."
"Well, well," said Frederick; "send some one for Dohna, dear lady; and
I will call the Queen.--Is your gallant son a prisoner, then, indeed?"
he continued, grasping old Anhalt's hand.
"Never mind him," replied the soldier. "God will take care of
him.--Let us have the Queen, my lord. Her courage and her wisdom now
are worth a dozen other counsellors."
In the mean while, Agnes left the ante-room with her cheek deadly
pale, and her heart feeling as cold as ice. There was a question she
would fain have asked, but she dared not breathe it--a question which
made her bosom feel heavy and her limbs shake, even when she put it to
herself, "Where was Algernon Grey?" Oh, when she thought of him in
that hour, how deep, how strong, how overpowering did she feel the
love which she had so long concealed from her own eyes. She grasped
the balustrade of the staircase for support; and, though she knew that
each moment was precious, she paused at every step.--Had she gone
forward, she would have fallen.
Suddenly, as she descended, she heard a clang as of an armed man
springing to the ground at the door of the second court, which opened
below. Then came a step in the stone hall at the foot of the stairs.
Oh, how her heart beat; for the quick sure ear of love recognised the
tread at once. She darted down the remaining steps. The next instant
he was before her. She sprang forward, and, ere they knew what they
did, she was clasped to his armed bosom.
"I have come to keep my promise, dearest," said Algernon Grey; "to
aid, to protect, to defend you with my life, if need should be.--Where
is the Queen? where is the King? I must speak with them both, if
possible."
"The King is above," answered Agnes, withdrawing herself from his
embrace. "He is with the Prince of Anhalt in the Queen's ante-room,
just above the court of St. George. He sent me for one of the
attendants to call the Viscount of Dohna; but I can find no one.--Good
Heaven! they surely cannot all have abandoned their King and their
master already!"
"No, no," answered Algernon Grey; "they have gone up to the roofs to
see what they can see, or out to gather news. Speed back again, dear
Agnes, and tell him I am here. I will seek Dohna, if he lodges where
he used. At all events, I will find some one who can call him. Away,
dear girl, for I would fain see the King speedily."
Agnes hurried away, with her heart all joyful; for the relief of his
coming had swept away the bitterness of all other disasters with that
which he had anticipated. What was to her a battle lost, if Algernon
Grey was safe! When she entered the ante-chamber she found the Queen
seated between her husband and Christian of Anhalt; her face raised
and turned alternately from one to the other; her look eager and
grave, but not at all depressed.
"'Tis the best way," she said, as Agnes entered; "so shall we, at
least, gain time for intelligence, for preparation, and for
action.--Doubtless he will grant it. He is our cousin."
"And his troops have had enough to do," answered Christian of Anhalt;
"that is the best security. He has as much need of repose as we have.
Prague is a hard bone to pick."
"But whom shall we send?" said Frederic. "It must be some man of rank;
and there is an old grudge between him and Dohna. Is the Viscount
coming, fair lady?"
"I can find none of the attendants, your Majesty," answered Agnes;
"but I met Master Algernon Grey in the hall, just alighted, and he
undertook to find the Viscount, begging me to tell your Majesties that
he wished to speak with you immediately."
"Then he is safe," cried the Queen; "thank God for that!"
"If he is safe, it is not his own fault," exclaimed Christian of
Anhalt, "for he fought like a madman when all hope was over. I never
saw so cool a head in counsel, and so hot a one in battle. Let us have
him here by all means."
"Can we not send the Earl, Frederic?" asked the Queen, laying her hand
gently on her husband's arm, and calling him, in the hour of his
distress, by the dear familiar name which she never used but in
private. "He must throw off this foolish incognito now, and will go, I
am sure, in his own name and character, as our envoy to this proud
victor. See for him, my sweet cousin, see for him, and bring him
hither with all speed."
Agnes hastened away without reply, and found Algernon Grey already
mounting the stairs. He followed her quickly, without even pausing for
the words of tenderness which were in his heart; and in a moment after
he stood before the King and Queen, who were still nearly in the same
position in which Agnes had left them, only that Elizabeth was writing
with a rapid hand from her husband's dictation.
"Say four and twenty hours, my lord the King," exclaimed Christian of
Anhalt, interrupting him; "he won't grant more, if so much."
"Well, four and twenty hours be it," answered Frederic. "We can gather
force enough in that time to make head."
Elizabeth finished writing quickly, and then pushed the paper over to
her husband, who took the pen and signed his name.
"This fair lady tells me you wish to speak with me, my lord," said
Frederic, as soon as he had done.
"I wish to represent to your Majesty," replied Algernon Grey, "that
the gates of the city being closed so soon, before any parties of the
enemy are near, may prevent many gallant men, who have already fought
well and will do so again, from finding refuge within these walls,
where they might do good service. I myself was nearly excluded; and
much of the baggage will, doubtless, be lost which might be saved."
"It was an order given by me in haste, my young friend," replied
Christian of Anhalt, "not rightly understood by the frightened people
there, and to be amended immediately. I meant them to shut out our
enemies, not our friends. But now listen to what his Majesty has to
say to you."
"It is simply this, my Lord of Hillingdon," said Frederic; "Will you,
in a moment of our need like this, take a flag of truce, from the
gates to our cousin, Maximilian of Bavaria, and deliver to him this
letter, demanding a suspension of arms for four and twenty hours?--You
must go in your own character, however; for we cannot send any
inferior man to such a Prince in the hour of victory."
"I will be your Majesty's envoy with pleasure," answered Algernon
Grey, "and for this night will resume my name and title; but I will
beg all here to forget it afterwards, as, for reasons of my own, now
more strong than ever, I wish not to have my coming and going bruited
about in every part of Europe."
"Be it as you will," answered Frederic; "and many thanks, my lord, for
this and all other services. Write on the superscription, dearest
lady, 'By the hands of our cousin, the Earl of Hillingdon?'"
Elizabeth wrote, gave Algernon Grey the letter, and raised her eyes to
his face, saying, "On your return, whatever be the answer you bring, I
must see you for a few moments, my lord. You made me a promise, which
I am sure you will fulfil with chivalry and devotion."
"I did not forget it, your Majesty," answered Algernon Grey, looking
round with a faint smile towards Agnes; "and I will return to
accomplish it as soon as this task is ended. I shall, doubtless, find
a flag at the gates; and so I take my leave."
"Stay, I go with you to give better orders," said Christian of Anhalt,
"and to furnish a new pass word to the guards, for I have some fears
of these good citizens. Ha! here comes Dohna--I will return
immediately;" and thus saying he withdrew with Algernon Grey.