THE TRIAL.
Late as it was when I fell asleep--for these thoughts long kept me
waking--I was up and on my way to Count Leuchtenstein's before the
bells rang seven. It was the 17th of August, and the sun, already
high, flashed light from a hundred oriels and casements. Below, in the
streets, it sparkled on pikeheads and steel caps; above, it glittered
on vane and weather-cock; it burnished old bells hung high in air, and
decked the waking city with a hundred points of splendour. Everywhere
the cool brightness of early morning met the eye, and spoke of things
I could not see--the dew on forest leaves, the Werra where it shoals
among the stones.
But as I went I saw things that belied the sunshine, things to which I
could not shut my eyes. I met men whose meagre forms and shrunken
cheeks made a shadow round them; and others, whose hungry vulture
eyes, as they prowled in the kennel for garbage, seemed to belong to
belated night-birds rather than to creatures of the day. Wan, pinched
women, with white-faced children, signs of the deeper distress that
lay hidden away in courts and alleys, shuffled along beside the
houses; while the common crowd, on whose features famine had not yet
laid its hand, wore a stern pre-occupied look, as if the gaunt spectre
stood always before their eyes--visible, and no long way off.
In the excitement of the last few days I had failed to note these
things or their increase; I had gone about my business thinking of
little else, seeing nothing beyond it. Now my eyes were rudely opened,
and I recognised with a kind of shock the progress which dearth and
disease were making, and had made, in the city. North and south and
east and west of me, in endless multitude, the roofs and spires of
Nuremberg rose splendid and sparkling in the sunshine. North and
south, and east and west, in city and lager lay scores of thousands of
armed men, tens of thousands of horses--a host that might fitly be
called invincible; and all come together in its defence. But, in
corners, as I went along I heard men whisper that Duke Bernard's
convoy had been cut off, that the Saxon forage had not come in, that
the Croats were gripping the Bamberg road, that a thousand waggons of
corn had reached the imperial army. And perforce I remembered that an
army must not only fight but eat. The soldiers must be fed, the city
must be fed. I began to see that if Wallenstein, secure in his
impregnable position on the hills, declined still to move or fight,
the time would come when the Swedish King must choose between two
courses, and either attack the enemy on the Alta Veste against all
odds of position, or march away and leave the city to its fate. I
ceased to wonder that care sat on men's faces, and seemed to be a
feature of the streets. The passion which the mob had displayed in the
night, no longer surprised me. The hungry man is no better than a
brute.
Opposite Count Leuchtenstein's lodgings they were quelling a riot at a
bakehouse, and the wolfish cries and screams rang in my ears long
after I had turned into the house. The Count had been on night
service, and was newly risen, and not yet dressed, but his servant
consented to admit me. I passed on the stairs a grey-haired sergeant,
scarred, stiff, and belted, who was waiting with a bundle of lists and
reports. In the ante-chamber two or three gentlemen in buff coats, who
talked in low, earnest voices and eyed me curiously as I passed, sat
at breakfast. I noted the order and stillness which prevailed
everywhere in the house, and nowhere more than in the Count's chamber;
where I found him dressing before a plain table, on which a small, fat
Bible had the place of a pouncet-box, and a pair of silver-mounted
pistols figured instead of a scent-case. Not that the appointments of
the room were mean. On a little stand beside the Bible was the chain
of gold walnuts which I had good cause to remember; and this was
balanced on the other side by a miniature of a beautiful woman, set in
gold and surmounted by a coat-of-arms.
He was vigorously brushing his grey hair and moustachios when I
entered, and the air, which the open window freely admitted, lent a
brightness to his eyes and a freshness to his complexion that took off
ten of his years. He betrayed some surprise at seeing me so early; but
he received me with good nature, congratulated me on my adventure, the
main facts of which had reached him, and in the same breath lamented
Tzerclas' escape.
'But we shall have the fox one of these days,' he continued. 'He is a
clever scoundrel, and thinks to be a Wallenstein. But the world has
only space for one monster at a time, friend Steward. And to be
anything lower than Wallenstein, whom I take to be unique,--to be a
Pappenheim, for instance,--a man must have a heart as well as a head,
or men will not follow him. However, you did not come to me to discuss
Tzerclas,' he continued genially. 'What is your errand, my friend?'
'To ask your excellency's influence on behalf of the Waldgrave
Rupert.'
He paused with his brushes suspended. 'On your own account?' he asked;
and he looked at me with sudden keenness.
'No, my lord,' I answered. 'My lady sent me. She would have come
herself, but the hour was early; and she feared to let the matter
stand, lest summary measures should be taken against him.'
'It is likely very summary measures will be taken!' he answered dryly,
and with a sensible change in his manner; his voice seemed to grow
harsher, his features more rigid. 'But why,' he continued, looking at
me again, 'does not the Countess leave him in Prince Bernard's hands?
He is his near kinsman.'
'She fears, my lord, that Prince Bernard may not----'
'Be inclined to help him?' the Count said. 'Well, and I think that
that is very likely, and I am not surprised. See you how the matter
stands? This young gallant should have been, since his arrival here,
foremost in every skirmish; he should have spent his days in the
saddle, and his nights in his cloak, and been the first to mount and
the last to leave the works. Instead of that, he has shown himself
lukewarm throughout, Master Steward. He has done no credit to his
friends or his commission; he has done everything to lend colour to
this charge; and, by my faith, I do not know what can be done for
him--nor that it behoves us to do anything.'
'But he is not guilty of this, if your excellency pleases,' I said
boldly. The Count's manner of speaking of him was hard and so nearly
hostile that my choler rose a little.
'He has not done his duty!'
'Because he has not been himself,' I replied.
'Well, we have enough to do in these evil days to protect those who
are!' he answered sharply. 'Besides, this matter is a city matter. It
is in the citizens' hands, and I do not know what we have to do with
it. Look now,' he continued, almost querulously, 'it is an invidious
thing to meddle with them. We of the army are risking our lives and no
more, but our hosts are risking all--wives and daughters, sweethearts,
and children, and homes! And I say it is an awkward thing meddling
with them. For Neumann the sooner they hang the dog the better; and
for this young spark I can think of nothing that he has done that
binds us to go out of our way to save him. Marienbad! What brought him
into that den of thieves?'
'My lord,' I said, taken aback by his severity--'since he received a
wound some months back he has not been himself.'
'He has been sufficiently himself to hang about a woman's
apron-strings,' the Count answered with a flash of querulous contempt,
'instead of doing his duty. However, what you say is true. I have seen
it myself. But, again, why does not your lady leave Prince Bernard to
settle the matter?'
'She fears that he may not be sufficiently interested.'
He turned away abruptly; unless I was mistaken, he winced. And in a
moment a light broke in upon me. The peevishness and irritability with
which he had received the first mention of the Waldgrave's name had
puzzled me. I had not expected such a display in a man of his grave,
equable nature, of his high station, his great name. I had given him
credit for a less churlish spirit and a judgment more evenly balanced.
And I had felt surprised and disappointed.
Now, on a sudden, I saw light--in an unexpected quarter. For a moment
I could have laughed both at myself and at him. The man was jealous;
jealous, at his age and with his grey hairs! At the first blush of the
thing I could have laughed, the feeling and the passion it implied
seemed alike so preposterous. There on the table before me stood the
miniature of his first wife, and his child's necklace. And the man
himself was old enough to be my lady's father. What if he was tall and
strong; and still vigorous though grey-haired; and a man of great
name. When I thought of the Waldgrave--of his splendid youth and
gallant presence, his gracious head and sunny smile, and pictured this
staid, sober man beside him, I could have found it in my heart to
laugh.
While I stood, busy with these thoughts, the Count walked the length
of the room more than once with his head bent and his shoulder turned
to me. At length he stopped and spoke; nor could my sharpened ear now
detect anything unusual in his voice.
'Very well,' he said, his tone one of half-peevish resignation, 'you
have done your errand. I think I understand, and you may tell your
mistress--I will do what I can. The King of Sweden will doubtless
remit the matter to the citizens, and there will be some sort of a
hearing to-day. I will be at it. But there is a stiff spirit abroad,
and men are in an ugly mood--and I promise nothing. But I will do my
best. Now go, my friend. I have business.'
With that he dismissed me in a manner so much like his usual manner
that I wondered whether I had deceived myself. And I finally left the
room in a haze of uncertainty. However, I had succeeded in the object
of my visit; that was something. He had taken care to guard his
promise, but I did not doubt that he would perform it. For there are
men whose lightest word is weightier than another's bond; and I took
it, I scarcely know why, that the Count belonged to these.
Nevertheless, I saw things, as I went through the streets, that fed my
doubts. While famine menaced the poorer people, the richer held a
sack, with all the horrors which Magdeburg had suffered, in equal
dread. The discovery of Neumann's plot had taught them how small a
matter might expose them to that extremity; and as I went along I saw
scarcely, a burgher whose face was not sternly set, no magistrate
whose brow was not dark with purpose.
Consequently, when I attended my lady to the Rath-haus at two o'clock,
the hour fixed for the inquiry, I was not surprised to find these
signs even more conspicuous. The streets were thronged, and ugly looks
and suspicious glances met us on all sides, merely because it was
known that the Waldgrave had been much at my lady's house. We were
made to feel that Nuremberg was a free city, and that we were no more
than its guests. It is true, no one insulted us; but the crowd which
filled the open space before the Town-house eyed us with so little
favour that I was glad to think that the magistrates with all their
independence must still be guided by the sword, and that the sword was
the King of Sweden's.
My lady, I saw, shared my apprehensions. But she came of a stock not
easily daunted, and would as soon have dreamed of putting out one of
her eyes because it displeased a chance acquaintance, as of deserting
a friend because the Nurembergers frowned upon him. Her eyes sparkled
and her colour rose as we proceeded; the ominous silence which greeted
us only stiffened her carriage. By the time we reached the Rath-haus I
knew not whether to fear more from her indiscretion, or hope more from
her courage.
The Court sat in private, but orders that we should be admitted had
been given; and after a brief delay we were ushered into the hall of
audience--a lofty, panelled chamber, carved and fretted, having six
deep bays, and in each a window of stained glass. A number of
scutcheons and banners depended from the roof; at one end a huge
double eagle wearing the imperial crown pranced in all the pomp of
gold and tinctures; and behind the court, which consisted of the Chief
Magistrate and four colleagues, the sword of Justice was displayed.
But that which struck me far more than these things, was the stillness
that prevailed; which was such that, though there were a dozen persons
present when we entered, the creaking of our boots as we walked up the
floor, and the booming of distant cannon, seemed to be equally
audible.
The Chief Magistrate rose and received my lady with due ceremony,
ordering a chair to be placed for her, and requesting her to be seated
at the end of the dais-table, behind which he sat. I took my stand at
a respectful distance behind her; and so far we had nothing to
complain of; but I felt my spirits sensibly dashed both by the
stillness and the sombre and almost forbidding faces of the five
judges. Two or three attendants stood by the doors, but neither the
King of Sweden nor any of his officers were present. I looked in vain
for Count Leuchtenstein; I could see nothing of him or of the
prisoners. The solemn air of the room, the silence, and the privacy of
the proceedings, all contributed to chill me. I could fancy myself
before a court of inquisitors, a Vehm-Gericht, or that famous Council
of Ten which sits, I have heard, at Venice; but for any of the common
circumstances of such tribunals as are usual in Germany, I could not
find them.
I think that my lady was somewhat taken aback too; but she did not
betray it. After courteously thanking the Council for granting her an
audience, she explained that her object in seeking it was to state
certain facts on behalf of the Waldgrave Rupert of Weimar, her
kinsman, and to offer the evidence of her steward, a person of
respectability.
'We are quite willing to hear your excellency,' the Chief Magistrate
answered in a grave, dry voice. 'But perhaps you will first inform us
to what these facts tend? It may shorten the inquiry.'
'Some weeks ago,' my lady answered with dignity, 'the Waldgrave Rupert
was wounded in the head. From that time he has not been himself.'
'Does your excellency mean that he is not aware of his actions?'
'No,' my lady answered quietly. 'I do not go as far as that.''
'Or that he is not aware in what company he is?' the magistrate
persisted.
'Oh no.'
'Or that he is ignorant at any time where he is?'
'No, but----'
'One moment!' the Chief Magistrate stopped her with a courteous
gesture. 'Pardon me. In an instant, your excellency--to whom I
assure you that the Court are obliged, since we desire only to do
justice--will see to what my questions lead. I crave leave to put one
more, and then to put the same question to your steward. It is this:
Do you admit, Countess, that the Waldgrave Rupert was last night in
the house with Tzerclas, Neumann, and the other persons inculpated?'
'Certainly,' my lady answered. 'I am so informed. I did not know that
that was in question,' she added, looking round with a puzzled air.
'And you, my friend?' The Chief Magistrate fixed me with his small,
keen eyes. 'But first, what is your name?'
'Martin Schwartz.'
'Yes, I remember. The man who was saved from the villains. We could
have no better evidence. What do you say, then? 'Was the Waldgrave
Rupert last night in this house--the house in question?'
'I saw him in the house,' I answered warily. 'In the hall. But he was
not in the room with Tzerclas and Neumann--the room in which I saw the
maps and plans.'
'A fair answer,' the Burgomaster replied, nodding his head, 'and your
evidence might avail the accused. But the fact is--it is to this point
we desire to call your excellency's attention,' he continued, turning
with a dusty smile to my lady--'the Waldgrave steadily denies that he
was in the house at all.'
'He denies that he was there?' my lady said. 'But was he not arrested
in the house?'
'Yes,' the Chief Magistrate answered dryly, 'he was.' And he looked at
us in silence.
'But--what does he say?' my lady asked faintly.
'He affects to be ignorant of everything that has occurred in
connection with the house. He pretends that he does not know how he
comes to be in custody, that he does not know many things that have
lately occurred. For instance, three days ago,' the Burgomaster
continued with a chill smile,' I had the honour of meeting him at the
King of Sweden's quarters and talking with him. He says to-day that I
am a stranger to him, that we did not meet, that we did not talk, and
that he does not know where the King of Sweden's quarters are.'
'Then,' my lady said sorrowfully, 'he is worse than he was. He is now
quite mad.'
'I am afraid not,' the magistrate replied, shaking his head gravely.
'He is sane enough on other points. Only he will answer no questions
that relate to this conspiracy, or to his guilt.'
'He is not guilty,' the Countess cried impetuously. 'Believe me,
however strangely he talks, he is incapable of such treachery!'
'Your excellency forgets--that he was in this house!'
'But with no evil intentions!'
'Yet denies that he was there!' the Burgomaster concluded gravely.
That silenced my lady, and she sat rolling her kerchief in her hands.
Against the five impassive faces that confronted her, the ten
inscrutable eyes that watched her; above all, against this strange,
this inexplicable denial, she could do nothing! At last--
'Will you hear my steward?' she asked--in despair, I think.
'Certainly,' the Burgomaster answered. 'We wish to do so.'
On that I told them all I knew; in what terms I had heard Neumann and
General Tzerclas refer to the Waldgrave; how unexpected had been his
appearance in the hall; how this interference had saved my life; and,
finally, my own conviction that he was not privy to Tzerclas' designs.
The Court heard me with attention; the Burgomaster put a few
questions, and I answered them. Then, afraid to stop--for their faces
showed no relenting--I began to repeat what I had said before. But now
the Court remained silent; I stumbled, stammered, finally sank into
silence myself. The air of the place froze me; I seemed to be talking
to statues.
The Countess was the first to break the spell. 'Well?' she cried, her
voice tremulous, yet defiant.
The Burgomaster consulted his colleagues, and for the first time
something of animation appeared in their faces. But it lasted an
instant only. Then the others sat back in their chairs, and he turned
to my lady.
'We are obliged to your excellency,' he said gravely and formally.
'And to your servant. But the Court sees no reason to change its
decision.'
'And that is?' The Countess's voice was husky. She knew what was
coming.
'That both prisoners suffer together.'
For an instant I feared that my lady would do something unbecoming her
dignity, and either break into womanish sobs and lamentations, or
stoop to threats and insistence that must be equally unavailing. But
she had learned in command the man's lesson of control; and never had
I seen her more equal to herself. I knew that her heart was bounding
wildly; that her breast was heaving with indignation, pity, horror;
that she saw, as I saw, the fair head for which she pleaded, rolling
in the dust. But with all--she controlled herself. She rose stiffly
from her seat.
'I am obliged to you for your patience, sir,' she said, trembling but
composed. 'I had expected one to aid me in my prayer, who is not here.
And I can say no more. On his head be it. Only--I trust that you may
never plead with as good a cause--and be refused.'
They rose and stood while she turned from them; and the two court
ushers with their wands went before her as she walked down the hall.
The silence, the formality, the creaking shoes, the very gules and
purpure that lay in pools on the floor--I think that they stifled her
as they stifled me; for when she reached the open air at last and I
saw her face, I saw that she was white to the lips.
But she bore herself bravely; the surly crowd, that filled the Market
Square and hailed our appearance with a harsh murmur, grew silent
under her scornful eye, and partly out of respect, partly out of
complaisance, because they now felt sure of their victim, doffed their
caps to her and made room for us to pass. Every moment I expected her
to break down: to weep or cover her face. But she passed through all
proudly, and walked, unfaltering, back to our lodging.
There on the threshold she did pause at last, just when I wished her
to go on. She stood and turned her head, listening.
[Illustration: But with all--she controlled herself. She rose stiffly
from her seat.]
'What is that?' she said.
'Cannon,' I answered hastily. 'In the trenches, my lady.'
'No,' she said quietly. 'It is shouting. They have read the sentence.'
She said no more, not another word; and went in quietly and upstairs
to her room. But I wondered and feared. Such composure as this seemed
to be unnatural, almost cruel. I could not think of the Waldgrave
myself without a lump coming in my throat. I could not face the
sunshine. And Steve and the men, when they heard, were no better. We
stood inside the doorway in a little knot, and looked at one another
mournfully. A man who passed--and did not know the house or who we
were--stopped to tell us that the sentence would be carried out at
sunset; and, pleased to have given us the news, went whistling down
the stale, sunny street.
Steve growled out an oath. 'Who are these people,' he said savagely,
'that they should say my lady nay? When the Countess stoops to ask a
life--Himmel!--is she not to have it?'
'Not here,' I said, shaking my head.
'And why not?'
'Because we are not at Heritzburg now,' I answered sadly.
'But--are we nobody here?' he growled in a rage. 'Are we going to sit
still and let them kill my lady's own cousin?'
I shrugged my shoulders. 'We have done all we can,' I said.
'But there is some one can say nay to these curs!' he cried. And he
spat contemptuously into the street. He had a countryman's scorn of
townsfolk. 'Why don't we take the law into our own hands, Master
Martin?'
'It is likely,' I said. 'One against ten thousand! And for the matter
of that, if the people are angry, it is not without cause. Did you see
the man under the archway?'
Steve nodded. 'Dead,' he muttered.
'Starved,' I said. 'He was a cripple. First the cripples. Then the
sound men. Life is cheap here.'
Steve swore another oath. 'Those are curs. But our man--why don't we
go to the King of Sweden? I suppose he is a sort of cousin to my
lady?'
'We have as good as gone to him,' I answered. At another time I might
have smiled at Steve's notion of my lady's importance. 'We have been
to one equally able to help us. And he has done us no good. And for
the matter of that, there is not time to go to the camp and back.'
Steve began to fume and fret. The minutes went like lead. We were all
miserable together. Outside, the kennel simmered in the sun, the low
rumble of the cannon filled the air. I hated Nuremberg, the streets,
the people, the heat. I wished that I had never seen a stone of it.
Presently one of the women came down stairs to us. 'Do you know if
there has been any fighting in the trenches to-day?' she asked.
'Nothing to speak of,' I answered. 'As far as I have heard. Why?'
'The Countess wishes to know,' she said. 'You have not heard of any
one being killed?'
'No.'
'Nor wounded?'
'No.'
She nodded and turned away. I called after her to know the reason of
her questions, but she flitted upstairs without giving me an answer,
and left us looking at one another. In a second, however, she was down
again.
'My lady will see no one,' she said, with a face of mystery. 'You
understand, Master Martin? But--if any come of importance, you can
take her will.'
I nodded. The woman cast a lingering look into the street and went
upstairs again.