The sun had set; the young moon had risen; and the sky of the early
spring-time was full of stars. A great deal of bustle had been
observed in the castle, though it was now no longer tenanted by a host
of servants, and the gay scene of courtly splendour which it had
formerly displayed--the hurrying multitudes, the splendid dresses, the
clanging trumpets, and the beating drums, had subsided into dulness,
silence, and almost solitude. The ruined fortunes of the Palatinate
house were shadowed forth in the desolate change which had come over
their dwelling-place.
Yet, as I have said, an unusual degree of activity had appeared in the
castle during the last two hours before sunset. Some seven or eight
mounted men had gone forth in different directions, none of the
ordinary inhabitants of the place knowing what was their errand. The
young Baron of Oberntraut himself rode out, followed by a single
trooper; but, instead of going down into the plain, which was the
direction he usually took, and where his men were quartered, he rode
up by steep and precipitous paths--where, perhaps, a horse's hoof had
never trod the ground before--round the hills looking upon the Rhine,
and going from height to height, often paused to gaze, shading his
eyes with his hand, and seeming to scrutinize every path and road in
the wide extent of country below him.
At length, just at sunset, he had returned to the castle, and inquired
if any of the messengers had come back. Three had already arrived; and
he examined them strictly as to what discoveries they had made in
regard to the movements of the enemy's troops. They all agreed that
Tilly and his forces had passed over the bridge which he had thrown
across the Neckar, had then directed his course towards the Rhine, and
had crossed that river near Oppenheim.
This news seemed to give the young officer great satisfaction; and he
proceeded from the court to the lodging of Colonel Herbert, where the
door was carefully closed after his entrance. About an hour
subsequently, as good a meal as could be prepared in the castle was
carried up to the rooms of the English officer; but his own servant
and Agnes Herbert received the dishes at the door, and the ordinary
attendants were not suffered to enter. Another hour elapsed, and then
Herbert and Dr. Alting came down the stairs together, looked
everywhere round when they reached the door of the tower, and then
walked slowly on, taking their way along the inner rampart towards the
library-tower, and thence, by the small doors and steps, into the
garden. There they turned towards the grating of the arch by which Dr.
Alting had been brought that morning to the castle; and Herbert,
opening the gate, paused beside it conversing with his old friend.
They had been followed, however, for some way by another party; for,
while they were walking along the rampart, Agnes had descended the
stairs with the gentleman who had accompanied the old professor in the
morning; and they, too, took their way to the gardens. The young Baron
of Oberntraut, and Colonel Herbert's servant armed with a stout tuck,
followed at a distance of about fifty yards, and, in whichever way
Agnes and her companion turned their steps, kept them still in sight.
The fair lady's path seemed somewhat devious: now it was directed
towards the lower garden; then, at a word from the gentleman by her
side, she mounted the steps, and wound round amongst the trees above,
towards the great terrace; then down to the parterres with their
curious arabesques; then up again by another flight of steps to the
terrace once more; the moon shining bright upon their path the whole
way.
"It is a weakness, I know," said her companion, "to cling thus to
particular scenes, which only fill one with melancholy regret; but
here, fair lady, have passed so many happy hours, that I feel it
difficult to tear myself away, although these inanimate objects
present nothing to my mind but the memories of pleasures gone--for
ever, perhaps."
"The past has a spirit, your Majesty," answered Agnes, "which animates
the dull form of the present. The soul of happiness departed, I can
well understand, gives life to this changed scene; and to your royal
eyes rise up, with every object that we pass, some peculiar hours or
days which can never die to the affectionate remembrance of the heart.
But let me hope, too, that there lives a future, when once more,
amidst these scenes, with all you love best on earth, the days of
old shall be renewed, and these dark moments be recalled but as a
tempest-cloud which the wind has long swept away."
Frederic shook his head sadly. "I know not," he said; "God grant it!
but there is a dark foreboding at my heart that the curse of ambition
is upon me, and that the joys which I did not estimate sufficiently
when they were mine, are snatched away for ever."
"Ah, no!" said Agnes, sadly: "I would fain think that honour, and
virtue, and high purposes can never sink, overwhelmed, before fraud,
and violence, and wrong."
"Yet such is too often the course of things here below," replied
Frederic. "It will not be for ever. But the world has a life as well
as we, dear lady; and our lives are but parts of the world's life. The
time will be, when, in the long existence of the universe, all things
shall be set right and honesty triumph; but, alas! I fear no man's
time is wide enough to give room for hope that evil suffered will have
compensation here. I might add, no man is good enough to complain,
even when his best purposes are the steps that lead to the punishment
which his faults deserve. Alas! fair Heidelberg, thou place of so
many memories and so many dreams, I must quit thee once more--for
ever--yes, I feel it is for ever!" And, with his head bent and his
eyes full of tears, he descended the steps and hurried on to the spot
where Herbert and Dr. Alting waited for him.
"Herbert," said the unfortunate Prince, "I go; but you must stay, and,
if it be possible, defend this place we both so fondly love from the
rude spoiling hands of the enemy. It would be bitter indeed to know
that the Bavarian was in these halls; that his brutal soldiery were
wasting and devastating all that a long line of princes have with care
and skill been bringing to perfection; that the scenes of love and
peace--the dwellings of art, and poetry, and science, were polluted by
men who have neither feeling nor reverence for such high things. I do
beseech you, my noble friend, aid to defend this place to the best of
your power, though some wrong has been done you by others, but not by
me."
"With the last drop of my blood, Sire," answered Herbert; "but in
truth it is time your Majesty should go. You have a long and dangerous
journey before you ere you can rejoin Mansfeld; but I trust that it
will pass safely, and that together you will strike such a stroke at
the enemy, as will keep him far from these walls. Have you all the
papers you sought?"
"All, all," answered the King; "but some one must go with me to lock
the gate after I and the good Doctor here have passed."
"That will I, your Majesty," said Oberntraut, who had now joined the
rest; but Frederic replied, "No, no, you had better mount at once and
ride down to your men as we agreed. Herbert, you have to see that no
one else quits the castle for two hours. Does this dear lady know the
way?"
"Right well," replied Herbert: "I took care of that long ago."
"And will she have no fears in returning through those passages
alone?" inquired the King.
"None, Sire," answered Agnes, with a smile; "I have become inured to
real dangers, and fear no imaginary ones."
"Well, then--farewell, my friends," said Frederic, shaking hands with
Herbert and Oberntraut; "if we never meet again here below, God bless
you! and we shall meet hereafter, I do trust."
Thus saying, he passed through the open gate with Dr. Alting. Agnes
received a large key from her uncle, while Oberntraut took a dark
lantern from the servant, unshaded it, and placed it in her hands.
Thus provided, she followed quickly upon the steps of the King, and
lighted him through the long and winding passage which at that time
led down from the castle to the town. Not a word was spoken as they
passed between the heavy walls of rude masonry, on which the green
damp stood thick, and through which the water from the earth around
oozed in many places; but at the door leading into the city Frederic
paused and pressed Agnes's hand, saying, "Farewell, my sweet cousin!
Wear this ring for my sake and for the Queen's. See our young friend
Algernon to-night, and I think you will find that the intelligence I
gave has proved a better medicine for his wounds than any the doctors
have prescribed. It was the cup of hope, fair Agnes; but it were well
that as soon as he can bear a horse's pace he should set out for
England without delay of any kind. Once more, farewell!"
Agnes put the key in the lock and threw the door open for the prince
and his old companion to pass; and then saying, "God speed your
Majesty!" saw the King depart from the dwelling of his ancestors for
the last time.[4]
With slow and thoughtful steps, and eyes that more than once filled
with tears, the fair girl trod her way back towards the castle. She
took not, however, the same course which Oberntraut had followed when
he led Frederick up some hours before; but, turning to the right at
the top of the ascent, where a long gallery ran for some way round the
side of the hill, she came to a door which led forth into the open air
within the gate, near the great battery which connected the defences
of the castle with the old town-wall, long since destroyed. The exit
was into a narrow passage between the armoury and the tennis-court;
and there she found Colonel Herbert pacing slowly up and down awaiting
her coming.
"I have been up to see Algernon, my love," he said, "and the poor
youth seems much better this evening. He asked if you would not come
again to-night, Agnes; so I promised for you, and left your girl to
wait at the foot of the stairs. Would to Heaven that he would get well
quickly! for every report of the enemy's movements makes me tremble
till there is some one to protect you in case I should be taken away."
The colour mounted into Agnes's cheek; for these were the first words
that Herbert had ever uttered having a reference to the probability of
a union between Algernon Grey and herself.
"I am sure he would protect me," she said, with a little of that timid
hypocrisy which women ever practise even to their own hearts; but the
next moment she added more frankly, "The King has just told me that it
will be absolutely necessary for Algernon, as soon as he can travel,
to go to England for a time."
"That is unfortunate indeed," said Herbert, thoughtfully; "but what
does the King know of his affairs?"
"Nay, I cannot tell," replied Agnes timidly. "His Majesty gave him
happy news this evening, it would seem, and that has doubtless done
him good. It is also very likely that he should have heard from his
ambassadors in England much that has not reached us here."
"True," replied Herbert, "a man of his rank is ever food for busy
tongues.--But there is one thing, my child, which must not be long
delayed. He must know all respecting her whom he has chosen."
"Oh, hush!" cried Agnes, in much agitation. "I know not that he has
chosen me--I cannot tell that--"
"Then he has not yet asked your hand?" said Herbert quickly.
"No," replied Agnes, and was pausing there with some anxiety
respecting the effect of this information upon Herbert, when she
suddenly remembered a chance expression of Algernon Grey's the very
day before he had been so sadly wounded; and she added, "I know that
he loves me--that he did not conceal; but he said that he would speak
with you as soon as we arrived--tell all--explain all."
Herbert mused for a moment: "That was right," he said at length, "that
was quite right; and I can easily conceive, Agnes, that the hours of
sickness and despondency have not been those he would choose to
execute his purpose. Still, let the explanations first come from you,
my love. It were quite as well that, ere he says one word more, he
should know fully what he is doing. I do not doubt him, Agnes--do
you?"
"Less than I should doubt myself," answered Agnes, warmly. "I will do
as you tell me; I would have done so before, but I had not your
permission. Yet, surely, it cannot be done, while he is still so ill."
"Oh, no," answered Herbert; "there is time enough. Let health come
back, at least in some degree; and then, the first time that he goes
forth to walk in the gardens here, let him hear the tale. It is
pleasant in the sunshine and the free air, beneath green trees and
amidst sweet flowers, to tell such a story of times gone. The mind
pauses on it untrammelled with the worldly thoughts of crowded cities;
the heart opens to it unoppressed by the heavy air of the close room.
In the presence of heaven and of God's works the pure, high feelings
which nature gave at first, but which hang their heads like sickly
city-flowers amongst the multitude, raise themselves up refreshed; and
we understand and sympathize with the sorrows and the hopes of others,
and feel the link of kindred between ourselves and all mankind. Take
some such moment, my sweet child; it is but fair to him and yourself."
Thus saying, he led her on to the castle, and to the foot of the
stairs which ascended to Algernon Grey's room. Her maid was waiting
for her; and, thus accompanied, she went up and was well repaid by
seeing the brighter and more cheerful look, which, to her eyes, was
full of the auguries of returning health. Nor was she mistaken; for,
everyday from that hour forward, Algernon Grey gained ground against
disease. His wounds healed rapidly. The languor and the feebleness
they had left behind passed away, and at the end of little more than a
week he was able to rise and sit by the open window, and listen to
Agnes as she sung. Spring advanced, too, early and radiant; and
several causes of disquietude were removed from the inhabitants of the
castle. News came, not only that Frederic had recrossed the Rhine in
safety and joined his army on the other side, but that, aided by his
bold friend, Count Mansfeld, he had defeated the Imperial army, and
forced Tilly himself to retreat. No speedy attack of Heidelberg was,
consequently, to be expected; and Herbert employed the time of respite
thus afforded in strengthening still further the defences of the
place.
It need not be said that the heart of Agnes Herbert grew lighter and
more cheerful hour by hour. How soon it is in youth, that we forget
the storms and tempests that pass over us! The drops are scarcely dry
upon the grass ere the sunshine seems to us more bright; the distant
sky more clear than ever; and thus it was with Agnes Herbert--ay, and
with her lover also, though he had a wider knowledge of the world. The
dark events which had taken place in Bohemia, if not forgotten, were
remembered as rendering present joy, only more sparkling; and, when
Agnes walked forth one day through the gardens above the shining
Neckar, with Algernon once more by her side, it seemed to her the
brightest hour of existence; and she could scarcely bring her heart to
fear that the coming time might present days as dark as those that had
been passed. On they went for more than an hour, walking slowly, for
his strength had not fully returned; but their conversation was like a
gay mountain stream, bounding with brilliant leaps from one point to
another. They sat down to rest; they rose up and walked on again; and
they might have rambled far and long, had not a quick step behind them
caused Agnes suddenly to turn round.
The person who followed was her lover's page, with eager haste in his
look; and, the moment he came up, he held out a letter to his master,
exclaiming, "A messenger from your uncle, my lord, has brought this
posthaste from England."
Algernon Grey took it calmly, opened the packet and read. But Agnes
could see his countenance change; his brow contracted--his lip
quivered--his cheek grew red.
"This is bad news, yet good, my Agnes," he said. "To tell the bad
first, I must away to England without an hour's delay; but, as some
consolation, I learn that all those difficulties and impediments which
seemed raised up like a barrier between me and happiness are now
giving way, and, ere a month be over, must certainly fall to the
ground."
"To England, without an hour's delay?" cried Agnes. "Oh, you cannot
go! You are unfit for such a journey."
"Nay, not so," replied her lover. "To Mannheim will be the worst part
of the affair. Then dropping down the Rhine in a light boat would but
refresh me, were it not that I part from you, my Agnes; but the joyful
thought of my return must cheer me; and, though the hours will be
long, they will not be many, ere I return to claim this hand, not
promised, yet mine, I know."
"Oh, the dread uncertainty of the future!" said Agnes, with a deep
sigh and eyes full of tears. "Had any one told me, Algernon, but a few
brief months ago, when I first met you here, and wandered through
these gardens with you, that I should have seen such sights, and
witnessed such disasters, should I have believed it?--should I have
believed even that I myself should be so changed in thoughts, in
feelings, almost in spirit, I may say? And what may not the coming
months, too, bring? I thought it was bitter enough, when I parted at
Prague from those I loved dearly, from those connected with me by the
ties of kindred, with a strange uncertain fate before both them and
me; but what will it be now, to part with you!"
"Let us not cloud the moment, dearest Agnes," said Algernon Grey,
"which in itself is a sad one, with gloomy anticipations. I go, I
acknowledge, full of hope; for the thought of being freed from a
detested bond, which bars my union with her I love, is too joyful not
to lighten even the pangs of parting. But you say, my Agnes, that at
Prague you left those connected with you by the ties of kindred; I
knew not that you had kindred there."
Agnes shook her head sadly and thoughtfully; for the tone of the mind
contrives to extract from every event reflections of the same hue with
itself. "It shows how little we can count even on an hour," she said.
"I had thought to-day to tell you, amidst these fair scenes, a
melancholy tale of days long gone--to dwell upon it, and to let you
hear each incident, without which, a story such as this is but a
lifeless sort of stick, like a vine stripped of its leaves in the
winter season. But now, as we go back, I must do it drily and
briefly.--My mother was the Abbess of a noble convent in France, of
the high family of Latour d'Auverne, and, consequently, by the
father's side third cousin, and by the mother's second cousin to the
Electress Dowager, Louisa Juliana. In the course of the war, an
English gentleman, of high family but small fortune, was wounded
severely whilst serving under Henry the Fourth of France, was brought
to the small town of Mousson, where the Abbey stood, and was tended
kindly by the good sisters. The greater part of the family of Latour
are zealous Protestants, as you know; but this branch has always been
vehemently Catholic; and the young Abbess had been brought up in that
faith. You know the degree of liberty which nuns of high rank have in
France; so that the vows they take place very little restraint upon
their intercourse with the world. The Abbess saw my father often;
acquaintance, with kind care on the one side and gratitude on the
other, soon changed into friendship and to love. My mother was
frightened at her feelings; and when my father first ventured to speak
his affection, fled from him in terror and in anger. But they met
again, and then he found means to shake her trust in the dogmas of the
Church to which she had hitherto belonged. He brought her into
communication with a Protestant minister. The Bible in its simple
purity was laid before her. Her eyes were opened, and she renounced
the superstitious faith! She dared not do so openly, however; for she
was surrounded by powerful and unscrupulous relations, who would have
hesitated at no means to punish, where they could not restrain; and
she was wedded in secret to my father, till the opportunity served for
removing her to a Protestant land. It became necessary that she should
quit the convent; and they removed to a small solitary place in the
Vosges, where I was born. Various events detained them between four
and five years, living concealed in profound retirement; but they were
sought for everywhere; and my father found, at length, that it would
be necessary to fly, for that a clue had been obtained to their
retreat, and pursuit was coming near. They, consequently, set off for
the Rhine on an autumn evening, my father and mother in a carriage,
with a few servants on horseback, and my father's horse led behind.
Their movements, however, had been watched. In passing through a wood
the carriage was fired upon, and my mother and one of the men
wounded.[5] She said, at first, that the injury was but slight; and my
father, springing out, mounted his horse, and attacked the assassins.
They were speedily put to flight; and one of them was killed by my
father's own hand. When they came to examine, they found that it was
my mother's own nephew who had fallen--but that she never knew; and,
pursuing their journey rapidly, they reached the Palatinate, where, at
the town of Franckenthal, the wound my mother had received was first
dressed. It was then discovered to be much more serious than had been
supposed. She lingered a week, and expired in my father's arms!"
Agnes paused; and Algernon Grey demanded eagerly, "But what became of
your father?"
"He hastened hither," continued Agnes, "told his tale to the
Electress, who had already been made aware of part, and eagerly
besought her countenance and protection for myself. She promised she
would be to me as a mother; and she has been so, as you know,
Algernon. But my mother's brother, a stern and cruel man, was in high
favour with the Queen of France; and, as soon as it was known my
father had found refuge here, the Elector was required to give him up
to answer for my cousin's death. Could a fair trial have been
expected, he would have surrendered; but it was known that such was
not to be obtained, and he was obliged to fly. He served for several
years in distant lands; and when it was supposed that men's passions
had become more calm, he returned to be near his child. You have often
seen him--know him well, Algernon. But Duke John of Zweibrücken, who
was guardian to the Elector Frederic at the time of his return,
insisted that some concealment was still necessary; and my father,
assuming the character of his brother, who had died the year before,
has passed ever since for my uncle, in order not to give offence to
the court of France."
"I had some suspicion," said Algernon Grey; "for there has been a
tenderness, dear Agnes, in his manner towards you, that nought but the
yearnings of paternal love could give.--And now, dearest, we are
coming near the castle. I, too, ought to open my whole heart to your
father. I fear, however, there is not time; for, when we came away, he
said he was going down to strengthen the defences by the bridge. Send
down to him, however, dear girl, and ask him to return. I will wait
till the last moment, in order to see him; but I ought to reach
Mannheim before it is dark."
The messenger, however, could not find Colonel Herbert. Two hours
passed by without his coming; and, having waited with his men mounted
in the court till not more than half an hour of daylight remained,
Algernon Grey tore himself away and rode on towards Mannheim.