LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.
1846.
London:
Printed by Stewart and Murray,
Old Bailey.
HEIDELBERG.
CHAPTER I.
In a large and stately chamber of one of the older parts of the castle at Heidelberg sat a lady of the middle age, about half an hour after Algernon Grey had been removed from the presence of the Elector. The room was a long parallelogram, tapestried all round with richly worked hangings, representing, in glowing colours and somewhat warm designs, the loves of Vertumnus and Pomona. Few specimens of that now abandoned branch of needlework could compete with those which were there displayed. The flowers and the fruit seemed to stand out from the background; the rich clusters of the grape and apple, the leaves of the trees, and the very birds upon the branches, all seemed to project into the chamber, and gave it the air of an arbour: while the forms of the garden goddess and her changeful lover were displayed with a truth and energy which, though not all offensive to the less delicate eyes of those days, would be judged rather indecorous in our own. This fine suite of tapestry had not been treated with much reverence by the hands that hung it up; for over each door, and there were three in the walls, a piece of the same size had been cut out and bordered with gilt leather--much to the inconvenience of the legs of Vertumnus in one instance, and to the waist and arms of Pomona in another--for the purpose of nailing the slips so detached to the door, the opening and closing of which were thus greatly facilitated. The ceiling above was of dark oak, richly wrought in pentagons, which, rising one above the other, diminishing as they came forward and ending with a spot of gold in the centre, took the shape of stars to the eye below, before it had time to trace out the elaborate workmanship; and from the central pentagon hung a large rich gilt lustre of twelve lights. Chairs covered with crimson velvet, tables with spiral legs and inlaid tops, a small mossy carpet for the feet in one corner of the room, a lute, a number of books, amongst which were several huge folios, and a quantity of very fine rare porcelain, made up the furniture of the chamber, which, though the light was by no means strong, even on a summer morning, had an air of comfort and calm state about it, which was pleasant and impressive to the eye.
There is a general harmony in all things, which we seldom see violated--or rather, perhaps, I should say, things naturally fall into harmony, and are never long in adapting themselves harmoniously to each other. The man and his dress, the room and its tenant, the church and the worship there celebrated, have all their peculiar fitness to each other; and so it was in this instance; for the lady, who was there seated, was exactly what one would have expected to find in that place. She was a woman of a grave and thoughtful aspect, tempered by a kindly look about the mouth, though the brow was firm and thoughtful, and the eyes clear and very bright. The lightness of youth was gone; and, if she could not exactly be called graceful, she was dignified; and yet there was the ease of high birth and high education, which is in itself a kind of grace, and the dignified carriage was softened by an occasional touch of homeliness of manner the most remote from vulgarity or coarseness. She was large in person, though not very tall; and the fine cutting of the mouth, the dimpled chin, and the small, though somewhat aquiline nose, displayed some pretensions still to that beauty, which courtiers had celebrated in her younger days. Her dress was very peculiar, consisting of a gown of black velvet, covered down the front and on the arms with embroidery of the same sombre colour; and, from the neck to the bosom, she wore a tucker of the most magnificent white lace. Above this, round the neck, was a large frill of plain white muslin; while springing from the shoulders was a sort of black silk wimple or hood, much in the form of a cockle-shell, stiffened with whalebone, and ready to receive the head and neck, ruff and all. The coif consisted of a piece of black velvet trimmed round with lace, fastened to the hair behind, and brought over the head in a peak upon the wide-extended forehead, from which the hair was drawn back, so as to leave the whole brow completely exposed.
Such was the dress and appearance of the Electress Dowager, Louisa Juliana, sister of the famous William, Prince of Orange, one of the most remarkable and clear-sighted women of her day; and I have thought it fit to dwell thus far upon the mere description of her person and habiliments, inasmuch as portraits of this Princess are very rare, and no description, that I know, exists.
At the moment I speak of, she had just seated herself in a great chair, and taken up a book; while one of her waiting-maids, who had run forth from her dressing-room by the door on the left hand, was thrusting another large pin into the black velvet coif to fasten it more securely to her hair, a precaution which, it seems, she had neglected while actually at her toilet. When she had done, the Electress looked up, inquiring, "Have you sent to my cousin, the Lady Agnes?"
"Eldrida is gone, may it please your Highness," said the maid with a low reverence, and withdrew.
The reader will remark that the Electress Dowager applied the name of cousin to the person of whom she spoke; but it must not be thence inferred that they stood in a very close degree of consanguinity to each other, for the lady to whom she sent was no other than Agnes Herbert; and it was common in those days, for high personages, either as a mark of reverence or love, to give the name of cousin to others of inferior station in no degree related to them.
For about five minutes Louisa Juliana continued to read with a somewhat careless and inattentive air, as if she were merely seeking to occupy a short space of time with the semblance of some employment, while her thoughts were really busied with other things. At the end of that period a light tap was heard at the door--not the great entrance which issued forth on the corridor and the stairs, but that of the dressing-room--and the next instant Agnes Herbert entered and approached the chair of the Princess. She had changed her dress since her return; and though, perhaps, her face was a shade paler than it had been before all the adventures of the preceding day, yet her exceeding loveliness was not diminished, even if the character of her beauty was somewhat changed.
The Electress rose partly from her seat as soon as she saw her; and when Agnes bent, almost kneeling at her feet, she cast her arms round her and pressed her warmly to her heart.
"Welcome, welcome, my sweet child," she cried; "I thought that fate, after taking from me so much and so many that I loved, had deprived me also of my Agnes. Oh, my dear girl! you cannot fancy the anguish of my heart during many a long hour last night. Seeing what I suffered, they came to my bedside at one this morning, and told me that, by some miracle, you had been saved. I would scarcely believe the tidings, loved one; and till I heard just now that you had returned, a shade of unbelief would linger in my mind."
"I should have been here ere now, your Highness," answered Agnes, "as bound in duty and in love, had not a matter of importance called me to the presence of the Elector. My deliverance was, indeed, a miracle, though yet one should scarcely say so, when it was brought about by that which should be as frequent as it is seldom, the gallantry and devotion of a gentleman and a courtier."
"Nay, sit you down here, my Agnes, and tell me all your marvels," said the Electress; "for as yet I have heard nought of the story. Indeed, I believe all in the castle are as ignorant as myself."
"Not now," replied Agnes; "in different forms, part truth and part falsehood, it has spread, I find, far and near. But I will tell you all, noble lady, exactly as it happened; for it is a pleasant task when one has nought but gratitude and praise to speak;" and, with more minute details than even she had indulged in towards Herbert, the fair girl proceeded to relate to her high friend all that had occurred since she had left her on the preceding day, till the moment she had left the Elector's presence. I have said "all;" but there were two things which she omitted: William Lovet's praises of his cousin, and the keen questions which her uncle had put to her on her return. For some reason, she knew not what herself, she spoke not on these two themes, but all the rest was told.
Louisa Juliana listened with thoughtful, earnest attention; her countenance did not vary much, for she was habituated to command its expression; but still there were particular parts on which she seemed to ponder more than others. All Agnes said of her escape from the imminent peril of death, and of him who had delivered her, she seemed to mark peculiarly; but, at the story of his arrest and what had followed, she took apparently but little heed, merely saying: "It will be found that Oberntraut provoked it."
When the young lady had done, she laid her hand upon her shoulder and kissed her brow, thanking her for her tale, and adding, "This is indeed a noble and a generous man, my Agnes; and I must see him and tell him what I think, for your sake, my sweet cousin."
"But he is in prison," answered Agnes; "and, I fear, may not be enlarged for a long time."
"I must see him, nevertheless," replied the Electress, thoughtfully, "on many accounts, dear girl--" she paused, and seemed to meditate a moment or two, after which she added, "I had heard of his being here before, Agnes--nay, you yourself told me of his demeanour the other night, but it is not that alone; a hint has reached my ears, that he has more objects than one, that he is not merely a traveller for pleasure; and this calm and thoughtful character in one so young bespeaks, methinks, a brain burdened with weighty matters. My son, I can see, judges the same,--he denies not that he knows him, and that he is not exactly what he seems.--I must see him, Agnes; and that, too, as speedily as may be."
"But how, dear lady?" inquired Agnes Herbert.
"Oh, that will be easy," answered the Electress; "your uncle has him in custody, you say; well, you shall be his turnkey for the night, and bring him forth to take the air upon the walls, or in the gardens; then lead him out beneath my windows, which shall be open; and, when you hear my little silver bell, conduct him hither by the small staircase in the tower.--I must know more of his errand, Agnes; and, if it be what I think, I may find cause for a long conference. The fate of my son and his whole house, the fate of Germany, nay, perhaps of Europe, is now in the balance, and I would fain prevent any fresh weight being thrown into the wrong scale. Wait till night has fallen, and I will ring my bell some time before ten.--Tell Herbert you have my commands."
"Which shall be obeyed, depend upon it, madam," answered the young lady, and then remained silent, as if waiting to receive any further directions.
"And so you are doubtless very grateful to this young cavalier, my Agnes," said the Princess, at length.
"What would I not do to show my thankfulness!" cried the fair enthusiastic girl.
"Anything in reason, child," replied the elder lady; "but let not gratitude carry you too far in your young fancies. The saving of a life may be paid too dearly by the peace of the heart."
Agnes smiled gaily. "Oh, no fear of that, noble lady," she answered: "he is no love-maker; and if I could thank him for anything more earnestly than for his chivalrous deliverance, it would be for his kind, calm, brotherly treatment throughout yesternight, without one word or look that the vainest heart could construe into gallantry."
"Strange conduct for so young a man! Strange gratitude for so fair a girl!" replied the Electress, laughing. "Yet be not too sure of yourself or him, dear child. Love may be heaping up the fuel before he sets the flame to the pile. Mark me, my Agnes, and do not let your cheek glow so warmly. I do not tell you not to love: that were both vain and dangerous: I only say, know him better before you do. All I have heard of him speaks well, and marks him out for no ordinary man; but yet it is right, when gratitude is so warm in a young heart, to take care that it lights up no other flame without our knowing it. Yours is a rich fancy, my Agnes, and an ardent spirit; and my good cousin Herbert is not so careful as a mother."
"Oh, he is more careful than you deem him," replied the young lady, with a faint smile at the remembrance of his questions; "he interrogated me as strictly this morning as a grand inquisitor; would know all my companion's words and acts towards me, even to the smallest trifle."
"But asked you nothing of your own, I will warrant," said the Princess: "that is his character, my child. All the English are theoretical, and he has his system, good as far as it goes, but often carried too far, and often inapplicable. Because he met with one woman in life who was an angel, if ever one dwelt on earth, and has known few others, his rule would seem to be to trust all women, and to doubt all men. But my advice, my Agnes, to every young being placed as you are, would be, to doubt yourself and ever to fly danger!"
"And do you doubt me, dear lady?" asked Agnes, almost mournfully.
The Princess cast her arm round her, exclaiming, "No, dear girl! No! I would doubt myself sooner; but what I have said was yet in kindness, Agnes. This same gratitude often leads on along a flowery path into a wilderness. Sweet smiling blossoms strew the path at first, and as we gather them we go forward farther than we know; till, frightened at the growing desolation round, we would turn back and then find the way shut with thorns and brambles. I say, beware, my sweet child, till you have known him longer, better, nearer. Then if he seek to win your heart, and you can give it, let it be so; for I am not one to undervalue the worth of true and honest love. It may have its pains; but I do believe that woman's life, at least, is not complete till she has known its blessings."
"But why should he seek to win my poor heart?" asked Agnes. "Why should I fancy that he ever will? He has never said one word that should justify me to myself for dreaming of such a thing. Doubtless he has seen many brighter, better, fairer than myself, and will see many more. As yet I have done nought to win his love, though your Highness thinks I know he has done much to win mine; but there is a vast difference between gratitude and love. I am too proud to love unsought, believe me; and till he either tells me so, or I have accomplished something worthy of love from him, I will not even fancy that he can feel aught but courteous kindness to me."
"Poor child!" said the Electress, "you are a scholar of the lowest class in this same school of love, I see. You have done nought to merit love! Have you not made yourself to him an object of eager, anxious thought and apprehension, when, whirling in the torrent, he rushed to save you? Have you not given him cause for the display of gallant daring and fine enthusiasm? Have you not wakened through the livelong night the tender, soft emotions of the heart for one protected, soothed, supported? What is this but to merit love from any man? You much mistake, my Agnes, if you think men's hearts are won by that which will win woman's. Man's is a different nature, a calling unlike ours: his task to strive with danger for himself and others, to shield the feeble, and love those he shields. Ours to suffer and to shrink, to seek protection from a stronger arm, and pay with our whole hearts the price of man's support. Overwhelm him with benefits, give him wealth, distinction, a kingly crown if you have it to bestow; save him from death, or pain, or misery, still you will twine no bond around his heart so strong as that which binds it to the object of his care or pity. But enough of this, my child, I would but warn you; for every woman carries a traitor in her bosom, ever ready to yield the citadel unless well watched. Bring this brave gentleman to me, as I have said, to-night. When I have seen him, I will tell you more."
Agnes retired, but she went not straight to her uncle's tower. It was her own chamber she first sought, and there, for well nigh an hour, with her fair face resting on her hand, she remained in deep and seemingly painful meditation. I will not pause to inquire what were the busy thoughts that crossed that young and inexperienced brain; what the emotions which filled that pure warm gentle heart. For a time her reveries were certainly bitter ones; but then she seemed to cast them off with some strong resolution; the clouds passed from her brow, her sparkling eye looked up, and rising with a gay laugh, she cried, "No, no; I will not give it another thought!" and with a light step, hurried to Herbert's tower.
CHAPTER II.
In the custody of the Grand Marshall, Algernon Grey was removed from the presence of the Elector, and passing across the hall where he had seen Agnes waiting, he was led into one of the open galleries which ran along the great court on one side, and thence by innumerable small passages, scarcely large enough for two persons to thread them abreast, to the door of a chamber which opened upon one of the landing-places of a tolerably wide staircase.
The door was low, scarcely of the height of the young Englishman's head, and covered with large bars and bands of iron, as well as heavy-headed nails. When it was opened, it displayed on the right-hand side a small ante-room, with a high window, opposite to which was another low-browed arch with a door, and beyond that a third door equally solid and strong with the first.
The Lord of Helmstadt, as they passed, pointed towards the arch on the left, saying, in a courteous tone: "There will be your bedroom, and here your servants can remain, if, as I trust, it be the Elector's pleasure that your usual attendants should be admitted to you." As he spoke, he led the way towards the third door; and, turning the heavy key that was in the lock, opened it, motioning the young Englishman to go in.
Algernon Grey did so in silence, and with no very pleasant anticipations; but he was agreeably disappointed in finding himself in a room bearing very little the aspect of a prison, cheerful in itself, and commanding that same unrivalled view, which he had beheld before from the castle grounds. In shape, the chamber was an exact half-moon; the large round tower in which it was situated being cut by a partition, which left this segment as a sort of wide saloon; while the other half was again divided into two, the one portion being appropriated to the purposes of a bed-room, and the second and lesser part serving as an ante-room, except a small space which was separated from the rest to contain the staircase.
The furniture of the room was costly and convenient. Nothing was wanting that could contribute to the comfort of its denizen; and Algernon Grey drew from the aspect of the whole place an augury that it was not the Elector's intention to show any very great severity towards him. The hangings, the tables, the velvet chairs, however attracted but little of his attention; for he walked at once forward to one of the three large windows, through which the full torrent of light was streaming into the room, though not indeed the sunshine; for it was yet morning, and that side of the tower looked to the south and west.
"A glorious prospect," he said, turning to the Marshall; "methinks a day or two's sojourn here will be no great infliction. Nevertheless, I protest against the right of any one to place me in confinement for that which I have done. Endurance, however, is a serviceable quality; and the Elector's will must be obeyed; but I do trust that I shall not be left here without some attendants within call; and that my servants and baggage may be brought up from the inn, where I left them, little anticipating imprisonment."
"I will take the Elector's farther commands," replied the Lord of Helmstadt. "Of course some persons will be appointed to attend upon you; but whether your own servants, or not, I cannot say.--I must leave you alone for a time, greatly grieving that such a chance should have befallen so gallant a gentleman. We all know John of Oberntraut well; and there is not a man in all the court who doubts that he has provoked this affair; but the Elector has been very strict in such matters lately, and of course he cannot show favour even were he inclined."
Thus saying, he withdrew; and Algernon was left alone. For an instant he gazed round the room, while the key grated heavily in the lock, and then laughed in a light cheerful tone. "Here I am a captive," he said; "well, though unexpected, it is no great matter. A few short hours, a few short days, what are they from the sum of life; and, forgetting that I have lost my liberty, I will think myself a prince hospitably received, well lodged, and only, like the slave of the Harem, not suffered to go abroad. What an idle thing it is for a man to fret and wear himself with vain regrets over the loss of that shadowy thing, the portion of freedom that is left him by the usages of the world. In courts and cities, with the stiff bit of the law beneath his jaws, he is trained and curbed up by the habits of the land to go through his taught paces, like a horse in the manege, curveting here, and passaging there, with hardly a natural step in his whole allure. Here, with no eves to watch me, with no form of restraint or customary ceremonies, I can have more real freedom than in a king's halls, although yonder door be locked and bolted. What is it that makes imprisonment painful? Either the anticipation of farther evil as its dark termination, or the prospect of its indefinite, perhaps interminable, extent. In a few days I shall be free. They dare not do me wrong. I have nothing farther to apprehend. Why should the locking of that door jar upon my ear, when the hand that turns the key is on the outside? Had it been my own hand, ere I lay down to sleep, it would have been nothing--no, no, I will bear it lightly. Man doubles all the evils of his fate by pondering over them; a scratch becomes a wound, a slight an injury, a jest an insult, a small peril a great danger; and a light sickness often ends in death by the brooding apprehensions of the sick.--What a magnificent scene! Methinks, I could contemplate that view for ever; and, forgetting all the world, live here an anchorite in the midst of a great city, worshipping God in the grand temple of his brightest works."
Vain, oh! how vain is it in man to strive, by the mere power of intellect, to quell or overrule the natural affections of the heart. The stoical philosophy would have broken down instantly, had not its teachers skilfully applied emollients to its harsh sternness, teaching not alone to bear the evils that fate inflicts, but often, also, to fly from them--ay, to fly, even though the place of refuge was the tomb: for, after all, the magnificent-miened crime of suicide, was but a cowardly flight before a conquering army of the world's ills.
Vain was all the reasoning of Algernon Grey; and silently and slowly the solitary moments, as they passed, sapped the foundations of the tall edifice of lofty thoughts which he had so confidently built up. First he began to find the time go slowly; he felt delight in the beauty of the scene, it is true, but it was all still: nothing moved: the very air had fallen away, so that the leaves of the trees stirred not on the branches; and the green Neckar looked like a sheet of solid glass. He could not see into the streets of the town; the thickness of the walls excluded the garden below; the sky overhead was without a cloud; the glowing heat of the day kept the birds quiet; and the light changed so slowly, that the creeping on of the shadow here and the sunshine there was imperceptible to the eye. The prospect was beautiful; but it became monotonous; and a storm or cloud would have been a relief.
He began to turn his eyes towards the door, and wished that some one would come. The knowledge that it was locked became oppressive to him; he felt that his philosophy was failing, and he determined to find or make an occupation. He had not yet seen the bed-room; and, walking through the door, which communicated with it, he examined the furniture it contained, looked out of the high window over the roofs of some of the buildings and against the walls of others. A pigeon, seated upon one of the gables, took flight at that moment, and whirled up into the free air. Algernon Grey knew then how much he had felt the loss of liberty; for to witness the bird's flight was joy to him; and yet it woke melancholy associations. As he saw it spreading its pinions lightly in the clear sky, sweeping round in a gay circle, and then darting away to meadow or to corn-field, he thought how beautiful a thing freedom is, how terrible is its loss.
The bird disappeared; and walking slowly back into the other chamber, he seated himself in the window and gazed out; but bitter thoughts took possession of him; and the mind rambled on from one sad train of images to another. He thought of human life, its griefs, its cares, its changes. He viewed it all darkly, both its accidents and its ordinary course. "What is it," he said, "but a gradual development, filled with many an evil and many a danger, a short maturity and a long and sad decay? Scarcely have we touched our prime, when some failing power, some slackened energy, some corporeal, or some mental weakness, warns us that we are on the descent, and that all is thenceforward downward, downward to the grave. Thenceforward the game of life is all loss. One after another we cast the dice for a new stake; and fate is ever the winner against us; till, bankrupt in body and in mind, we go to bed, and sleep--forgotten. Then, too, how often, even in the days of our highest energies, comes something to bar us from the treasures that we covet; some small but fatal obstacle, over which all our hopes fall prostrate; the eternal stumbling-block of circumstance that gives the ever-flying good time to escape us. Often!--Nay I should have said ever; for that dark inscrutable hand of fate, still mingles with the cup of joy, even when sparkling most brightly in the hand of youth, the bitter drop that soon pervades it all."
He turned his mind to other things. "Well, it matters not," he thought, "there is surely one unalloyed pleasure, at all events,--to do good, to save, protect, befriend." Then, for an instant, his fancy rested joyfully upon the events of the night before. He thought of Agnes Herbert--of having saved her from destruction--of having rescued her from the dark waters of that turbulent stream--of having given back to life that creature, so full of all life's brightest energies; and, for a moment, he was happy. She rose before him in her young beauty, sparkling with graces, heart beaming from her eyes; love and happiness upon her lips; her clear, fair brow, like the expanse of heaven; and the soul of loveliness in every look and every movement. The vision was too bright; and, clasping his hands together, he fixed his eyes upon the ground, murmuring bitterly through his closed teeth: "Yet she never can be mine!"
Deep, deep and gloomy were his meditations after; and more than one hour passed by, ere he moved a single muscle; till, at length, he heard a step, and a voice speaking without; and, starting up, he strove to clear his brow, brushing back the hair from his forehead, and looking grave, but not so sad. The key was turned in the door; and the next moment, two faces, which he knew well, presented themselves, those of Herbert and William Lovet.
Herbert stayed not long. "For the first time in life, Master Grey," he said, "I have petitioned to be a gaoler; but I have so much to thank you for, that I might well undertake that office on your behalf, to soften, as much as possible, your captivity, which will not be long, I trust. My thanks and my plans of all kinds must have greater room than I will now give to them, as your cousin is here to talk with you; but I will see you again, ere the day be over, and, in the mean time, provide for your comfort, as far as may be. So fare-you-well for the present;" and, shaking him warmly by the hand, he turned to Lovet, saying: "The guard without knows your person, and will give you exit when you require it. You can come hither as often as you like during the day; but after sunset the gates of the tower, by the Elector's orders, must be closed against all visitors."
"Thanks, colonel, thanks," answered Lovet, and gazed after him to the door, ere he spoke to his cousin. The opening of his conversation was as strange as usual; for he began with a loud burst of laughter.
"Caged, Algernon, caged!" he exclaimed. "Well, upon my life, a mighty pretty dungeon, and convenient! Velvet chairs, upon my life; and a ravishing prospect, as poets would call it. Good soup, a bottle of rich wine, and bread not too brown, and, methinks, you are comfortably provided for. On my life, I am greatly indebted to the Elector."
"You seem to enjoy his bounty towards me, certainly," answered Algernon Grey, with a slight touch of bitterness; "may I know, William, whether it is from kindly sympathy with my pleasures, or from personal satisfaction, you derive your merriment?"
"Oh, personal, personal!" exclaimed Lovet. "That celebrated cardinal, the son of a butcher and master of monarchs, bright Wolsey, was a frank and sincere man; and when he wrote 'ego et rex meus,' he only did what every other man would do, if he were not a hypocrite, namely, put himself first, that is to say in the place which he occupied in his own consideration. I love you second to myself, dear Algernon.--Don't tell sweet Madam de Laussitz, or her deep sleepy eyes would flash with indignation, to think that I loved any thing or any body, but her fair self. However, can you deny that I have great obligations to the Elector? Here he has caged my bird, just as I thought it was about to take flight, and that I should be obliged to follow. It answers my purpose just as well as if you had fallen in love with all the ladies of the court together, and stayed philandering in orange bowers. As to yourself, from what I know of you, the Elector's prison will be much more pleasant than Cupid's chain; and, on my life, he has put the jewel in a very snug casket. Here you are, like a poor simple Catholic girl's new crucifix, wrapped up in cotton, and laid upon a shelf, all safe and sheltered; while I, like the same poor maiden, go wandering at large in my worldly vanities."
"Take care, William," answered Algernon Grey, "that your vanities don't get you into worse than this."
"Heaven and earth listen to the man!" exclaimed William Lovet, laughing. "Think of his preaching decorum to me! Did I not tell you long ago, Algernon, that your vices were much more serious ones than mine? Here, instead of bowing down and worshipping the embroidered hem of some fair lady's petticoat, the very first thing you do in a strange country is, to go and cut a poor man's throat. Now, I will ask you fairly and candidly, which is the worst, to amuse an hour or two in giving and receiving pleasure; or to spend your time like a wild cat in a holly bush, scratching your neighbour's heart out?--The thing won't bear an argument, cousin of mine. I am the moral and well-regulated young man; and you are the reprobate."
"I only cut another man's throat, as you call it, William, in defence of my own life," replied Algernon Grey; "but, of all men, you should be the last to find fault with such a transaction. Methinks I have heard of some six or seven of such affairs upon your hands."
"Ay, but I never begin with fighting," answered Lovet; "when driven to such extremities, I can't help it. I always commence with love and affection; and, if it end with hate and naked rapiers, it is no fault of mine. And so you pinked this Oberntraut! Why, you deserve thanks for that, too. Really it was a public service; if he die, there will be one bubble less upon the stream of the world; and, if he recover, the bleeding and the lesson will do him an immense deal of good. 'Tis a pity it was not in the spring; for that is the time, the doctors say, to let blood."
"Pray, do not jest upon the subject, my good cousin," answered Algernon Grey; "I went unwillingly on a quarrel not of my own seeking; I did what I scarcely judged right to save my honour; and I bitterly regret that I was forced to wound a gentleman, who was too skilful a swordsman to be disarmed. Let us talk of other things."
"Pooh!" said Lovet, "he's a coxcomb, and deserved it. If you had not done it, I would have done it for you.--But to talk of other things, as you say. The Elector can certainly mean you no harm by assigning you so pleasant a place for imprisonment. When you have got up your clothes and a few books, you will be as comfortable here as at the inn with a sprained ankle--more so; for you will want the pain. Then, my dear Algernon, you will be out of all temptation, which is a great thing in your case. Here you can neither drink, nor swear, nor game, nor make love; in short, you are now physically in the state, to which you voluntarily reduce yourself morally, and are cut off from all the little pleasures of life by that door, instead of a puritanical spirit.--I could myself be very comfortable here but for one thing. I have often thought, as I like to try every sort of emotion in this world, that I would make myself a voluntary prisoner for a few days, only I could never determine upon the gaol."
"And pray what is the one thing wanting in this sweet place?" asked Algernon Grey; "the one thing I want is liberty; but, I suppose, that is not what you mean?"
"Oh, dear no," cried Lovet, "I mean woman's company; I should require something sadly to play with, to teaze, to irritate, and to amuse myself with, as I would a petted child, and then to soothe her with soft caresses, and look into her liquid eyes, half full of tears, half light. Liberty! Pooh! liberty is nothing. I would sell myself for a sequin to a Turk, if he would but engage to imprison me in his harem. But, on my life! if I were shut up in a prison for any of my small misdemeanours, I would get some fair girl or another to come and entertain me at any price, were it but the gaoler's fat daughter."
Thus went he on for well nigh an hour, with gay, light, apparently thoughtless talk; but yet it was all calculated to produce a certain impression; and it must not be denied that, in a degree, it did so. He never mentioned the name of Agnes Herbert; he never alluded to her in the most remote manner; he spoke not of his cousin's gallant conduct on the preceding night; he seemed to be ignorant of all that had taken place, except the duel and the arrest. But yet his conversation turned Algernon's thoughts to Agnes, and made him long for her society. His words called up a pleasant dream of how she might cheer the hours of imprisonment, how, under other circumstances, she might make the sad and weary day the sweetest and the brightest of life. Algernon gave himself up to the dream too. As he had no substantial source of pleasure, he fancied he might as well console himself from the stores of imagination; and on Agnes his thoughts rested, fondly, tenderly, even while his cousin remained with him.
Lovet marked well the effect he produced; the meditative look, the occasional absence of mind, the random answer, and a sigh that once broke forth; and, when he thought he had succeeded sufficiently, he rose to go.
"Well, Algernon," he said, "what shall I send you up?--clothes, books, and an instrument of music by the hands of a pretty maid, if I can find one. They tell me, you must not have your man; but the category did not include the fair sex; and, unless they are barbarians, they will let you have a femme-de-chambre, though they exclude a valet.--Come, come, do not look so grave. I must go and pay my devotions, but first will despatch all that you may require.--Leave it to me, I will make a good selection, never fear; and your little coxcomb, Frill, shall carry them all hither, and see if they will let him stay to tend upon you. Whatever be their rules and regulations, if they view him justly, he can fall under none of them; for Heaven only knows what class the little devil belongs to; I am only certain that he is neither man, woman, nor child.
"Well, send him at all events," answered Algernon Grey; "it would be convenient if they let him stay. Send a lute, too, if you can find one in the town."
"A lute!" exclaimed Lovet. "On my life! the man will fall in love at last, if it be but by twanging catgut to his own sweet voice. To think, that two pieces of white board, strung with the entrails of a tame tiger, should give a reasonable creature, full of intellect as he thinks himself, the best consolation in adversity, is a sort of marvel--a lute! Heaven bless the mark!--Well, you shall have a lute, if it be but to make you commit a folly for once in your life and sing soft ditties to a certain spot in the ceiling.--Adieu, cousin, adieu! I will see you again to-morrow."
"Bring me news of this young baron's state, if you can get them," said Algernon Grey.
"Happy for him, I am not his physician," answered Lovet; and thus saying he left the room. When he was gone, the prisoner relapsed into thought again; but he had found out--or at least his cousin's words had suggested--a new source of pleasant meditations. They were dangerous ones, it must be owned--those sweet alluring fancies which lead us along far, much farther than we know of, with steps as light as if the foot rested upon clouds. It was weak, but it was very natural so to give way. For long, long hours there was no occupation for his mind. The choice, if it could be called a choice, was between dark and gloomy broodings over a bitter point in his fate, together with sad anticipations of the future, on the one hand; and, on the other, an unreal dream of happiness, which could hardly, by any possibility, be verified, but which yet presented itself to fancy every moment, when thought was left free to roam, unrestrained by a powerful will. Is it wonderful that he grew weary of the struggle? Is it surprising that more and more he gave way to the bright deceptions of a warm eager heart and quick imagination? Is it to be marvelled at, that in the dull hours of solitude, he turned from the gloomy pictures presented by reason and memory, to gaze upon the glowing pageantry of fancy and hope? Ah, no! And so constituted mentally and corporeally, so situated in the past and in the present, few, very few men on earth would be found to resist more than he resisted, to do otherwise than he did. He yielded his heart to the only comfort it could receive, he yielded his mind to the only thoughts that were bright; and, though his stern resolve to do all that was right maintained its place, yet the traitors of our peace were busily undermining in secret the defences of the castle in which he trusted. He made Agnes Herbert the companion of his thoughts. He saw her with the mind's eye; the tones of her sweet voice came back to his ear melodiously; the glance of her clear soft eye, with all its tempered brightness, seemed upon him again; the very memory of her grace and beauty brought sunshine with it, as sometimes, when we shut our eyes in the darkness of the night, resplendent scenes come back to sight, all vivid and distinct, as if they were painted in light upon our closed eyelids. He made a happiness for himself where none other was to be found; and if it was a weakness, be it remembered he was but man.
Nothing was, indeed, wanting to mere corporeal comfort, except freedom. A well-served table was provided for him; one of the Elector's servants attended to all that could lighten his captivity; his clothes, some books, and a lute were brought up in the course of the day; and a small hand-bell was placed upon a table that he might have the means of summoning attendance when he needed it. His page, indeed, was not admitted; and no one visited his chamber after the hour of dinner, but once when he rang. His thoughts, however, had by this time chosen their own course. He read little; he touched not the instrument of music; but, seated near the window, he gazed out; and thought while, wandering slowly round to the west, the bright summer sun presented the scene beneath, in the same warm light of evening which had flooded valley and plain and gilt mountain and castle, when he had seen it from the Altan with Agnes Herbert. Her image mingled with the whole, and the prospect was not the less sweet to his eyes for the associations with which memory enriched the view.
CHAPTER III.
The sun set; the beams of the departed orb spread up from behind the mountains of the Haardt over the whole wide expanse of the cloudless heaven; and, from the golden verge of the horizon to the glowing crimson of the zenith, a broad sheet of varied colouring stretched unbroken, hue melting into hue, so that the eye could not detect where one tint blended with another. It changed, too, with each passing minute; the golden verge grew red; blue mingled with the crimson overhead; then came a shade of grey; and then looked out a star, like hope to cheer the heart on the departure of some bygone joy. At length the twilight succeeded to the warm sunset; and stream, and valley, and mountain, and plain grew faint and soft under the prisoner's sight; while his chamber became full of shadows; and many of the bright fancies, which had cheered the day, passed away with the declining light, as if they had been the creatures of the sunshine.
His thoughts were becoming gloomy, when suddenly he heard the key turn in the lock, and then a light knock at the door.
"Come in!" he cried; and the next moment it was opened. But Algernon Grey could scarcely believe his eyes; for in the dim light he saw a woman's form and garments; and heart, more than sight, told him who it was.
Starting up with a quick and joyful movement, he advanced to meet her; but Agnes only entered a few steps, and that with an air of timid hesitation.
"My uncle has sent me to you," she said, giving him her hand, as he came near; "and I am very glad indeed to have any means of showing my gratitude for all that you have done for me. It is but little that I can do, but still a walk in the quiet evening air will refresh and calm you; and I trust," she added, laying the tips of her small taper fingers on his arm, "that it may tend to soothe the indignation which, I am sure, you must feel at the treatment you have received."
"Indeed, dear lady," answered Algernon Grey, "I feel none."
"Then I feel it for you," answered Agnes, warmly; "I should feel more, indeed, did I not know that it is all weakness, rather than injustice. They fear that fierce old man and his rash son, otherwise this would not have taken place; and for that reason it is that I am obliged to take this unfit hour to give you whatever little liberty I can. But you must promise me," she added, in a timid and imploring tone, "to return when it is time. My uncle told me to exact such an engagement. He could not come himself; for he has been all the evening with the Elector on business of importance, planning new defences to the place; and so he made me your gaoler--sad, yet pleasant task. But you will return, will you not?"
Algernon Grey took her hand again and pressed it in his own. "Whenever you wish it," he replied.
"Nay, not when I wish it," answered Agnes; "that would never be; for, could my wishes avail aught, you would not be here at all."
"Well, then, when you ask me," said the young gentleman.
"No, not so either," she replied; "I should never have the heart to ask you. Even in my youngest and most thoughtless days, I could not make a prisoner of a poor bird. How much less, then, of one who has saved my life. I value freedom too much to do so. It must be for you to decide. You shall return when it is right, and you shall be the judge."
"I will then," answered Algernon Grey; "and now let us forth, for I confess I feel the air of imprisonment very heavy; and the lock of yonder door, which my fair turnkey has left unguardedly open, is a chain upon my spirits."
"No, not unguardedly," replied Agues; "but I was quite sure that, for my sake, you would not take a step beyond without permission, when I came to see you. Oh, I know you right well, noble sir. Your conduct to me last night was a whole history; I need no farther insight."
"Indeed," said Algernon Grey, taking his hat from the table as she moved a step or two towards the door; "if you knew my history, it is a strange one; but still I think you read it right, if you judge that in nothing I would abuse your trust."
"I am sure of it," she said, leading the way into the ante-room.
Two guards were seated there on duty; but the lady's presence seemed a passport; and they made no opposition to the prisoner's exit, only rising as he and Agnes passed.
The moment that the top of the stairs was reached, a change seemed to come over the fair girl's demeanour. So long as she had been in the apartments of the prisoner, a timid sort of hesitation seemed to hang about her, restraining her words and even her movements; but the instant she had passed the door of his prison, her heart and spirit were unchained again.
"Not down there, not down there," she cried; "you are ignorant of the castle and its manifold turnings and windings. I will lead you through it, and try to cheer you as we go. Here, turn to the left;" and taking her way along a narrow passage, through the tall windows of which streamed a pale and uncertain light, she walked on, till a short staircase of five or six steps led them down to a broad balcony, running along the face of the western part of the building, and looking down into the court. Here she paused for a moment, and Algernon Grey took his place by her side, gazing thoughtfully at the number of servants and officers who were still crossing and recrossing the open space below, like so many ants on their busy labours.
"This castle and the sights that it presents," said Agnes, after a moment's meditation, "always make me more or less thoughtful at every moment when one has time for thought. There, on the right, is what they call the Rupert's building, the oldest part of the castle, it is said; and I know not why, but I cannot look at its ornamented windows, and rich arches, without thinking of all the changes that have taken place in this small spot since it was raised. See, how busily they go along, and how gaily too, as if there had never been any others before, or would come others after."
"And they are right," answered Algernon Grey. "Why should men lose the happiness of the moment by thinking of its short duration? A certain portion of life only is given to each human being; and, so to enjoy that portion that our acts shall stain no part with regret, and shall lay up no store of vengeance against us for the future, is, methinks, the wisest policy, as well as the truest religion."
"And do you think so, too?" Agnes, turning suddenly towards him with a bright smile; "I am glad of it; for sometimes I am inclined, when I have heard a grave discourse of worldly vanities and mortal pleasures, to think myself no better than a butterfly or a bird, because I am so happy in my little day of sunshine. We have men here, who speak so hardly of the brevity of mortal existence, that I cannot but think that they feel dissatisfied so small a portion is allowed them."
"When I hear such men," answered Algernon Grey, "and there are many of them all over the world, they leave a very different impression on my mind from that which they expect to produce. They can have very little confidence in an everlasting future, who dwell so mournfully upon the shortness of the present. To enjoy God's blessings, and, from the heart, to thank Him for all, is to honour Him by the best sacrifice we can offer--at least, so it seems to me; and we may be right sure that, when we can thank him from the heart, we have not enjoyed amiss."
"I think so too," answered Agnes; "at all events, I know one thing, that though I would strive to bear all misfortunes without repining, yet, when I am happy, I ever feel the most grateful sense of the goodness and mercy of God. But let us come on; and mark that building there, that one with the stony escutcheon on the front; you can scarcely see it, I think, in this dim light; but some day I will tell you a story about it. It is too sad a one for to-night. Let us pass down here; and then, turning to the left again, I will lead you through the chapel."
As the way was now broader than before, Algernon Grey drew his fair companion's arm through his own, turning as she directed him; and, but for that light touch and that sweet companionship, his walk might have been gloomy enough; for the light faded rapidly as they went on. The long dim passages seemed damp and chilly, even in that summer evening. The moon had not yet risen, but there was sufficient light in the sky to throw deeper shadows from the columns of masonry upon the faint grey gleam, which still illuminated one side of the halls and corridors in the neighbourhood of the western casements. Agnes, however, was near him; her hand rested gently on his arm; her eyes were turned to his from time to time, as if seeking the expression which gave point to his words. And Algernon Grey was happy; for he felt as if the dreams he had been indulging were realized; and yet he knew at his heart, that the realization was little better than a dream likewise. But he would not give way to sad thoughts; for he remembered that he should have time for plenty of them in his captivity; and the new philosophy, to which he had given way, taught him to enjoy.
"Shall we see our way across the chapel?" said Agnes, at length, pushing open a small door at the end of a long passage after descending a few steps, and looking into a wide and splendid aisle beyond.
"Oh yes," cried Algernon Grey, "there is plenty of light;" and, taking a step forward, he led her in. The air was very dim; but yet he could see that, except the architectural decorations, the building was destitute of all ornament.
There is something, however, in the very atmosphere of a place destined for the purposes of prayer, which brings a feeling of awe and solemn meditation upon the heart. Here the petitions of thousands have ascended day after day to the throne of grace. Here the Almighty has promised to be present in the midst of the two or three who seek Him faithfully; here have been all the struggles, that bare themselves before the Almighty eye; here the consolation and the hope derived from the pure source of Almighty beneficence. A crowd of grand associations, of mercies sought and benefits received, rush upon the mind and fill it with devotion.
Algernon Grey felt it strongly then, as--with that fair being by his side, whom he had protected, comforted, saved--whom he loved, in spite of reason, in spite of resolution, in spite of every effort,--he walked slowly up the nave, till he stood with her before the altar.
Then what thoughts were they that came thick upon his mind? What memories, what visions--dark and bright mingling together, black as night and brilliant as the dawn? Whatever were the emotions in Agnes's heart, her hand slowly fell from his arm; and he suffered it to drop. How or why, he knew not; but by an impulse, gentle, yet irresistible, he took it; and there they stood for a moment before that altar, hand in hand. He felt his fingers clasping upon hers more tightly; and, afraid of himself, of his own heart, of his own fate, he drew her arm once more through his, and led her with a deep, heavy sigh, to an open door, through which a faint gleam was streaming.
There was a lamp in the passage beyond; and, by its light, they passed through the northern mass of the building, and mounted the steps to the Altan. The stars were now shining forth in exceeding splendour; each bright spot in Charles's wane twinkling like a living diamond in the deep blue sky; and the small pole-star glistening high above, fixed and immoveable, like a constant mind, while the others whirled round it in never-ceasing change.
"Ay, this feels like freedom indeed," said Algernon Grey. "I know not how it is, dear lady, but the sensation of liberty is never so strong upon me, as in one of these bright clear nights. During the day, there is a sort of oppressive bondage in the world and the world's thoughts and doings--in the busy multitudes that float about--in the very hum of tongues, and the sight of moving masses of mankind, which seems to cramp and confine the spirit within us. But here, with that profound, unlimited vault above, the wide air all around, and the far-off stars twinkling at immeasurable distances through space, the heart has room to beat; and the soul, upon the wings of thought, wanders unfettered through the infinite creation."
"I love not crowds either," answered Agnes; "and yet it is pleasant to me that I have my fellow-creatures near--perhaps it is a woman's feeling, springing from her weakness; but still I would rather not be free, if I were to be all alone on earth. Not that I do not often love solitude and to be afar from the multitude; but still, a wild ramble over a mountain top, or a gallop over a wide open moor, is enough for my small range; and, like the lark, after I have taken my flight and sung my song, I am ever ready to fold my wings and sink to earth again."
The image pleased her companion; he thought it very like her; and in such conversation passed more than an hour, till the round edge of the yellow moon was seen rising above the fringed forest, and spreading new lustre over the sky.
"Here comes our fair and bountiful companion of last night," said Algernon Grey; "I will see her rise into the sky before I go; but then, to show how moderate and discreet I am, and to encourage you to give me some more hours of liberty hereafter, I will tell my fair gaoler that I am ready to return to my prison."
"Strange," said Agnes, looking up in his face with a smile, and leaning a little more heavily upon his arm, "strange that it is I who must ask the prisoner to remain at large for a while; but you know not that you have a visit this night to make, to one, who will thank you on Agnes Herbert's account, for all you did last night."
"Your uncle," asked Algernon Grey.
"No," replied Agnes; "it is to a lady, a kind and noble one. The Electress Louisa, she is anxious to see you, and bade me bring you to her whenever I hear her bell ring. It will not be long first; there she sits in that room, where the lights are shining through the open windows; and when she thinks that the bustle of the day is fully over in the castle, she will give us notice."
"She loves you much, I doubt not," answered Algernon Grey. "'Tis strange to find here one of my own fair countrywomen, domiciled in a different land, and so linked with a foreign race. There can be no relationship, surely, between you and this Palatine house?"
"The Electress calls me cousin," answered Agnes with a smile, at the half-put question; "but it is a far and not easily traced relationship. Mine is a strange history, my noble deliverer; but, doubtless, every one's is strange, if we knew it all--yours, you say, as well as mine?"
"Most strange," answered Algernon Grey; "and if we meet often, I must tell it to you--Yes, I will," he repeated in a low murmur, as if speaking to himself; but then added, "not now, not now, I cannot tell it now."
"Whatever it is," said Agnes, "I am sure it will show nought but honour and high deeds on your part--I have had proofs of it; and as you, like other men, have mingled in the world, your story will be, doubtless, one of action; while mine is more the history of my race than of myself, for I have done nought and suffered little in this life. Spoiled by kind friends; supported, protected, and left to follow my own will--often, perhaps, a wayward one--reverses, as yet, I have not known; no strong emotions, either of grief or joy, have visited my breast; and the part of life already gone has lapsed away like a morning dream in pleasant but faint images, scarce worthy the remembrance. You shall tell me your history, if you will; but I cannot promise yet to be as sincere, mine being, as I have said, the history of others rather than my own."
"I will tell mine, nevertheless," answered Algernon Grey. "It were better that one, at least, should know it."
As he spoke, they heard a bell ring; and Agnes exclaimed, "That is the signal of the Electress. Now come with me;" and, leading the way into the castle again, she ascended a long spiral staircase in one of the small towers, and then, proceeding along a well lighted corridor, she passed the top of a broad flight of steps exactly opposite to a large door surmounted by a gilt coronet. A few steps farther on, entered a small room on the right, where, to the right again, was seen another door apparently leading into the chamber, one entrance of which they had already passed. Here Agnes paused and knocked; and a sweet voice from within instantly answered, "Come in, dear child." The lady then opened the door, and, beckoning Algernon Grey to follow, advanced into the room, which I have already described as the scene of Agnes's interview with the Electress Dowager in the morning.
With a calm and stately step, and his fine thoughtful eyes bent forward on the face of the Electress, Algernon Grey came after his fair conductor at the distance of a few steps. Louisa Juliana gazed at him steadily for an instant, and then bent her head with a dignified air, as Agnes presented him to her.
"Be seated, sir," she said, pointing to a chair near; "and you, my sweet cousin, come hither beside me. Here is your accustomed place."
Algernon Grey took the seat she assigned him; and, leaning his arm with easy grace over the back, he turned towards the Electress, whilst she proceeded to say, "I have first, sir, to offer you my thanks for your gallant, I might almost call it, heroic conduct last night, in saving the life of my sweet cousin here, who is as dear to me as if she were my child. Accept them, therefore, I beg; and believe me, it is with pain I find my son has thought himself called upon to deprive you of your liberty for a less fortunate event."
"I merit no thanks, your Highness," answered Algernon Grey; "I have but done that which any man of good breeding, not a coward, would do in similar circumstances; nor can I even claim the lady's gratitude; for when I went to give her aid, I really knew not who she was. I will not deny, indeed, that the pleasure of the act was more than doubled, when I found who was the object of it; but surely, a thing which affords such great satisfaction to the giver, deserves no thanks from the receiver. 'Tis done for his own pleasure; and his own pleasure be his reward."
"It would be a harsh doctrine on any other lips but yours," replied the Electress Dowager, while Agnes shook her head with a smile; "nor can I admit," continued Louisa Juliana, "that every man of good breeding, not a coward, would do the same. I fear much, my noble young friend, that, pick all the world, you would not find ten such. We have a sad proof of it--you were the only one who went to her rescue."
"I was more near than any one," answered Algernon Grey; "so, still, that is no title, lady; however, I am well pleased it has been as it is."
"The men, who do best service," answered the Electress, "are always those who require least thanks. I have found it so through life.--But now I have other things to speak of."
Agnes rose as if she would have withdrawn; but the Electress stopped her, saying, "Stay, stay, my child; you shall be of our counsel; I know that I can trust you."
Agnes reseated herself in silence, but looked somewhat anxiously to the face of Algernon Grey, with feelings upon which we must pause for a moment. She was a very young diplomatist. She had not learned the art of that craft, as it was practised in those days--I trust less in the present--and she was not aware, that to deceive a friend or benefactor, to lead one who has aided and assisted us, into a dangerous and difficult position, is a stroke of skill, and not a mark of baseness. A sudden doubt came over her, lest the questions which the Electress was about to put--lest even the visit to her apartments might be painful and unpleasant to him who had ventured life to save her; and, though she saw not how she could have escaped from such a task, she was very sorry that she had undertaken it. After one brief glance then, she withdrew her eyes, and remained gazing at some objects on the table, till the voice of the Electress, speaking after a somewhat long pause, roused her, and she listened.
"You have come from England, sir, very lately, I think," said Louisa Juliana, fixing her eyes upon Algernon Grey.
"Not so, your Highness," replied the young gentleman; "I have been absent from my native land, now, for a long time, frequenting the various courts of Europe, and studying the manners of other nations. On my way back, I received letters at Genoa, which made me resolve to remain some time longer out of England; but I have not seen aught of it for more than five years."
"Methinks you are very young," said the Electress, "to be such a traveller. Doubtless you have forgotten all about the court of England."
"Oh, no," replied Algernon Grey; "I may be older than I seem; but certainly was not young enough when I departed, to forget aught that was worth remembering."
"'Tis a strange court," continued Louisa Juliana; "and yet, to say truth, all courts are strange. Do you know the king?"
The question was somewhat abrupt; but the young Englishman replied immediately: "Oh, yes, I know him well, without being one of the minions or the favourites of the court."
"And, doubtless, have been trusted by him?" rejoined the Electress, in a sort of catechising tone--"he is a wise and witty monarch."
"I know not any mark of trust that he has ever given me," replied Algernon Grey; "and his courtiers give him right good cause to be witty as well as to be vain. I have always remarked, that where there is much of this lip-service there is little real loyalty, and that downfalls are preceded by the most servile adulation of power. I trust it may not be so in our day."
"You doubt it," replied the Electress; "and I think it may be so; for I always doubt it, too. This court is full of flatterers as well as yours. They would persuade my son that he is a god, as they persuade your monarch that he is a Solomon. Fortunately, fate holds out no offer to King James of another crown; and even if it did, he would never stretch forth a hand to reach it. Here we are in a different position. The diadem of Bohemia, which beyond all doubt will be offered to the Elector in a few days, will find, I fear, a more ambitious candidate, and one who may not calculate so well the means to the end."
Algernon Grey was silent; for he felt that the subject was a difficult one to speak upon; but, after waiting for a few moments, the Electress added: "What say you, is it not so?"
"Really, your Highness, I cannot answer," replied her visitor; "I have never spoken with the Elector on the subject--I have only seen him once."
Louisa Juliana gazed at him steadfastly, and then said, with a smile: "Come, come, Master Grey, let us be candid with each other. Thus stands the case. The Elector is wealthy, powerful in his own dominions, doubtless, a wise and warlike Prince, but at the same time to grasp and hold a crown requires a ruthlessness which he does not possess. What is the Palatinate pitted against the empire? What can give even the seeming of success to such a struggle, except potent and immediate foreign aid.--Will your king give it, Master Grey?"
"Really, your Highness, I cannot tell," answered Algernon, a good deal surprised at the lady's tone.
"Methinks not," continued Louisa Juliana. "He is a wise, but most pacific king; wasting in subtleties those powers of mind, and in pageantry and revelling those vast material resources, which are most needful to keep a turbulent and energetic people under even wholesome rule, which, wisely employed, would be successful, but which, thus foolishly squandered, will leave a debt that nought but the best blood in the land can wipe out.--Forgive me, Master Grey, that I thus speak of your sovereign; but see, what does he do now in my son's case? What energy, what activity does he display in behalf of his own child?"
"But small, I fear, madam," answered Algernon Grey; "but, perhaps, if he see danger menace, he may do more.--However, I know so little of the court of England, that I have no right to form a judgment."
Louisa Juliana shook her head: "You are a diplomatist," she said; "and for so young a one, a wise one; for I have heard that the chief skill of that intricate art consists in three negatives: 'Not to know more than enough; not to say more than enough; and not to see more than enough.'"
"Indeed, your Highness does me wrong," replied the young Englishman; "I belong to no such base craft; for I cannot hold the task of deceiving to be aught than dishonourable, the task of concealing aught but pitiful. I am no diplomatist, I can assure you; not even of that better kind, who, like the great Duke of Sully, make it their boast to frustrate dishonest craft by wise honesty."
"Then you are greatly mistaken here," rejoined the Electress Dowager; "for every one thinks you have been sent over by King James to see how the land lies, and give advice or promise of assistance accordingly."
Algernon Grey laughed: "Your Highness will pardon me," he said; "but I beseech you to believe me, when I tell you, that, a mere boy when I quitted the court of England, I am recollected there by friends and enemies, kings and statesmen, but as a mere boy still."
"Hush!" cried the Electress, raising her hand; "some one knocks. See who it is, my Agnes. I thought we should be free from interruption."
Agnes Herbert ran lightly to the great doors, opened them partly, and, after speaking a few words to some one without, closed them and returned, saying in a low voice; "The Elector, madam, with the counsellor Camerarius, is coming up, and has sent forward a page to say he wishes to confer with you."
"He must not be found here," cried the Electress, looking at Algernon Grey; "quick, take him into my dressing-room; then, when you hear that they are all arrived, lead him down by the great staircase and away out upon the Altan.--Quick, Agnes, quick!--Adieu, Master Grey; we will talk farther another night."
With a sign to him whom we now may well call her lover, Agnes ran to the small door to the left of the Electress, exactly opposite to that by which they had entered, and threw it open. All was dark beyond; but Algernon Grey, though he was not fond of such secrecy, followed the fair girl with an inclination to the Electress Dowager; and, drawing the door gently to behind them, Alice took his hand, saying:--"I will guide you; but we most open this other door a little, to know when they pass;" and, advancing a step or two, she opened a chink of the door, which seemed to lead out upon the great corridor at the top of the stairs.
In a few moments, the sound of footsteps reached them, and a voice speaking, which Algernon Grey recollected well as that of the Elector. They heard the great doors thrown open and closed again; and then the young Englishman whispered:--"We can go now, I think."
"Hush!" replied Agnes; "there is some one going down the steps." The next instant a round, fat, but somewhat cracked voice was heard to exclaim:--"So you have caged the birds, Joachim.--Now let us wait here and watch till they take flight again; and I will instruct thee in the sciences of courts."
"More likely to instruct one in the science of pottle pots and great tuns," answered a younger voice.
"It is the fool and the page," whispered Agnes, "waiting on the landing five or fix steps down. How shall we get out?"
"Cannot we go by the staircase which led us hither?" rejoined Algernon Grey.
"We must cross the top of the great staircase," answered Agnes; "and they can see up to the very door. We had better wait where we are.--Hark! they are speaking in the other room; we must keep as still as death."
Algernon Grey made no reply, but remained standing close beside her; and in the silence they preserved, a great part of the double conversation that went on, in the chamber of the Electress Dowager, and on the landing of the stairs was distinctly audible to the ears of the young pair. A part, indeed, was lost, or conveyed very little meaning; but what was heard, for some time made a strange medley of ceremonious courtesy and broad vulgarity, questions of policy and absurd jest. Sometimes this extraordinary cross reading turned epigrammatically, sometimes gave the most curious counter-sense; and it was difficult to ascertain at all times whence the voices proceeded, so as to know whether the reply was addressed to the sentence just heard before, or to one that preceded and had been lost.
"I know right well, counsellor Camerarius, what are your opinions, and on what they are founded," were the first words audible. But immediately a merry but coarse voice said:--"Eleven bottles of sack a day, a gold chain and a fool's cap are no things to be lightly respected, Master Joachim."
"But hear me, your Highness," said another voice, "you, I know, are always amenable to reason, and you must not prejudge me, nor suppose that I am biassed by ordinary motives."
"If what a fool thinks were to guide men of reason," said another tongue; "a fool's cap and bells would be as good as the crown of Bohemia."