THE PRIDE OF YOUTH.
But I am not going to relate the talk we had on that, Fraulein Anna
and I. I learned one thing, and one only, and that I can put very
shortly. I saw my face as it were in a glass, and I was not pleased
with the reflection. Listening to Fraulein Anna's biting hints and
sidelong speeches--she did not spare them--I recognized that I was
jealous; that the ascendency the young lord had gained with my lady
and in the castle did not please me; and that if I would not make a
fool of myself and step out of my place, I must take myself roundly to
task. Much might be forgiven to Fraulein Anna, who saw the quiet realm
wherein she reigned invaded, and the friend she had gained won from
her in an hour. But her case differed from mine. I was a servant, and
woe to me if I forgot my place!
Perhaps, also, it gave me pleasure to find my uneasiness shared. At
any rate, I felt better afterwards, and a message from my lady,
bidding me rest my head and do nothing for the day, comforted me still
further. I went out, and finding the terrace quiet, and deserted by
all except the sentry at the wicket, I sat down on one of the stone
seats which overlook the town and there began to think. The sun was
behind a cloud and the air was fresh and cool, and I presently fell
asleep with my head on my arms.
While I slept my lady and the Waldgrave came and began to walk up and
down the terrace, and gradually little bits of their talk slid into my
dreams, until I found myself listening to them between sleeping and
waking. The Waldgrave was doing most of the speaking, in the boyish,
confident tone which became him so well. Presently I heard him say--
'The whole art of war is changed, fair cousin. I had it from one who
knows, Bernard of Weimar. The heavy battalions, the great masses, the
slow movements, the system invented by the great Captain of Cordova
are gone. Breitenfeld was their death-blow.'
'Yet my uncle was a great commander,' my lady said, with a little
touch of impatience in her tone.
'Of the old school.'
I heard her laugh. 'You speak as if you had been a soldier for a score
of years, Rupert,' she said.
'Age is not experience,' he answered hardily. 'That is the mistake.
How old was Alexander when he conquered Egypt? Twenty-three, cousin,
and I am twenty-three. How old was the Emperor Augustus when he became
Consul of Rome? Nineteen. How old was Henry of England when he
conquered France? Twenty-seven. And Charles the Fifth, at Pavia?
Twenty-five.'
'Sceptres are easy leading-staves,' my lady answered deftly. 'All
these were kings, or the like.'
'Then take Don John at Lepanto. He, too, was twenty-five.'
'A king's son,' my lady replied quickly.
'Then I will give you one to whom you can make no objection,' he
answered in a tone of triumph: 'Gaston de Foix, the Thunderbolt of
Italy. He who conquered at Como, at Milan, at Ravenna. How old was
he when he died, leaving a name never to be forgotten in arms?
Twenty-three, fair cousin. And I am twenty-three.'
'But then you are not Gaston de Foix,' my lady retorted, laughter
bubbling to her lips; 'nor a king's nephew.'
'But I may be.'
'What? A king's nephew?' the Countess answered, laughing outright.
'Pray where is the king's niece?'
'King's niece?' he exclaimed reproachfully--and I doubt not with a
kind look at her, and a movement as if he would have paid her for her
sauciness. 'You know I want no king's niece. There is no king's niece
in the world so sweet to my taste, so fair, or so gracious as the
cousin I have been fortunate enough to serve during the last few days;
and that I will maintain against the world.'
'So here is my glove!' my lady answered gaily, finishing the speech
for him. 'Very prettily said, Rupert. I make you a thousand curtsies.
But a truce to compliments. Tell me more.'
He needed no second bidding; though I think that she would have
listened without displeasure to another pretty speech, and an older
man would certainly have made one. But he was full of the future and
fame--and himself. He had never had such a listener before, and he
poured forth his hopes and aspirations, as he strode up and down, so
gallant of figure and frank of face that it was impossible not to feel
with him. He was going to do this; he was going to do that. He would
make the name of Rupert of Weimar stand with that of Bernard. Never
was such a time for enterprise. Gustavus Adolphus, with Sweden and
North Germany at his back, was at Munich; Bavaria, Franconia, and the
Rhine Bishoprics were at his feet. The hereditary dominions of the
Empire, Austria, Silesia, Moravia, with Bohemia, Hungary, and the
Tyrol, must soon be his; their conquest was certain. Then would come
the division of the spoil. The House of Weimar, which had suffered
more in the Protestant cause than any other princely house of Germany,
which had resigned for its sake the Electoral throne and the rights of
primogeniture, must stand foremost for reward.
'And which kingdom shall you choose?' my lady asked, with a twinkle in
her eye which belied her gravity. 'Bohemia or Hungary? or Bavaria?
Munich I am told is a pleasant capital.'
'You are laughing at me!' he said, a little hurt.
'Forgive me,' she said, changing her tone so prettily that he was
appeased on the instant. 'But, speaking soberly, are you not curing
the skin before the bear is dead? The great Wallenstein is said to be
collecting an army in Bohemia, and if the latest rumour is to be
believed, he has already driven out the Saxons and retaken Prague. The
tide of conquest seems already to be turning.'
'We shall see,' the Waldgrave answered.
'Very well,' my lady replied. 'But, besides, is there not a proverb
about the lion's share? Will the Lion of the North forego his?'
'We shall make him,' the young lord answered. 'He goes as far as we
wish and no farther. Without German allies he could not maintain his
footing for a month.'
'Germany should blush to need his help,' my lady said warmly.
'Never mind. Better times are coming,' he answered. 'And soon, I
hope.'
With that they moved out of hearing, crossing to the other side of the
court and beginning to walk up and down there; and I heard no more.
But I had heard enough to enable me to arrive at two or three
conclusions. For one thing, I felt jealous no longer. My lady's tone
when she spoke to the Waldgrave convinced me that whatever the future
might bring forth, she regarded him in the present with liking, and
some pride perhaps, but with no love worthy of the name. A woman, she
took pleasure in his handsome looks and gallant bearing; she was fond
of listening to his aspirations. But the former pleased her eye
without touching her heart, and the latter never for a moment carried
her away.
I was glad to be sure of this, because I discerned something lacking
on his side also. It was 'Rotha,' 'sweet cousin,' 'fair cousin,' too
soon with him. He felt no reverence, suffered no pangs, trembled under
no misgivings, sank under no sense of unworthiness. He thought that
all was to be had for pleasant words and the asking. Heritzburg seemed
a rustic place to him, and my lady's life so dull and uneventful, my
lady herself so little of a goddess, that he deemed himself above all
risk of refusal. A little difficulty, a little doubt, the appearance
of a rival, might awaken real love. But it was not in him now. He felt
only a passing fancy, the light offspring of propinquity and youth.
But how, it may be asked, was I so wise that, from a few sentences
heard between sleeping and waking, I could gather all this, and draw
as many inferences from a laugh as Fraulein Anna Max from a page of
crabbed Latin? The question put to me then, as I sat day-dreaming over
Heritzburg, might have posed me. I am clear enough about it now. I
could answer it if I chose. But a nod is as good as a wink to a blind
horse, and a horse with eyes needs neither one nor the other.
Presently I saw Fraulein Anna come out and go sliding along one side
of the court to gain another door. She had a great book under her arm
and blinked like an owl in the sunshine, and would have run against my
lady if the Waldgrave had not called out good-humouredly. She shot
away at that with a show of excessive haste, and was in the act of
disappearing like a near-sighted rabbit, when my lady called to her
pleasantly to come back.
She came slowly, hugging the great book, and with her lips pursed
tightly. I fancy she had been sitting at a window watching my lady and
her companion, and that every laugh which rose to her ears, every
merry word, nay the very sunshine in which they walked, while she sat
in the dull room with her unread book before her, wounded her.
'What have you been doing, Anna?' my lady asked kindly.
'I have been reading the "Praise of Folly,"' Fraulein Max answered
primly. 'I am going to my Voetius now.'
'It is such a fine day,' my lady pleaded.
'I never miss my Voetius,' Fraulein answered.
The Waldgrave looked at her quizzically, with scarcely veiled
contempt. 'Voetius?' he said. 'What is that? You excite my curiosity.'
Perhaps it was the contrast between them, between his strength and
comeliness and her weak figure and pale frowning face, that moved me;
but I know that as he said that, I felt a sudden pity for her. And
she, I think, for herself. She reddened and looked down and seemed to
go smaller. Scholarship is a fine thing; I have heard Fraulein Anna
herself say that knowledge is power. But I never yet saw a bookworm
that did not pale his fires before a soldier of fortune, nor a scholar
that did not follow the courtier and the ruffler with eyes of envy.
Perhaps my lady felt as I did, for she came to the rescue. 'You are
too bad,' she said. 'Anna is my friend, and I will not have her
teased. As for Voetius, he is a writer of learning, and you would know
more about many things, if you could read his works, sir.'
'Do you read them?' he asked.
'I do!' she answered.
'Good heavens!' he exclaimed, staring at her freely and affecting to
be astonished. 'Well, all I can say is that you do not look like it!'
My lady fired up at that. I think she felt for her friend. 'I do not
thank you,' she said sharply. 'A truce to such compliments, if you
please. Anna,' she continued, 'have you been to see this poor girl
from the town?'
'No,' Fraulein Max answered.
'She has come, has she not?'
'And gone--to the stables!' And Fraulein Anna laughed spitefully. 'She
is used to camp life, I suppose, and prefers them.'
'But that is not right,' my lady said, with a look of annoyance.
She turned and called to me. 'Martin,' she said, 'come here. This
girl--the papist from the town--why has she not been brought to the
women's quarters in the house?'
I answered that I did not know; that she should have been.
'We will go and see,' my lady answered, nodding her head in a way that
premised trouble should any one be found in fault. And without a
moment's hesitation she led the way to the inner court, the Waldgrave
walking beside her, and Fraulein Anna following a pace or two behind.
The latter still hugged her book, and her face wore a look of secret
anticipation. I took on myself to go too, and followed at a respectful
distance, my mind in a ferment.
The stable court at Heritzburg is small. The rays of the sun even at
noon scarcely warm it, and a shadow seemed to fall on our party as we
entered. Two grooms, not on guard, were going about their ordinary
duties. They started on seeing my lady, who seldom entered that part
without notice; and hastened to do reverence to her.
'Where is the girl who was brought here from the town?' she said, in a
peremptory tone.
The men looked at one another, scared by her presence, yet not knowing
what was amiss. Then one said, 'Please your excellency, she is in the
room over the granary.'
'She should be in the house, not here,' my lady answered harshly.
'Take me to her.'
The man stared, and the Waldgrave, seeing his look of astonishment,
interposed, murmuring that perhaps the place was scarcely fit.
'For me?' my lady said, cutting him short, with a high look which
reminded me of her uncle, Count Tilly. 'You forget, sir cousin, that I
am not a woman only, but mistress here. Ignorance, which may be seemly
in a woman, does not become me. Lead on, my man.'
The fellow led the way up a flight of outside steps which gave access
to the upper granary floor; and my lady followed, rejecting the
Waldgrave's hand and gazing with an unmoved eye at the unfenced edge
on her left; for the stairs had no rail. At the top the groom opened
the door and squeezed himself aside, and my lady entered. The
Waldgrave had given place to Fraulein Anna--whom desire to see what
would happen had blinded to the risks of the stairs--and she was not
slow to follow. The young lord and I pressed in a pace behind.
'This is not a fit place for a maiden!' I heard my lady say severely;
and then she stopped. That was before I could see inside, the sudden
pause coming as I entered. The loft was dark, the unglazed windows
being shuttered; but my eyes are good, and I knew the place, and saw
at once--what my lady had seen, I think, at a second glance only--that
the man beside whom the girl was kneeling--or had been kneeling, for
as I entered she rose to her feet with a word of alarm--was bandaged
from his chin to his crown, was helpless and maundering, talking
strange nonsense, and rolling his head restlessly from side to side.
'Why, you are a child!' my lady said; and this time her voice was soft
and low and full of surprise. 'Who is this?' she continued, pointing
to the man; who never ceased to babble and move.
'It is Steve, my lady,' I said. 'He was hurt below, in the town, and
the girl has been nursing him. I suppose she--I think no one told her
to go elsewhere,' I added by way of apology for her.
'Where could she be better?' my lady said in a low voice. 'Child,' she
continued gently,' come here. Do not be afraid.'
The girl had shrunk back at the sound of my lady's first words, or at
sight of so large a company, and had taken her stand on the farther
side of Steve, where she crouched trembling and looking at us with a
terrified face. Hearing herself summoned, she came slowly and timidly
forward, the little boy who had run to her holding her hand, and
hiding his face in her skirts.
'I am the countess,' my lady said, looking at her closely, but with
kindness, 'and I have come to see how you fare.'
It was a hard moment for the girl, but she did the very best thing she
could have done, and one that commended her to my lady's heart for
ever. For, bursting into tears--I doubt not the sound of a woman's
voice speaking mildly to her touched her heart--she dropped on her
knees before the countess and kissed her hand, sobbing piteous words
of thankfulness and appeal.
'Chut! chut!' my lady said, a little tremor in her own voice. 'You are
safe now. Be comforted. You shall be protected here, whatever betide.
But you have lost your father? Yes, I remember, child. Well, it is
over now. You are quite safe. See, this gentleman shall be your
champion. And Martin there. He is a match for any two. Tell me your
name.'
'Marie--Marie Wort.' The girl answered suppressing her tears with an
effort.
'How old are you?'
'Seventeen, please your excellency.'
'And where were you born, Marie?'
'At Munich, in Bavaria.'
'You are a Romanist, I hear?'
'If it please your excellency.'
'It does not please me at all,' my lady answered promptly; but she
said it with so much mildness that Marie's eyes filled again. 'I warn
you, we shall, try to convert you--by kindness. So you are nursing
this poor fellow?' And my lady went up to Steve, and touched his hand
and spoke to him. But he did not know her, and she stepped back,
looking grave.
'The fever is on him now,' Marie said timidly. 'He is at his worst;
but he will be better by-and-by, if your excellency pleases.'
'He is fortunate in his nurse,' my lady answered, gazing searchingly
at the other's pale face. 'Will you stay with him, child, or would you
rather come into the house, where my women could take care of you, and
you would be more comfortable?'
A look of distress flickered in the girl's eyes. She hesitated and
looked down, colouring painfully. I dare say that with feminine tact
she knew that my lady even now thought it scarcely proper for her to
be there--in a house where only the men about the stable lived. But
she found her answer.
'He was hurt trying to protect me,' she murmured, in a low voice.
My lady nodded. 'Very well,' she said; and I saw that she was not
displeased. 'You shall stay with him. I will see that you are taken
care of. Come, Rupert, I think we have seen enough.'
She signed to us to go before her, and we all went out, and she closed
the door. At the head of the steps, when the Waldgrave offered her his
hand, she waved it away, and stood.
'Bring me a hammer and a nail,' she cried.
Three or four men, nearly half our garrison, had collected below,
hearing where we were. One of these ran and fetched what she called
for; while we all waited and wondered what she meant. I took the
hammer and nail from the man and went up again with them.
[Illustration: ... with her own hands she drove the nail.... Then she
turned ...]
'Give me my glove,' she said, turning abruptly to the Waldgrave.
He had possessed himself of one in the course of the conversation I
have partly detailed; and no doubt he did not give it up very
willingly. But there was no refusing her under the circumstances.
'Hold it against the door!' she said.
He obeyed, and with her own hands she drove the nail through the
glove, pinning it to the middle of the door. Then she turned with a
little colour in her face.
'That is my room!' she said, with a ring of menace in her tone. 'Let
no one presume to enter it. And have a care, men! Whatever is wanted
inside, place at the threshold and begone.'
Then she came down, followed by the Waldgrave, and walked through the
middle of us and went back to the terrace, with Fraulein Anna at her
heels. The Waldgrave lingered a moment to look at a sick horse, and I
to give an order. When we reached the terrace court a few minutes
later, we found my lady walking up and down alone in the sunshine.
'Why, where is the learned Anna?' the Waldgrave said.
'She is gone to amuse herself,' my lady answered, laughing. 'Voetius
is put aside for the moment in favour of Master Dietz!'
'No?' the young lord exclaimed, in a tone of surprise. 'That
yellow-faced atomy? She is not in love with him?'
'No, sir, certainly not.'
'Then what is it?'
'Well, I think she is a little jealous,' my lady answered with a
smile. 'We have been so long colloguing with a papist, Anna thinks
some amends are due to the Church. And she is gone to make them. At
any rate, she asked me a few minutes ago if she might pay a visit to
Dietz. "For what purpose?" I said. "To discuss a point with him," she
answered. So I told her to go, if she liked, and by this time I don't
doubt that they are hard at it.'
'Over Voetius?'
'No, sir,' my lady answered gaily. 'Beza more probably, or Calvin. You
know little of either, I expect. I do not wonder that Anna is driven
to seek more improving company.'