Cologne was generous in his praise of it, and related again, for the
information of his host and household, the story of the English Princess
who had partaken of a similar fish, doubtless in this same room. Despite
the historical bill of fare, and the mildly exhilarating qualities of
the excellent Oberweseler wine, whose delicate reddish color the
sentimental Archbishop compared to the blush on a bride's cheeks, the
social aspect of the midday refection was overshadowed by an almost
indefinable sense of impending danger. In the pseudogenial conversation
of the two Archbishops there was something forced: the attitude of the
elderly hostess was one of unrelieved gloom. After a few conventional
greetings to her young guest, she spoke no more during the meal. Her
daughter, who sat beside the Countess on the opposite side of the table
from his Lordship of Cologne, merely answered "Yes" or "No" to the
comments of the lady of Sayn praising the romantic situation of the
Castle, its unique qualities of architecture, and the splendid outlook
from its battlements, eulogies which began enthusiastically enough, but
finally faded away into silence, chilled by a reception so unfriendly.
Thus cast back upon her own thoughts, the girl grew more and more uneasy
as the peculiar features of the occasion became clearer in her own mind.
Here was her revered, beloved friend forcing hilarity which she knew he
could not feel, breaking bread and drinking wine with a colleague while
three thousand of his armed men peered down on the roof that sheltered
him, ready at a signal to pounce upon Stolzenfels like birds of prey,
capturing, and if necessary, slaying. She remembered the hearty cheers
that welcomed them on their arrival at Coblentz, yet every man who thus
boisterously greeted them, waving his bonnet in the air, was doubtless
an enemy. The very secrecy, the unknown nature of the danger, depressed
her more and more as she thought of it; the fierce soldiers hidden in
the forest, ready to leap up, burn and kill at an unknown sign from a
Prince of religion; the deadly weapons concealed in a Church of Christ:
all this grim reality of a Faith she held dear had never been hinted at
by the gentle nuns among whom she lived so happily for the greater part
of her life.
At last her somber hostess rose, and Hildegunde, with a sigh of relief,
followed her example. The Archbishop of Cologne gallantly held back the
curtain at the doorway, and bowed low when the three ladies passed
through. The silent hostess conducted her guest to a parlor on the same
floor as the dining-room; a parlor from which opened another door
connecting it with a small knights' hall; the _kleine Rittersaal_ in
which the Court of the Archbishops was to be held.
The Archbishop's sister did not enter the parlor, but here took formal
farewell of Countess von Sayn, who turned to the sole occupant of the
room, her kinsman and counselor, Father Ambrose.
"Were you not asked to dine with us?" she inquired.
"Yes; but I thought it better to refuse. First, in case the three
Archbishops might have something confidential to say to you; and second,
because at best I am poor company at a banquet."
"Indeed, you need not have been so thoughtful: first, as you say, there
were not three Archbishops present, but only two, and neither said
anything to me that all the world might not hear; second, the rest of
the company, the sister and the niece of Treves, were so doleful that
you would have proved a hilarious companion compared with them. Did my
guardian make any statement to you yesterday afternoon that revealed the
object of this coming Court?"
"None whatever. Our conversation related entirely to your estate and my
management of it. We spoke of crops, of cultivation, and of vineyards."
"You have no knowledge, then, of the reason why we are summoned hither?"
"On that subject, Hildegunde, I am as ignorant as you."
"I don't think I am wholly in the dark," murmured the Countess,
"although I know nothing definite."
"You surmise, in spite of your guardian's disclaimer, that the
discussion will pertain to your recovery of the town of Linz?"
"Perhaps; but not likely. Did you say anything of your journey to
Frankfort?"
"Not a word. I understood from you that no mention should be made of my
visit unless his Lordship asked questions proving he was aware of it, in
which case I was to tell the truth."
"You were quite right, Father. Did my guardian ask you to accompany us
to Stolzenfels?"
"Assuredly, or I should not have ventured."
"What reason did he give, and what instructions did he lay upon you?"
"He thought you should have by your side some one akin to you. His
instructions were that in no circumstances was I to offer any remark
upon the proceedings. Indeed, I am not allowed to speak unless in answer
to a question directly put to me, and then in the fewest possible
words."
Hildegunde ceased her cross-examination, and seated herself by a window
which gave a view of the steep mountain-side behind the Castle, where,
sheltered by the thick, dark forest, she knew that her guardian's men
lay in ambush. She shuddered slightly, wondering what was the meaning of
these preparations, and in the deep silence became aware of the
accelerated beating of her heart. She felt but little reassured by the
presence of her kinsman, whose lips moved without a murmur, and whose
grave eyes seemed fixed on futurity, meditating the mystery of the next
world, and completely oblivious to the realities of the earth he
inhabited.
She turned her troubled gaze once more to the green forest, and after a
long lapse of time the dual reveries were broken by the entrance of an
official gorgeously appareled. This functionary bowed low, and said with
great solemnity:
"Madam, the Court of my Lords the Archbishops awaits your presence."
* * * * *
The _kleine Rittersaal_ occupied a fine position on the river-side front
of Stolzenfels, its windows giving a view of the Rhine, with the strong
Castle of Lahneck over-hanging the mouth of the Lahn, and the more
ornamental Schloss Martinsburg at the upper end of Oberlahnstein. The
latter edifice, built by a former Elector of Mayence, was rarely
occupied by the present Archbishop, but, as he sat in the central chair
of the Court, he had the advantage of being able to look across the
river at his own house should it please him to do so.
The three Archbishops were standing behind the long table when the
Countess entered, thus acknowledging that she who came into their
presence, young and beautiful, was a very great lady by right of descent
and rank. She acknowledged their courtesy by a graceful inclination of
the head, and the three Princes of the Church responded each with a bow,
that of Mayence scarcely perceptible, that of Treves deferential and
courtly, that of Cologne with a friendly smile of encouragement.
In the center of the hall opposite the long table had been placed an
immense chair, taken from the grand _Rittersaal_, ornamented with gilded
carving, and covered in richly-colored Genoa velvet. It looked like a
throne, which indeed it was, used only on occasions when Royalty visited
the Castle. To this sumptuous seat the scarcely less gorgeous
functionary conducted the girl, and when she had taken her place, the
three Archbishops seated themselves. The glorified menial then bent
himself until his forehead nearly touched the floor, and silently
departed. Father Ambrose, his coarse, ill-cut clothes of somber color in
striking contrast to the richness of costume worn by the others, stood
humbly beside the chair that supported his kinswoman.
The Countess gave a quick glance at the Archbishop of Mayence, then
lowered her eyes. Cologne she had known all her life; Treves she had met
that day, and rather liked, although feeling she could not esteem him as
she did her guardian, but a thrill of fear followed her swift look at
the man in the center.
"A face of great strength," she said to herself, "but his thin, straight
lips, tightly compressed, seemed cruel, as well as determined." With a
flash of comprehension she understood now her guardian's warning not to
thwart him. It was easy to credit the acknowledged fact that this man
dominated the other two. Nevertheless, when he spoke his voice was
surprisingly mild.
"Madam," he said, "we are met here in an hour of grave anxiety. The
Emperor, who has been ill for some time, is now upon his death-bed, and
the physicians who attend him inform me that at any moment we may be
called upon to elect his successor. That successor has already been
chosen; chosen, I may add, in an informal manner, but his selection is
not likely to be canceled, unless by some act of his own which would
cause us to reconsider our decision. Our adoption was made very recently
in my castle of Ehrenfels, and we are come together again in the Castle
of my brother Treves, not in our sacred office as Archbishops, but in
our secular capacity as Electors of the Empire, to determine a matter
which we consider of almost equal importance. It is our privilege to
bestow upon you the highest honor that may be conferred on any woman in
the realm; the position of Empress.
"When you have signified your acceptance of this great elevation, I must
put to you several questions concerning your future duties to the State,
and these are embodied in a document which you will be asked to sign."
The Countess did not raise her eyes. While the Archbishop was speaking
the color flamed up in her cheeks, but faded away again, and her
guardian, who watched her very intently across the table, saw her face
become so pale that he feared she was about to faint. However, she
rallied, and at last looked up, not at her dark-browed questioner, but
at the Archbishop of Cologne.
"May I not know," she said, in a voice scarcely audible, "who is my
future husband?"
"Surely, surely," replied her guardian soothingly, "but the Elector of
Mayence is our spokesman here, and you must address your question to his
Lordship."
She now turned her frightened eyes upon Mayence, whose brow had become
slightly ruffled at this interruption, and whose lips were more firmly
closed. He sat there imperturbable, refusing the beseechment of her
eyes, and thus forced her to repeat her question, though to him it took
another form.
"My Lord, who is to be the next Emperor?"
"Countess von Sayn, I fear that in modifying my opening address to
accord with the comprehension of a girl but recently emerged from
convent life, I have led you into an error. The Court of Electors is not
convened for the purpose of securing your consent, but with the duty of
imposing upon you a command. It is not for you to ask questions, but to
answer them."
"You mean that I am to marry this unknown man, whether I will or no?"
"That is my meaning."
The girl sat back in her chair, and the moisture that had gathered in
her eyes disappeared as if licked up by the little flame that burned in
their depths.
"Very well," she said. "Ask your questions, and I will answer them."
"Before I put any question, I must have your consent to my first
proposition."
"That is quite unnecessary, my Lord. When you hear my answer to your
questions, you will very speedily withdraw your first proposition."
The Elector of Treves, who had been shifting uneasily in his chair, now
leaned forward, and spoke in an ingratiating manner.
"Countess, you are a neighbor of mine, although you live on the opposite
side of the river, and I am honored in receiving you as my guest. As
guest and neighbor, I appeal to you on our behalf: be assured that we
wish nothing but your very greatest good and happiness." The spark in
her eyes died down, and they beamed kindly on the courtier Elector. "You
see before you three old bachelors, quite unversed in the ways of women.
If anything that has been said offends you, pray overlook our default,
for I assure you, on behalf of my colleagues and myself, that any one of
us would bitterly regret uttering a single word to cause you
disquietude."
"My disquietude, my Lord, is caused by the refusal to utter the single
name I have asked for. Am I a peasant girl to be handed over to the hind
that makes the highest offer?"
"Not so. No such thought entered our minds. The name is, of course, a
secret at the present moment, and I quite appreciate the reluctance of
my Lord of Mayence to mention it, but I think in this instance an
exception may safely be made, and I now appeal to his Lordship to
enlighten the Countess."
Mayence answered indifferently:
"I do not agree with you, but we are here three Electors of equal power,
and two can always outvote one."
The Elector of Cologne smiled slightly; he had seen this comedy enacted
before, and never objected to it. The carrying of some unimportant point
in opposition to their chief always gave Treves a certain sense of
independence.
"My Lord of Cologne," said the latter, bending forward and addressing
the man at the other end of the table "do you not agree with me?"
"Certainly," replied Cologne, with some curtness.
"In that case," continued Treves, "I take it upon myself to announce to
you, Madam, that the young man chosen for our future ruler is Prince
Roland, only son of the dying Emperor."
The hands of the Countess nervously clutched the soft velvet on the arms
of her chair.
"I thank you," she said, addressing Treves, and speaking as calmly as
though she were Mayence himself. "May I ask you if this marriage was
proposed to the young man?"
Treves looked up nervously at the stern face of Mayence, who nodded to
him, as much as to say:
"You are doing well; go on."
"Yes," replied Treves.
"Was my name concealed from him?"
"No."
"Had he ever heard of me before?"
"Surely," replied the diplomatic Treves, "for the fame of the Countess
von Sayn has traveled farther than her modesty will admit."
"Did he agree?"
"Instantly; joyfully, it seemed to me."
"In any case, he has never seen me," continued the Countess. "Did he
make any inquiry, whether I was tall or short, old or young, rich or
poor, beautiful or ugly?"
"He seemed very well satisfied with our choice."
Treves had his elbows on the table, leaning forward with open palms
supporting his chin. He had spoken throughout in the most ingratiating
manner, his tones soft and honeyed. He was so evidently pleased with his
own diplomacy that even the eye of the stern Mayence twinkled
maliciously when the girl turned impulsively toward the other end of the
table, and cried:
"Guardian, tell me the truth! I know this young man accepted me as if I
were a sack of grain, his whole mind intent on one thing only: to secure
for himself the position of Emperor. Is it not so?"
"It is not so, Countess," said Cologne solemnly.
"Prince Roland, it is true, made no stipulation regarding you."
"I was sure of it. Any Gretchen in Germany would have done just as well.
I was merely part of the bargain he was compelled to make with you, and
now I announce to the Court that no power on earth will induce me to
marry Prince Roland. I claim the right of my womanhood to wed only the
man whom I love, and who loves me!"
Mayence gave utterance to an exclamation that might be coarsely
described as a snort of contempt. The Elector of Treves was leaning back
in his chair discomfited by her abrupt desertion of him. The Elector of
Cologne now leaned forward, dismayed at the turn affairs had taken, deep
anxiety visible on his brow.
"Countess von Sayn," he began, and thus his ward realized how deeply she
had offended, "in all my life I never met any young man who impressed me
so favorably as Prince Roland of Germany. If I possessed a daughter whom
I dearly loved, I could wish her no better fortune than to marry so
honest a youth as he. The very point you make against him should have
told most strongly in his favor with a young girl. My reading of his
character is that so far as concerns the love you spoke of, he knows as
little of it as yourself, and thus he agreed to our proposal with a
seeming indifference which you entirely misjudge. If you, then, have any
belief in my goodwill towards you, in my deep anxiety for your welfare
and happiness, I implore you to agree to the suggestion my Lord of
Mayence has made. You speak of love knowing nothing concerning it. I
call to your remembrance the fact that one noble lady of your race may
have foregone the happiness that love perhaps brings, in her desire for
the advancement of one whom she loved so truly that she chose for her
guide the more subdued but steadier star of duty. The case is presented
to you, my dear, in different form, and I feel assured that duty and
love will shine together."
As the venerable Archbishop spoke with such deep earnestness, in a voice
she loved so well, the girl buried her face in her hands, and he could
see the tears trickle between her fingers. A silence followed her
guardian's appeal, disturbed only by the agitated breathing of
Hildegunde.
The cold voice of the Elector of Mayence broke the stillness, like a
breath from a glazier:
"Do you consent, Madam?"
"Yes," gasped the girl, her shoulders quivering with emotion, but she
did not look up.
"I fear that the object of this convocation was like to be forgotten in
the gush of sentiment issuing from both sides of me. This is a business
meeting, and not a love-feast. Will you do me the courtesy, Madam, of
raising your head and answering my question?"
The girl dashed the tears from her eyes, and sat up straight, grasping
with nervous hands the arms of the throne, as if to steady herself
against the coming ordeal.
"I scarcely heard what you said. Do you consent to marry Prince Roland
of Germany?"
"I have consented," she replied firmly.
"Will you use your influence with him that he may carry out the behests
of the three Archbishops?"
"Yes, if the behests are for the good of the country."
"I cannot accept any qualifications, therefore I repeat my question.
Will you use your influence with him that he may carry out the behests
of the three Archbishops?"
"I can have no influence with such a man."
"Answer my question, Madam."
"Say yes, Hildegunde," pleaded Cologne.
She turned to him swimming eyes.
"Oh, Guardian, Guardian!" she cried, "I have done everything I can, and
all for you; all for you. I cannot stand any more. This is torture to
me. Let me go home, and another day when I am calmer I will answer your
questions!"
The perturbed Archbishop sat back again with a deep sigh. The ignorance
of women with which his colleague of Treves had credited all three was
being amazingly dispelled. He could not understand why this girl should
show such emotion at the thought of marrying the heir to the throne,
when assured the young man was all that any reasonable woman could
desire.
"Madam, I pray you give your attention to me," said the unimpassioned
voice of Mayence. "I have listened to your conversation with my
colleagues, and the patience I exhibited will, I hope, be credited to
me. This matter of business"--he emphasized the word--"must be settled
to-day, and to clear away all misapprehension, I desire to say that your
guardian has really no influence on this matter. It was settled before
you came into the room. You are merely allowed a choice of two outcomes:
first, marriage with Prince Roland; second, imprisonment in Pfalz
Castle, situated in the middle of the Rhine."
"What is that?" demanded the Countess.
"I am tired of repeating my statements."
"You would imprison me--me, a Countess of Sayn?"
Again the tears evaporated, and in their place came the smoldering fire
bequeathed to her by the Crusaders, and, if the truth must be known, by
Rhine robbers as well.
"Yes, Madam. A predecessor of mine once hanged one of your ancestors."
"It is not true," cried the girl, in blazing wrath. "'Twas the Emperor
Rudolph who hanged him; the same Emperor that chastised an Archbishop of
Mayence, and brought him, cringing, to his knees, begging for pardon,
which the Emperor contemptuously flung to him. You dare not imprison
me!"
"Refuse to marry Prince Roland, and learn," said the Archbishop very
quietly.
The girl sprang to her feet, a-quiver with anger.
"I do refuse! Prince Roland has hoodwinked the three of you! He is a
libertine and a brawler, consorting with the lowest in the cellars of
Frankfort; a liar and a thief, and not a brave thief at that, but a
cutthroat who holds his sword to the breast of an unarmed merchant while
he filches from him his gold. Added to that, a drunkard as his father
is; and, above all, a hypocrite, as his father is not, yet clever
enough, with all his vices, to cozen three men whose vile rule has
ruined Frankfort, and left the broad Rhine empty of its life-giving
commerce;" she waved her hand toward the vacant river.
The Archbishop of Cologne was the first to rise, horror-stricken.
"The girl is mad!" he murmured.
Treves rose also, but Mayence sat still, a sour smile on his lips, yet a
twinkle of admiration in his eyes.
"No, my poor Guardian, I am not mad," she cried, regarding him with a
smile, her wrath subsiding as quickly as it had risen. "What I say is
true, and it may be that our meeting, turbulent as it has been, will
prevent you from making a great mistake. He whom you would put on the
throne is not the man you think."
"My dear ward!" cried Cologne, "how can you make such accusations
against him? What should a girl living in seclusion as you live, know of
what is passing in Frankfort."
"It seems strange, Guardian, but it is true, nevertheless. Sit down
again, I beg of you, and you, my Lord of Treves. Even my Lord of Mayence
will, I think, comprehend my abhorrence when such a proposal was made to
me, and I hope, my Lord, you will forgive my outburst of anger just
now."
She heard the trembling Treves mutter:
"Mayence never forgives."
"Now, Father Ambrose, come forward."
"Why?" asked Ambrose, waking from his reverie.
"Tell them your experiences in Frankfort."
"I am not allowed to speak," objected the monk.
"Speak, speak!" cried Cologne. "What, sir, have you had to do with this
girl's misleading?"
"I thought," he said wistfully to his kinswoman, "that I was not to
mention my visit to Frankfort unless my Lord the Archbishop brought up
the subject."
"Have you not been listening to these proceedings?" cried the girl
impatiently. "The subject is brought up before three Archbishops,
instead of before one. Tell their Lordships what you know of Prince
Roland."
Father Ambrose, with a deep sigh, began his recital, to which Treves and
Cologne listened with ever-increasing amazement, while the sullen
Mayence sat back in his chair, face imperturbable, but the thin lips
closing firmer and firmer as the narrative went on.
When the monologue ended, his Reverence of Cologne was the first to
speak:
"In the name of Heaven, why did you not tell me all this yesterday?"
Father Ambrose looked helplessly at his kinswoman, but made no reply.
"I forbade him, my Lord," said the girl proudly, and for the first time
addressing him by a formal title, as if from now on he was to be
reckoned with her enemies. "I alone am responsible for the journey to
Frankfort and its consequences, whatever they may be. You invoked the
name of Heaven just now, my Lord, and I would have you know that I am
convinced Heaven itself intervened on my behalf to expose the real
character of Prince Roland, who has successfully deluded three men like
yourselves, supposed to be astute!"
The Archbishop turned upon her sorrowful eyes, troubled yet kindly.
"My dear Countess," he said, "I have not ventured to censure you;
nevertheless I am, or have been, your guardian, and should, I think,
have been consulted before you committed yourself to an action that
threatens disaster to our plans."
The girl replied, still with the hauteur so lately assumed: