"Can not believe me!" interrupted she, smiling; "then, unbeliever, I shall convince you. Attend closely to all that I do."
She dropped his arm, and pausing before a rare Manilla flower, praised its beauty and perfume. While doing so, her little hand, accidentally of course, disappeared in the pocket of her ample skirt, and when she drew it forth again this hand was fast closed. She waited until her sister came up with the court ladies, and drew her attention to the beautiful flower and the aviary of charming birds in the rear. She then walked forward, in the blissful consciousness that a long time would supervene ere the Princess could tear herself away from the flower and birds, and that she might now speak to her lover secure from being overheard, since a wide space also separated them from the pair in front.
"What have you there in your hand, Louise?" asked the count, in breathless suspense.
"A little note to Count Adolphus von Schwarzenberg," replied she, smiling, and with swift movement she pressed the little twisted paper into his hand. His countenance lighted up with rapture, and he made a movement as if he would kneel before her, but the Princess restrained him.
"For Heaven's sake, Adolphus, consider that we are not alone," she whispered hurriedly.
"I am alone with you, and if millions encircled us still should I be alone with you in paradise. To me you are the first, the only woman upon earth. I look upon you with the rapture which Adam felt when he first perceived at his side his God-sent, heavenly wife. You have led me back to a paradise of innocence and peace, have changed me into an Adam who the first time sees and loves a woman. Oh, my beloved, you have made me blessed indeed! This little strip of paper that you pressed into my hand, as if by an enchanter's spell, has penetrated my whole being with heavenly fire. I must see it, I must with my own eyes, with my own heart, read the words which you have indited to me."
"I will repeat to you the contents of the note," said she, smiling. "Here they are: 'On Tuesday evening at ten o'clock the little side door next the cathedral will not be locked, only closed. Through this enter a vestibule, to the right of which stands a door. Open this and mount the flight of stairs beyond. Arrived at the top, go down the little passage to the left until you reach a door at the end. It will be open.'"
"Tuesday evening?" whispered he, with enraptured looks; "and—"
Three loud cannon shots drowned his words. They announced the opening of the exhibition of fireworks, and Princess Sophie Hedwig now came rapidly forward, followed by the whole assembly, all pressing eagerly toward the great hall, whose windows commanded a view of the fireworks. The rockets flew, and artificial suns wheeled and turned in fiery circles. Even the Elector forsook his card playing, and, supported by Count Schwarzenberg, walked to the window to behold the costly spectacle. Without, the densely packed throng of men shouted aloud with delight at each new star which shot upward.
The Electoral Prince Frederick William still lay within his solitary chamber, moaning and sighing upon his couch. Regularly every quarter of an hour Dietrich had thrown away a spoonful of medicine, and given the Prince a spoonful of warm milk. But his pains had not been diminished thereby, though the Electoral Prince was evidently himself, and clearly conscious of his situation. Several times he had addressed a few affectionate words to Dietrich, seeking to comfort the faithful old man, who in his agony of mind wept and prayed, and then tenderly pressed his beloved master's hand to his lips, and besought him to get well and live.
"If it depends on me, Dietrich," said the Electoral Prince slowly, moistening his parched lips with his tongue—"if it depends on me, I surely shall not die. Life is still dear to me, although it has brought me much of bitterness and grief. On that very account, though, I hope that the future will indemnify me. It is a sorrowful thought to me to die and sink into the grave so young, so unknown. Could I prevent it, I surely should. But this hellish fire in my veins burns on and on, and is consuming my life. Give me something to drink; milk at least lessens my pangs in some degree."
Thus passed hour after hour, and midnight drew near. Count Schwarzenberg's festival was not yet over, the Electoral family had not yet returned, and silence unbroken reigned throughout the castle. With slow, measured tread went the sentinels to and fro before the palace and through the inner corridors. At times the loud shouts of the populace penetrated in faint echoes even to the castle, and flew like spirit whispers through the broad vestibule fronting the Electoral Prince's suite of rooms. The soldier on guard there heard them with a shudder, and all the stories of ghosts and specters told about the Electoral palace awoke to his remembrance. He cast a disturbed glance around, and, holding his breath, listened with loudly beating heart to the soft sounds and murmurs vibrating through the hall. Suddenly he quite distinctly seemed to hear soft, gliding steps approaching him from the other side of the vestibule. His blood stood still with horror, he stared into the dusky hall. The little oil lamps which hung on both sides of the door leading into the Electoral Prince's apartments shed abroad only a glimmering, uncertain light, and left the background enveloped in gloom and obscurity.
All at once the soldier started: he thought he saw a white figure emerge from the darkness. Yes—his eyes saw her, his ears heard her steps!
Yes, it was no illusion! Ever nearer, ever larger loomed the white figure. It was wholly enveloped in a veil and robe of white, and only two large, sparkling black eyes looked forth from the veil. The soldier fell upon his knees, dropped his weapon, and, folding his hands, muttered with chattering teeth: "The White Lady! God Almighty be gracious to us! The White Lady!"
He dared not look up; he only murmured in anguish of spirit the prayers by which spirits were exorcised; but he felt that the dreaded phantom came ever nearer and nearer—that he could not exorcise the Lady in White! Now she was close to him, her white garment grazed his bowed head, and the soldier shuddered and shrank within himself. It was as if he heard a door creak and turn softly on its hinges, then all was still.
The soldier ventured to lift up his head a little—the hall was empty, the Lady in White had vanished! But she had been there; he had distinctly seen her; she had entered the Electoral Prince's apartments; the soldier had plainly heard that!
Now an inexpressible horror, that was stronger than all discipline and sense of duty, seized him. He rushed out of the hall, tore open the door opening upon the broad corridor, on both sides of which lay the apartments of their Electoral Highnesses. With a loud scream he called out to the sentinel on guard there: "The White Lady! the White Lady!"
This one, too, shrieked as loudly as if the apparition itself stood before him—the Lady in White, known and dreaded of all! And both soldiers, panicstricken, ran down the corridor to tell the news to the other sentinels, and throw them all into the same state of dread and consternation.
The Electoral Prince Frederick William lay upon his bed with open eyes. For the past half hour the pains which raged within had somewhat slackened in intensity, and allowed him more repose. This season of repose had overcome old Dietrich, and, like the disciples on Mount Olivet, he had fallen "asleep for sorrow." The Prince was awake and found himself in that overwrought condition in which the high-strung, quivering nerves lend wonderful clearness and acuteness to the spirit, and in which the soul with wide-seeing vision takes in the whole past, the whole future. He saw his past rise up before him, with all its struggles, its privations, its inexpressible joys and their painful renunciation. And then, across all these sufferings, and the pain of the present, he looked into the future, whose shining ideal stood before him in vivid clearness, beckoning and calling to him. He saw fame, he saw honor; he heard the din of battle, he saw a wild chaos, and from this chaos emerged a something, a tangible shape; it grew large, it assumed form and substance, it was a country—his country—that he himself had created, drawn forth from chaos. And now he saw a happy, contented people, saw glad multitudes throng about him and shout: "Long live our Electoral Prince, Frederick William! Long live our deliverer, our father!" That ideal, which had lain so long in the secret depths of his soul, in fact ever since he had known thought; that ideal to which he had already dedicated himself, when he had stood as a boy by the corpse of his great-uncle Gustavus Adolphus; that ideal was now truth and reality before his inward vision. He was a Prince wreathed in glory; he was beloved by his strong and happy subjects!
"I can not die," he exclaimed, in a loud, strong voice; "I need not die!"
"No, you need not die," said a sonorous voice; and a white form hovered near, and two great, black eyes glowed upon him. Frederick William tried to rise, but could not, for his limbs were paralyzed, and he felt as if chained to his couch by iron fetters.
"Who are you?" he asked softly. "What do you want here? They say that he to whom you appear is doomed to death; and yet you come to tell me that I need not die?"
"We are all doomed to die," replied the white figure; "but the hour of your death has not come yet. I am not come merely to tell you so, but to save you."
"To save me? You know, then, that I am in danger?"
"Yes! In danger of your life! Count Schwarzenberg has poisoned you. Are you not consumed by inward fires? Is not your head heavy and giddy?"
"I see plainly that you know what I suffer—you know the poison which was given me."
"I know the poison, but I also know its cure. I know its antidote, and have brought it to you. I would save you."
"You would save me?" asked the Electoral Prince. "Am I not dying fast enough for you? Have I not yet swallowed enough of the deadly fluid that you would give me more as a remedy? The invention is somewhat flimsy! I shall not drink!"
"Unhappy Prince, you would not live, then?" asked she, in distress. "Hear me, Frederick William. If you delay, you are lost beyond all hope of cure. Nobody knows the remedy for your sufferings but myself, and nobody can save you if I do not! Oh, think not that I would merit your thanks and rewards! I have come hither at the peril of my own life, and each minute increases my own danger as well as yours. The soldiers have fled before my apparition. If a braver one should come to look closer at the White Lady, I am lost, and you with me, for then I could not administer to you the antidote."
"Tell me who you are, that I may see whether I may trust you."
"Who am I?" asked she. "I am a poor, mortal woman, who possesses nothing upon earth but a heart, which loves nothing but a poor, much-to-be-pitied man, whom not his own will but destiny has made a criminal. His child and I were threatened with death, and to save us he committed a crime. Electoral Prince, Count Schwarzenberg has poisoned you by means of Gabriel Nietzel. I come to save you. Not for your own sake. What are you to me?—why should I disturb myself about you? I love Gabriel Nietzel, and I would not have his soul burdened by a crime that would break his heart. My Gabriel has a tender heart; he was not made to be a criminal. Therefore would I absolve him from that curse, for I love Gabriel, and would not have him be a murderer. Do you believe me now? Will you try my palliative now?"
The Electoral Prince lay there silent and motionless, and his large, wide-open eyes gazed searchingly and inquiringly up at the white figure, as if they would penetrate the veil and read her features.
Rebecca had a consciousness of this, and let the white veil fall from her head. "Look in my face," she said, "and read from that whether I speak the truth."
"Gabriel Nietzel, too, came to warn me," murmured the Prince, quivering with pain, "and afterward it was he who poisoned me. From him come these fearful tortures which are burning now like the flames of hell."
"Gracious sir, oh, my dear sir!" cried Dietrich now, coming up to the bed and kneeling beside it, "I beseech you, take nothing from her. I have heard all, and I tell you it is Schwarzenberg who sends this Jewess to you. Trust her not, my beloved Prince, take none of her hellish mixtures!"
"Trust me," said Rebecca quietly. "If life is dear to you, if you hope in the future, if you would take vengeance upon the man who is your real murderer, whose mere tool my poor husband was, then accept the remedy which I bring you!"
"Yes," cried the Electoral Prince, with countenance lighting up, "yes, I will take it! Give me your remedy. Hush, Dietrich, hush! I will take it!"
"Praised be Jehovah! he will take it!" said she joyfully, drawing forth from her bosom a little flask. "Before I give you the medicine, I have something to say to you, Frederick William. As soon as you have taken it, you will fall into a deep sleep, almost resembling death. If you are disturbed in this, the efficacy of my cordial will be destroyed."
"Dietrich," said the Prince composedly, "you will take care that no one disturbs my slumbers. I command you so to do!"
"I shall obey, most gracious sir," murmured Dietrich.
"When you awake after six hours," continued Rebecca, "you will experience a feeling of ineffable comfort. Be not deluded by this, and attempt to leave your couch. Rest is necessary for you, and you are then only on the road to health. That you may be perfectly cured I must come again to-morrow night, and once more administer the cordial. Mind that to-morrow night, as at present, you be alone. No one must be with you but old Dietrich. He is a trusty, affectionate servant, and I hope to God will tell no one what he has seen and heard here, for I would be lost if he should do so."
"I swear, in the presence of Almighty God, that I will keep silence," said
Dietrich solemnly.
"And now, enough of words!" cried she. "See, Dietrich, the pains begin anew, and his features twitch convulsively. We must procure him relief."
She took a glass from the table and emptied into it half of the brown liquid contained in her little flask. Then she bent over the Prince and held the glass to his lips.
"Drink this," she said, with solemnity, "and may the Lord our God bless the potion to you!"
The Prince drank in long draughts, emptying the glass to the last drop.
Then he uttered one shriek, and sank back senseless on the pillow.
"If you have murdered him," cried Dietrich, shaking his fist with menacing gesture—"if you have murdered him, be sure that I shall find you out and hand you over to the hang-man."
She slowly turned and once more drew the long white veil over her face.
"To-morrow night I shall come again," she said. "Attend well to him,
Dietrich, and see that he swallows nothing but what you give him yourself."
Then she opened the door and stepped out. The corridor was still empty and tenantless; the sentinels had not yet ventured to return to their posts. They had all collected below in the guardroom, which was situated in the rear of the castle toward the Spree, and, pale with agitation and horror, were talking in whispers of the awful event. All at once it seemed to them as if a white shadow glided past outside the windows, as if two great, sparkling eyes looked in upon them. They jumped up, rushed out of the room, and out of the castle, shrieking out to the town, "The White Lady! the White Lady!"
A couple of inquisitive men coming from Schwarzenberg's palace heard the shriek of terror and screamed it to others, and like a tempest of wind it rolled on, dragged everything into its eddying circle of awe and fright, rushed howling through the night and penetrated into the brilliantly lighted palace of Count Schwarzenberg, even into the ball-room, where the tired couples were whirling in the last dance.
"The White Lady! the White Lady has appeared in the castle!"
The words ran through the halls. The dancing ceased, and the music paused in the midst of a piece begun, for the Elector himself had risen from his game of cards, and the Electress had called the Princesses from among the dancers.
"The White Lady has been seen in the castle!"
These fearful words, brought to him by his wife, frightened the Elector out of his comfortable mood, and dissipated the cheering effects of the wine. The White Lady threatened him with death! The thought filled his whole soul, and made him all at once sober and serious.
"The Lady in White has appeared in the castle," sighed the Electress, "and my son Frederick William is sick. I must go to him—I must go to my son!"
The equipage rolled off to the castle. The Elector leaned back gloomily in the corner, thinking to himself: "If I only knew whether she wore white or black gloves! Perhaps she only means to warn me, perhaps there is yet time to escape the mischief! The air of Berlin is very bad, and I vex myself too much here. As we drove up to the castle when we came from Königsberg, one of our carriage horses stumbled and fell. That was an ill omen, and we should have heeded it and turned about immediately. Perhaps there may yet be time to flee from the threatened evil, if we go back to Königsberg! If I only knew what kind of gloves the White Lady wore!"
"Just tell me what sort of a tale this is about the White Lady?" asked Count Schwarzenberg of his Chamberlain von Lehndorf, after his guests had taken their leave.
"Your excellency, one of the sentinels on duty at the castle to-day came rushing into the palace, and shrieked out wildly and madly: 'The White Lady! I have seen the White Lady! I must speak to the Elector! I have seen the White Lady!' I assure your excellency, it was actually terrific to witness the poor man's fright. He was pale as death, with tottering knees and trembling in every limb. I myself felt a cold shudder creep over me, although usually I am neither timid nor superstitious. But it is such a singular coincidence, that the White Lady should appear on the very day when the Electoral Prince was taken so suddenly ill."
"Yes, it is a singular coincidence," said Schwarzenberg, shrugging his shoulders, "and I should like to know the connecting link. Well, I hope to fathom the mystery, and then the ghost story will resolve itself into a ridiculous reality. Early to-morrow morning I shall have all the soldiers called up, who were on duty at the castle to-night, and question them myself. The castellan's wife, too, must be summoned. She is an honest woman of bold and sober wits, and from her I shall be best able to learn what is the meaning of this masquerade. Good-night, Lehndorf, sleep off your fright, you sentimental man, over whom a childish shudder still creeps, whenever he hears a nursery maid's tale! I really envy you your implicit faith, you credulous man! One thing more, though: what news have we from the Electoral Prince?"
"Most gracious sir, according to the latest accounts, the Electoral Prince was enjoying a little rest, having fallen into a profound sleep."
"Very fine!" said the count, entering his cabinet. "Good-night, Lehndorf!"
XI.—THE PURSUIT.
The next morning Count Schwarzenberg interrogated all the sentinels who had been on guard at the castle on the preceding night. They unanimously affirmed that they had been awake and watchful when they had seen the White Lady. The sentinel before the Electoral Prince's apartments had seen her enter those rooms, even distinctly heard the door creak as it closed behind her. Collectively the sentinels asseverated that afterward they had seen the White Lady pass before the guardhouse windows, and that she had even looked in upon them with her great black eyes. Even to-day they shuddered and trembled at the bare remembrance of the frightful apparition, and swore that they would rather die than see that horrible woman again. Then, when the soldiers had withdrawn, came the castellan's wife, who had been summoned by Chamberlain von Lehndorf.
"And what say you to the goblin of last night?" asked Count Schwarzenberg, noticing the castellan's wife with a condescending nod.
"Most noble sir," replied the old woman solemnly, "I say that a member of the Electoral family will die."
"What? you, the prudent, wise, intelligent Mrs. Culwin—you, too, believe this ridiculous story?"
"Most revered sir, I believe in it because I know the White Lady, and have seen her often before."
"Oh, indeed," smiled the count; "you count the White Lady among your acquaintances; you have seen her often before? Just tell me a little about her, my dear dame! When did you first see the specter?"
"Almost twenty years ago, if it please your honor. I had just been a year in Berlin. Your honor knows I came here from Venice in the capacity of maid to your lady of blessed memory, and had committed the folly of giving up the countess's good service in order to marry Culwin, the young castellan."
"And why do you call that a folly?" asked Count Schwarzenberg, laughing. "I have always believed that you lived in happy wedlock with your good man."
"That may be so, your excellency, but for all that, a lady's maid, who can live independently always commits a folly in submitting to a husband's rule. And I could support myself, for your excellency paid me such a handsome salary, and I was in such favor with your blessed lady. Often, before I stupidly left her to get married, she would call me, and we would talk together of our beautiful home, our beloved Venice. Ah! your excellency, we have often wept together, and longed ardently to behold once more the city of the sea. Whoever comes from there never recovers from homesickness and wherever he goes, and however far he may be removed, his heart still clings to Venice. That the gracious countess often remarked to me, weeping bitterly, which did her good, and—"
"You were to tell me when you first saw the White Lady," interrupted Count Schwarzenberg, for he felt uncomfortable at being reminded of his wife, knowing as he did that she had spent but few happy days at his side.
"That is true, and I beg your excellency's pardon," replied Mrs. Culwin. Well, then, I saw the White Lady for the first time in the year 1619. I had sat up late at night, for it was a few days before the Christmas festival, and, in accordance with German customs, I wished to make a Christmas present for my husband, but had not finished the piece of embroidery I destined for that purpose. As I sat thus and sewed, I felt as it were a cold breath of air on my cheek, as if some one rapidly moved past me. I looked up startled, and there stood before me a tall, womanly figure, clad in white, looking at me from under her veil with dark, flashing eyes; and then she strode toward the door, but ere she went out she lifted her arms toward heaven, and folded her hands, which were covered with black gloves, fervently together. So she stood for awhile, and then vanished without my seeing the door open or shut. So long as the specter was there I had sat stiff and motionless, as if rooted to the spot; my heart seemed to stand still; I tried to scream, but could not. When she was gone, though, I shrieked fearfully, and my husband hastened to me, to find me in convulsions, and for hours I screamed and wept. My husband, indeed, tried to talk me out of it, and made me promise to speak of the occurrence to no one. But my silence was of no consequence, for the next day it was known to all the inmates of the palace that the White Lady had appeared, for very many had seen her. The old Elector John Sigismund had such a dread of the White Lady, and feared so much that she would appear to him, that he left the castle that very day, and went to the residence of his Chamberlain Freitag. There, however, he died in the course of two days, just two days before Christmas.[25] The White Lady was therefore right, with her deep mourning and black gloves.[26] It was not the head of the family who died, for the old Elector had abdicated, and Elector George William was even then reigning Sovereign."
"Truly, that sounds quite awful," cried Count Schwarzenberg; "and since you saw the apparition with your own eyes, I can not dispute it. You said, though, I think, that you had often seen it?"
"Twice more, gracious sir. The second time was in the year 1625. There again, one night, in the center of my room stood the White Lady, and again lifted up her arms toward heaven before departing, and again she wore black gloves. And the next day died the brother of our Elector, the Margrave Joachim Sigismund."[27]
"And the third time?"
"For the third time I saw the White Lady ten years ago, therefore in 1628. This time she also wore black gloves, and a black veil besides. She again strode through my room, but neither wept nor wrung her hands. She had also appeared to the Elector himself, and addressed a few Latin words to him, which in German my husband said ran thus: 'Justice comes to the living and the dead.'"[28]
"I remember this last story very well myself," said Count Schwarzenberg, with a peculiar smile. "His Electoral Grace was very much shocked by the apparition, and its appearance was supposed to announce years of terrible war, for no one in the Electoral family died. Now tell me, Mrs. Culwin, at what time did the White Lady appear yesterday, and how was she dressed?"
"Your excellency, I can not say exactly, for I did not see her yesterday. The soldiers however, and watchmen, too, affirm that she was dressed entirely in white, which betokens the death of a person of high rank."
"You did not see the White Lady yesterday, then? I think she always passes through your room, Mrs. Culwin?"
"She took another route this time, and something quite unusual happened: she even appeared outside of the castle, for the soldiers maintain that she passed before their windows, and the watchman, who was just making his round, swears that he also saw a white figure glide past the wall. It seems that this time the White Lady came from the Spree side. She did not enter the great corridor at all, but repaired immediately to the Prince's apartments. The sentinel says she went in, and that he distinctly heard the door creak and shut as she passed through."
"Formerly no opening or shutting of doors was to be heard, was there?" asked the count.
"No, your excellency, I never heard anything of the kind, and it always seemed to me as if the door opened not at all, and as if the White Lady vanished like mist."
"And she only visited the Prince's apartments? Do you know who was there?"
"Nobody but the Electoral Prince and his valet, I hear. I myself was not at home when the event occurred. Your excellency's stewardess had invited me to assist her in preparing yesterday's feast, and I only returned in haste as soon as it was rumored that the White Lady was abroad in the castle."
"But you have surely seen and questioned the Prince's valet?"
"He is the only man in the castle who can not be approached with good or evil words, your excellency, and who brooks not being questioned. Of course, I tried questioning him about the White Lady, but his only answer was that he had seen nothing, and did not believe in ghost stories. He only knew that his dear young Prince was sick, and he troubled himself about nothing else."
"He is still sick then, the Electoral Prince?" asked Count Schwarzenberg with indifference. "Has he not slept off his intoxication yet?"
"Most gracious sir, I do not believe that it was intoxication, else surely the Prince would be well to-day! But he is not at all better, and the Electress, who visited her son early this morning, broke forth into loud weeping when she saw him, for he must look just like a corpse."
"Did he recognize the Electress? Did he speak to her?"
"He knows nobody, he does not open his eyes, but lies there stiff and stark like a dead man, and if he did not sometimes fetch a breath, you would believe that he were already dead. This the little Princess herself told me, as I accidentally met her in the passage, when she returned from visiting her brother. But the doctor says this sleep is the beneficial result of his treatment, and that when the Electoral Prince awakes he will be quite restored to health. He has ordered that no one else be admitted to see the Prince, and Dietrich watches over him like a Cerberus."
"And he does well in that, Mrs. Culwin. I thank you for your information, and if anything new should happen I beg of you to come to me forthwith. Tell me one thing more: Do you believe that the specter will come again to-night? Is it the custom of the White Lady to show herself oftener than once?"
"My husband maintains that if she appears, as at this time, all in white, she will come again three nights consecutively. So it was when the Elector Sigismund died. I saw her only once, and she wore black gloves, but the next evening my husband saw her on the other side of the castle dressed all in white, and on the third evening the Elector died."
"It would be interesting if the White Lady should come again to-night. I should like to know if it is the case, and—Well, farewell, Mrs. Culwin, and if you learn anything new, share it with me. Perhaps I shall come over to the castle myself to-night."
He held out his hand to the old woman, and, as he pressed hers, he let a well-filled purse slip into it. He cut off her expressions of gratitude by a short nod of the head, and waved her toward the door. The castellan's wife withdrew, and, absorbed in deep thought, Count Schwarzenberg remained alone in his cabinet. With hands folded behind his back, he walked for a long while to and fro. His pace was ever steady, ever composed; his countenance seemed quite cheerful, quite tranquil, and yet his soul was stirred by passion and a storm was raging in his breast.
"He is alive—he is still alive," he said to himself. "One could almost believe that he has a star above which watches over him and preserves him. It has been ever so from childhood; and at times when I think of him I experience an unwonted sensation—I am afraid of him. He is my deadly enemy, I know it. If I did not thrust him aside, he would do so with me. If I did not kill him, he would kill me. It was a mere act of self-defense to put him out of the way. If it miscarries, I am lost, for I shall not soon have courage for a second attempt. I am a coward in this young man's presence, I am afraid of him! He is my fate, my evil fate! And I can not avert it, can undertake nothing more. I lack a tool. Oh, what a blockhead I was to dismiss Nietzel! His own sins were the scourge by which I lashed him into action. He was as wax in my hands, and if he failed this time, he must have tried it again. I would have driven him to it, and he would have been forced to obey. If the Electoral Prince should now get well, Nietzel would be glad, for he is a soft-hearted fool, and had it not been for Rebecca's sake, he could never have brought himself to commit the deed. Even while he executed it his heart bled, and—My God!" he suddenly exclaimed, "what a thought bursts upon me! If this Nietzel—"
He was silent and sank into an armchair, putting his hands before his face, to shut out the outer world, to be undisturbed in his deep train of thought.
Long he sat there, silent and motionless. Then he let his hands glide from before his face, which had now again resumed its haughty, composed expression, and arose from his seat.
"I must know what is the meaning of this ghost story," he said softly to himself. "Nowhere has the phantom been seen but in the antechamber to the Prince's rooms. It did not go like other spirits through walls and closed doors, but must needs open and shut doors, like ordinary mortals. Yet old Dietrich denies having seen the White Lady in the Electoral Prince's room. Then afterward the White Lady was seen outside the castle, she did not vanish through the air, but went out like a human being. It is a plot, that is clear. They are conspiring with the Electoral Prince, and profit by the mask to obtain safe access to the castle; or it may be Nietzel, come to confess what he has done to the Prince—maybe even to bring him a remedy. I must unravel it! I am sure the illusion succeeded so well last night that the apparition will be repeated. I shall make my regulations accordingly, and if it is so, then let the White Lady beware of me, for I am a good conjurer. I shall go to the castle myself to-night, and when the sentinels flee, I shall go in. Ah! we shall see who is stronger, the White Lady or the Stadtholder in the Mark!"
Melancholy and quiet reigned all day long in the Electoral palace. The Elector himself remained in his cabinet and had the court preacher John Bergius called, that he might pray with him and edify him by a few hours' pious conversation. But the dreadful uncertainty as to whether the White Lady had appeared in deep mourning or with black gloves still continued to disturb him, and whenever a door opened a shudder crept through his veins, for he thought that the White Lady herself might be coming to call him away.
"I shall leave Berlin," he said perpetually to himself. "I shall return to Königsberg; for if I stay here I will certainly die of anxiety and distress. I can not live in the house with a ghost. I shall go away. Ah! there is the door opening again! Who is it? Who dares come in here?"
"It is I, my husband," cried the Electress, bursting into tears. "I am just from our son."
"How is he?" asked the Elector carelessly. "Has he at last slept off the fumes of liquor?"
"Alas! George, I fear this is no case of intoxication, but he is dangerously sick. The White Lady did not appear for nothing."
"What, you think she came on our son's account?" asked the Elector, almost joyfully. "You think it is not for our—" He paused and drew a breath of relief, for he felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his soul. "You really think, my dear, that the White Lady came on our son's account?"
"I fear so, alas! I fear so! My son is sick and will probably die, and our house will be left desolate, become extinct, and ingloriously decay. Oh, my son! my son! I had built all my hopes upon him, and when I thought of him the future looked bright and promising."
"And if he were no more, then would all look sad and gloomy to you, although your husband would still be at your side, which rightfully ought to console you. But you have ever been a cold wife to me and a tender mother to your son, and it really vexes me to see how you love the son and despise his father. What an ado you make merely because your son has taken a little too much liquor, and suffers from the effects of intoxication, as the doctor says!"
"But I tell you, George, the Electoral Prince is sick, and the White
Lady—"
"I will hear no more of that," broke in the Elector passionately; "it is a silly, idle tale, not worthy of credit. Everybody is dinning it into my ears to-day, and it is simply intolerable to have to listen. I just wish that I could leave this place, to be rid of this tiresome ghost story, and not to have to undergo such torment and vexation. In Königsberg, at least, we live in peace and quiet, and are not forever plagued by the sight of sullen faces and perpetual threats of war and pestilence. In Königsberg Castle, too, the White Lady has never appeared, and there are no nightly apparitions there."
"Let us return to Königsberg, George!" cried the Electress. "Do so for our son's sake; I tell you if we stay here, he is lost! Death stands forever at his side, threatening his precious young life! Ask me not what I mean, for I can not explain myself; yet I feel that I am right, and that he is lost if we do not speedily depart. Only listen this one time to my entreaties and representations, my husband. Let us set out before it is too late."
"Well then, Elizabeth, I will do as you wish," said George William, who was glad that he could grant his wife what he so ardently wished himself. "Yes, we shall promptly depart, since you urge it so pressingly."
The Electress gently encircled her husband's neck with her arm and imprinted a kiss upon his brow. "Thank you, George," she whispered. "You have probably saved our son from death. May the merciful God grant him restoration to health, and so soon as this is the case let us set off."
"Make all your preparations then, Elizabeth, for I tell you your tenderly beloved son is only a little tipsy, and to-morrow will be well as ever."
"God grant that you speak the truth, George. Then let us commence our journey day after to-morrow," which is Wednesday. But hark! I have one more request to make of you. Tell no one of our projected trip. Let us make our preparations in perfect secrecy."
"For all that I care," growled the Elector. "The principal thing is to be off. Abode here has been hateful to me ever since I heard those shouts of the populace the day our son returned. I can not live in a city where the mob undertakes to meddle in government affairs, and even prescribes to its Sovereign the dismissal of his minister. It is an uproarious, insolent rabble, the rabble of Berlin, and I shall not feel glad or tranquil until I have left the place."
"And I, too, George, will not feel glad or tranquil until we have left the place, carrying our son with us. I am going to work directly, and will prepare everything for our departure, and consult with my daughters. But I must first go and see how our son is."
The Electress hastened back to the apartments of the Electoral Prince, and old Dietrich came to meet her with joy-beaming countenance to announce to her that the Prince was awake, and felt perfectly well. "He only feels a great weakness in his limbs, and his head is heavy. The doctor has been here, and ordered that the Prince be kept perfectly quiet to-day, and not allowed to speak with any one or to leave his bed. To-morrow he will be quite well again."
"Then I will not speak to him," exclaimed the Electress; "I will only take one look at him and give him one kiss."
She entered her son's sleeping room and stepped up to his couch. The
Electoral Prince smiled upon her, and his large eyes greeted her with
tender glances. He had already opened his mouth to speak, but the
Electress quickly laid her hand upon his lips.
"Do not speak, my Frederick," she whispered softly. "Sleep and compose yourself; know that your mother tenderly loves you. For my sake, my son, keep quiet to-day; keep your bed and talk with no one. Will you not promise me?"
He nodded smilingly and imprinted a kiss upon the hand which his mother still held over his lips. The Electress hurried away, and Frederick again remained alone with his old valet.
"Now, Dietrich," he whispered softly, "now keep watch that no one enters, and let us quietly await the night."
"Your grace thinks that the White Lady brought you good medicine last night, and that she will come again, do you not?"
"I am convinced of it, my good old man. God has sent her for my cure. God will not have me die already."
"The name of the Lord be blessed and praised!" murmured Dietrich, sinking upon his knees in fervent prayer.
Deep stillness pervaded the Electoral Prince's apartments the whole day long, for nobody dared venture in. The doctor himself, who came toward evening, only peeped in through a crevice of the door, and nodded quite contentedly when Dietrich whisperingly told him that the Prince had again fallen into a gentle slumber.
"I knew it," said the doctor with gravity. "My medicine was meant to cure him by means of sleep, and I am not surprised that my calculations have proved perfectly correct. To-morrow the Prince will be perfectly well—that is to say, if he regularly takes my medicine. It has been prepared for the second time, I hope?"
"Yes, indeed, doctor, and the Prince has half emptied the second bottle."
The doctor nodded with an important air, and repaired to the Electress, to inform her that the Electoral Prince had been upon the point of taking a violent nervous fever, but that the right medicament, which he had given him, had averted this evil, and saved the Prince from imminent peril.
Old Dietrich, however, threw away a spoonful of medicine every quarter of an hour, and when night came the bottle was empty.
And now the longed-for night had closed in with its curtain of darkness, its noiselessness and quiet. Deep silence ruled throughout the castle, no loud word was any longer to be heard, not a man was to be met in hall or passage. Before the ushering in of the momentous hour each one had made haste to tuck himself up in bed, and shut his eyes, for everybody dreaded lest the specter of the preceding night should walk abroad again and show itself to him. The sentinels in the corridor before the Electoral suite of rooms and in the vestibule of the Prince's apartments dared not walk to and fro, for the noise of their own steps terrified them, and the dark shadows of their own forms, thrown upon the ground by the dim oil lamps, filled them with unspeakable dread. They had planted themselves stiffly and rigidly beside the doors, firmly determined as soon as the awful apparition should show itself to take to their heels and return to the guardroom. And happily they had some justification for this, inasmuch as the soldiers had received orders from the Stadtholder in the Mark, when they relieved guard, to convey instant tidings to the guardhouse if anything remarkable should occur.
In order to convey instant tidings, they must of course take to their heels and forsake their posts. This was the only comfort of the soldier who was stationed in the vestibule leading to the princely apartments, and therefore he stood close to the door, which was only upon the latch, that he might the more rapidly gain the grand corridor, and warn in his flight the sentinels there. Yet he dared not open his eyes, and his heart beat so violently that it took away his breath.
The great cathedral clock tolled the hour of midnight with loud and heavy strokes. The clock in the castle tower gave answer, and then the wall clock in the great corridor slowly and solemnly struck twelve.
The soldier closed his eyes, and murmured with trembling lips, "All good spirits praise the Lord our God."
The clangor of the clocks had ceased, and all again was still.
The soldier ventured to open his eyes again. As yet no sound broke in upon the stillness; his glance timidly and slowly made the circuit of the hall. The two oil lamps burned clearly enough to enable him to survey the whole intervening space. He saw everything quite distinctly. There the door with the lamps, here the door beside which he leaned; against the wall on that side those two huge, black wooden presses, so curiously carved, and between them that little door. This door began to make him uneasy. Whither did it lead? Why stood no guard there? Was it locked or merely latched? He asked himself all this with quickly beating heart, and could not turn his glance from it. He had never before observed it. Now it seemed to him as if it moved! A cold shudder ran through his whole frame.
Yes, it was no illusion! Yes, the door opened, and there stood the White Lady in her long, flowing robes! The soldier did not shriek, for horror had frozen the scream upon his lips. He tore open the door, and rushed into the corridor, and his deadly pale and terrorstricken face imparted with greater rapidity than words to the two sentinels there the dreadful tidings. All three ran down the corridor together to the front door, down the steps, across the wide court, and into the guardroom.
"The White Lady! the White Lady!" they gasped.
"Where is she? Who has seen her?" inquired a form emerging from the rear of the room and approaching them; and now, as the lamplight fell upon this form, the soldiers recognized it very well—it was the Stadtholder in the Mark himself who stood before them, and behind him they saw his Chamberlain von Lehndorf and the police-master Brandt.
"Which of you has seen the White Lady?" asked Count Schwarzenberg once more.
"I, gracious sir," stammered one of the three with difficulty. "I was stationed before the Electoral Prince's rooms, and I saw the White Lady enter through the little door between the two presses."
"And whither went she?"
"That I did not see, your excellency, for—"
"For you ran away directly," concluded Count Schwarzenberg for him. "And you two others! You stood in the great corridor; did you see the apparition, too?"
"No, your excellency, we did not see her. She did not come through the great corridor."
"You did not see her. Why did you run away then?"
"Your excellency, we ran away because—because—we do not know ourselves."
"Well, I know," cried the count, shrugging his shoulders. "You ran away because you are cowards! Hush! No excuses now! We shall talk about it early to-morrow morning. Stay here in the guardroom. I myself will go up and see what folly has frightened you hares. Lehndorf and Brandt, both of you stay here and await my return."
"But, most gracious sir," implored the chamberlain, "I beg your permission to accompany you. Nobody can know—"
"Whether the White Lady may not stab and throttle me, would you say? No, Lehndorf, I fear no woman's shape, be she clothed in white or black. I am well armed, and methinks the White Lady will find her match in me. All of you stay here; but if I should not return in an hour, then you may mount the stairs and see whether the White Lady has borne me off through the air.—Which of you," he said, turning to the soldiers—"which of you stood guard before the princely apartments?"
"It was I, your excellency."
"Whence came the White Lady?"
"She came through the little door between the two presses in the vestibule."
"It is well! You will all stay here. And, as I said, Lehndorf, if I return not in an hour, then come."
He nodded kindly to the chamberlain and strode out of the room.
Meanwhile above, in the Electoral Prince's chamber, the White Lady had been expected with glowing impatience. Dietrich had already stood for a quarter of an hour at the antechamber door, waiting with palpitating heart for her appearance. The Electoral Prince had with difficulty raised himself up, and, supporting himself upon his elbows, had been listening with uplifted head in the direction of the door ever since the midnight hour had struck. And now the door opened and the White Lady glided in. With gentle, undulating gait and veil thrown back she went to the Prince's bed, and when she saw him sitting up a smile lighted up her pale face.
"You see, Electoral Prince Frederick William, I have not deceived you," she said; "you live, and you will now get perfectly well."
"Yes, I believe that I will get well," replied the Prince; "and I owe my life to you."
"Never mind that," said she, slowly shaking her head. "I am not here for your sake, but for my poor Gabriel's sake, to expiate his sin and to free his soul from guilt. I dare not use many words. The fame of the White Lady has spread through the whole city, and it may well be that they are on my track to-night—that Count Schwarzenberg's suspicions have been aroused.
"He is a bad man, and I am afraid of him."
"And yet you have come here! Have not shunned danger in order to save me!"
"I have not shunned danger in order to go to my beloved and be able to tell him—'Lift up your head and rejoice in the Lord; crime is taken away from your head—you are no murderer, for the Electoral Prince lives.' One thing I would like to add, and I beseech you to grant it to me. Say that you will pardon Gabriel Nietzel."
"I pardon Gabriel Nietzel with my whole heart, and never shall he be punished for what he has done to me! You have atoned for his crime, and may God forgive him, as I do."
"I thank you, sir. And now take your second draught."
She took the little flask, poured the rest of its contents into a glass, and handed it to the Prince.
"Drink and be glad of heart," she said, "for to-morrow, early in the morning, you will awake a sound man. The angel of death has swept past you; take good heed lest you fall a second time into his clutches. Flee before him to the greatest possible distance. There, take, drink life and health from this glass, and the Lord our God be with you in all your ways!"
"I thank you, and blessed be you too!" And the Electoral Prince took the glass from her hand and drained it.
"It is finished," said Rebecca, heaving a deep sigh.
"Now I can return to my beloved and my child. Farewell!"
"Give me your hand, and let our farewell be that of friends," said
Frederick William.
She reached forth her little white hand from beneath her veil, and he cordially pressed it within his own. "You are a noble, high-minded woman, and I shall ever remember you with gratitude and friendship. I owe you my life; it is truly a great debt, and you would be magnanimous if you could point out some way whereby the weight might be a little lessened. I beseech you tell me some way in which I may prove my gratitude."
"I will do so, sir! Some day when you are Elector, and a reigning Sovereign in your land, then have compassion upon those who are enslaved and oppressed, then spare the Jews!"
She turned away, drew her veil over her head, and disappeared.
"My work is finished! My beloved is atoned for!" exulted her soul. As if borne on wings of happiness and bliss, she soared through the antechamber and stepped out into the vestibule.
All here was still and quiet, and she did not observe that the sentinel no longer stood at the door. Her thoughts were withdrawn from the present, her soul was far away with him—him whom she loved, for whom she had risked her life.
Thus she sped through the great space and approached the door between the two presses. All at once she started and shrank back, and the tall, manly form standing before this door sprang forward, and with strong hand tore her veil impatiently from her head.
"Rebecca!"
"Count Schwarzenberg!"
For one moment they surveyed one another with flaming eyes.
She read her death sentence in his looks. But she would not die. No, she would not die! She would see her beloved, her child once more! With a sudden jerk she freed her arm from the hand that held her prisoner. She knew not what to do, whither she could flee. She had only a vague consciousness that to be alone with him meant death—that she would he safe only outside the castle. Without, on the street, Schwarzenberg would not venture to seize her, for he knew that she possessed his secret and that she would accuse him. She flew across the vestibule, tore open the door to the long corridor, and sprang down it like a hunted deer. But the pursuer was behind her, close behind her! She heard his breath, he stretched out his hands toward her—she felt his touch, and again she burst loose and flew away!
At the end of the corridor is a small staircase which leads to the upper stories. She knows the way—oh, she knows the way! Above it is another long corridor, and if from the head of the stairs she turns to the right, she will reach the great staircase. She will hurry down to the quarters of the castellan and his wife; she will call—scream!
Oh, if she can only get so far!
She flies up the little steps, but she feels the pursuer close at her heels. And just as she reaches the top step, his hand, like a lion's paw, is laid upon her shoulder.
"Stand still, or I will strangle you!" he murmurs. "Stand still, and I swear that I will not kill you!"
"No, no, I do not believe you!" she gasps, and with both hands she seizes his and thrusts it back. Only on, on! She no longer knows whether she turns to the right or left, she runs down the dimly lighted corridor, and he follows.
"O God! O God! there is no staircase!" She has missed the way—there is no way out now! The dread enemy is behind her! She can no longer avoid him! He will kill her, for she knows his secret! No escape!—no deliverance!
But at the end of the corridor she sees a door. If she can only succeed in opening it, jumping into the room, shutting the door, and drawing the bolt!
"God help me! God be with me!" she calls out aloud and flies to the door, bursts it open, rushes through, and—his weight presses against it; she can not shut it, she can not draw the bolt. He is there with her in that little room, which has no other outlet. No deliverer is near! She falls upon her knees, and lifts up her arms to him imploringly. "Oh, sir! oh, sir, pity! Do not kill me! I will be silent as the grave!"
"As the grave!" repeats he, with a savage smile.
He stoops down and something bright glitters in his hand! She sees it quite clearly, for it is a bright summer night, and her eyes are inured to darkness.
"Almighty God, you would murder me! Mercy, sir, mercy!"
He has closed the door behind them, yet the shriek of her death agony has penetrated the door and echoed down the corridor. Nobody hears it. All the chambers in this upper story are bare and uninhabited, and for economy's sake the corridors and staircases in this upper part of the castle are unlighted. To-day, however, at nightfall, the Stadtholder had himself brought word to castellan Culwin that every passage, landing, and staircase in the whole castle should be lighted! And so it was, and even in that remote upper story lamps are burning. How long and solitary this corridor is! Not the slightest sound has broken the stillness since those two sprang into that room.
But now! A fearful, piercing shriek! A death cry forces its way through the door and in one long echo vibrates along the corridor. It sounds like the wailing and moaning of invisible spirits. Then nothing more interrupts the silence. Nothing more!
The door opens again, and Count Schwarzenberg steps into the corridor.
He is alone.
He locks the door and puts the key into his pocket. Then, with quiet, firm tread, he goes down the corridor, down the little staircase, and finally, with composed, haughty bearing, down the great staircase into the guardroom.
"God be praised, your excellency, that you are here!" calls out Lehndorf, hastening to meet him.
Count Schwarzenberg nods to him, and then turns to the soldiers, who stand there silent and motionless.
"What fools you are!" he says, shrugging his shoulders. "To put you soldiers to flight no cannon is required, but only a couple of white cats. A white cat it was, which made cowards of you. I saw her bounding along before me through the great corridor, and followed her to the upper story. There she slipped into an open door, the last door in the upper story. I jumped after her into the little apartment, but she must have found some other way out, for I could find her nowhere again, and that is the only wonder of the whole story, for the windows were closed. For the rest I command you to let naught of this story transpire, for fear of giving rise to idle tales."
The soldiers heard him in reverential silence, but the next morning it was known throughout the castle and almost through the whole city that the White Lady had made her appearance again, and that at last, when pursued, she had vanished in the form of a white cat in one of the rooms in the upper story of the castle. After that nobody ventured into the upper story, and, as it was uninhabited, it was not necessary to station sentinels there.
XII.—THE DEPARTURE.
When the Electoral Prince awoke the next morning after a long, refreshing slumber, his first glance fell upon his faithful old valet, who stood at the foot of his couch, his face actually beaming with joy.
"Why, Dietrich," said Frederick William, "you look so happy! What has altered your old face so since yesterday?"
"The sight of you, most gracious sir, for your face has altered, too. Your cheeks are no longer deadly pale, nor your features distorted. Your highness looks quite like a well man now; somewhat pale, it is true; but your lips are again red and your eyes bright. Ah, gracious sir, the dear White Lady kept her word, she saved you!"
"God bless her!" said the Electoral Prince solemnly. "But hark! old man, tell nobody that I have been saved. You must not use such dangerous words, not even think them. There was no need to save me, for I have been exposed to no peril. I have not been sick at all, but only overcome by wine, and, to speak plainly, drunk—do you hear, old man? I have been drunk two whole days: such is the account you must give of my attack."
"I shall do so, your highness, since you order it; but it is a sin and a shame that I should slander my own dear young master, who is such a sober, steady Prince."
"Now, Dietrich," said the Electoral Prince, with a melancholy smile, "you give me more praise than I deserve. I was not quite so sober in Holland."
"No, sir; in dear, blessed Holland, life was a different thing. It was like heaven there, and when I looked at your grace I always felt as if I saw before me Saint George himself, so bold, spirited, and happy you ever seemed."
"And so I felt, too," said the Prince softly to himself. "But all that is past now. All! The costly intoxication of happiness is at an end, and I am sobered. Yes, yes," he continued aloud, springing with energy from his couch, "you are quite right, old Dietrich. Now help this sober, steady Prince to dress himself, that he may wait upon the Elector and Electress and announce his recovery to them."
After the Electoral Prince had made his toilet, he repaired to the Electoral apartments to pay his respects. George William received his son with sullen peevishness of manner, hardly deigning to bestow upon him more than a single glance of indifference.
"Why, you still look pale and weak," he said coolly. "It is no great honor for a Prince to be overcome by a couple of glasses of wine, and to succumb as if he had been struck by a cannon ball."
"Most gracious sir," replied Frederick William, smiling, "I hope yet to be able to prove to your highness that I can stand against the fire of cannon balls better than Count Schwarzenberg's wine, and that I can go to meet a battery of artillery more bravely than a battery of bottles."
"I hope it will not be in your power to prove any such thing, sir," cried the Elector impatiently. "I want to hear nothing about war, and you must banish all thoughts of war and heroic deeds from your mind, and become a peaceful, law-abiding citizen. Your head has been turned in Holland, but I rather expect to set it right again! We are going back to Prussia, and you will accompany us. Go now to the Electress, and disturb me no longer in my work."
Frederick William bowed in silence and repaired to his mother's apartments. The Electress received him with open arms, and pressed him to her heart.
"I have you again, my son, I have you again," she cried with warmth. "A merciful God has not been willing to deprive me of my only happiness; he has preserved you to me. Oh, my son, I love you so much, and I feel, moreover, that you love me, and that we shall understand each other, and that all causes of disagreement will disappear so soon as that hateful, dreaded man no longer stands between us—he, who is your enemy as well as mine. We are going back to Prussia, and my heart is full of joy, hope, and happiness. There I shall have you safe; there you are mine, and no murderer or enemy there threatens my beloved only son!"
"But, most revered mother, there the worst, most dangerous enemy of all threatens me."
"Who is he? What is his name?"
"Idleness, your highness. I shall be condemned there to an inactive, useless existence. I shall have nothing to do but to live. O most gracious mother! intercede for me with my father and Count Schwarzenberg, that I may be appointed Stadtholder of Cleves, for there I would have something to do, there I could be useful, and they wish for my presence there."
"You do not wish to stay with me, then?" asked his mother, in a tone of mortification. "You already wish yourself away from me and your sisters?"
The Prince's countenance, which had been just aglow with enthusiasm, having for the moment dropped its mask, now once more assumed its serious, tranquil expression, and again the mask was drawn over its features.
"I by no means long to be away from you," he said quietly, "but I shall delight in accompanying you to Prussia."
"That is what I call spoken like a good, obedient child," cried the Electress, "and, Louise, I advise you to profit by such an example. Just look at your sister, Frederick, only see what a sorrowful figure she presents. She does not even come to welcome her brother, but sits there quite disconsolate with tears in her eyes."
"No, dearest mother, I am not crying," replied the Princess gently. "I, too, am right glad that we are to return to Prussia."
"That is not true, mamma," exclaimed Princess Hedwig Sophie; "she is not glad at all. On the contrary, she cried and lamented all last night, thinking that I was asleep and knew nothing about it. But I heard everything. I know that she would rather stay here, and that she finds it charming here all of a sudden, although she used to think it so dull. But Louise has entirely changed these last four days, and since he has been here she finds tiresome old Berlin a splendid place, and—"
"But, Hedwig," interrupted her sister, whose cheeks were suffused with a crimson flush, "what are you talking about, and how can you chatter such nonsense?"
"It is true, she talks nonsense," said the Electress severely; "yet I should like to know what her words signify. Who is he who has so transformed tiresome Berlin in your sister's eyes?"
"Why, you do not know, mamma?" asked the mischievous child, smiling and putting on a look of astonishment.
"You do not know who loves our Louise so ardently, so passionately? You do not know the man for whose sake she would leave father and mother? You do not know the only man whom the Princess Charlotte Louise loves?"
"I do not know, but I command you to tell me!" said the Electress dryly.
"Well," said the Princess, smilingly surveying the group, "it is our dear, only brother—it is Frederick William."
"You are a little blockhead!" exclaimed the Electress, shrugging her shoulders and smiling.
"You are a dear little rogue," said Frederick William, tenderly embracing his willful sister. She playfully broke away from him, dancing through the hall, and challenging her brother to pursue and overtake her. Princess Louise said not a word, but the blush upon her cheeks died away, and the expression of horror and alarm vanished from her features.
Still Princess Hedwig Sophie kept up her frolic, and as often as the Prince thought he had caught her she flew off again like a butterfly. Finally, at the extreme end of the hall, he held her fast, and now, laughingly and tenderly, she flung her arms about his neck, and whispered softly: "Expect me this evening in your room at nine o'clock. I have something important to tell you. Silence!"
Again she let him go, and continued to hop about, laughing merrily and cheerfully as a child.
And in the evening, when the clock in the great corridor had just struck the ninth hour, the Princess Hedwig Sophie slipped unperceived into the room of her brother, who already held the door open for her and awaited her coming.
"Look, here you are, my princess of the fairies," said he, smiling. "What is there now on hand, and what playful scheme are you revolving in your mind to-day?"
But the countenance of the Princess exhibited no signs of playfulness. It was pale, and her whole being seemed under the influence of violent excitement.
"Frederick," she said hurriedly, "I have a dreadful secret to confide to you. Our sister Louise loves Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg."
"I thought as much," murmured the Prince.
"I have known it for a long while," continued the Princess, "but I took no notice of it, hoping that absence and separation would make her forget him. But since his return I have had no more hope. Last night, in her distress, she betrayed all to me, and I must tell you something dreadful, something shocking. You must reveal it to nobody—not another one must know it. Do you promise me that?"
"I promise, Hedwig. But tell me what it is."
She bent over close to his ear and whispered:
"She has granted him a rendezvous."
"Impossible, sister, you are mistaken!"
"No, no, Frederick, I am not mistaken. I heard her myself when she told him so. It was in Count Schwarzenberg's hothouse; I came behind her with the ladies, and she thought I was paying no attention whatever to her and all that she was saying to Count Adolphus. But I managed to watch her constantly without attracting the attention of the ladies I was with. My eyes and ears are very sharp, and I saw her press a note into his hand, and heard her repeat to him the contents of the note, appointing an interview with him this evening at ten o'clock. Old Trude is to wait for him at the back side door of the castle next to the cathedral, and she is to conduct him to her. You must not suffer it, Frederick William; that bad Count Schwarzenberg shall not carry off my sister."
"No, that he shall not," said the Prince. "I thank you, sister, for coming to me. We two shall save her—we two alone, and nobody shall know anything about it. Even she herself must not find out that we know her secret. We must be brisk and determined, though, for it is late, only wanting a half hour of being ten o'clock. Who is old Trude?"
"Louise's chambermaid, who has been with her all her life, for Trude was her nurse. She idolizes our sister, and would go through fire and water for her sake. What Louise commands is law with her."
"Then we must prevent old Trude, by force or cunning, from going to the door and admitting the count."
"By force, impossible, for that would make a noise; but by cunning. I have it, Frederick, I have it! I will entice old Trude into my room and then lock myself in with her, playing all sorts of tricks, and seeming to have no object at all in view but amusement and teasing. I will take care of old Trude."
"And I of Count Schwarzenberg. It is high time, sister! Make haste, lest old Trude escape you. But hark! It will be necessary for you to speak to the old woman, besides. You must threaten her with revealing the whole affair to our father if she does not do as you command, and tell our sister that she waited for the count a whole hour in vain."
"You are right, Frederick. That is still better. Louise must believe that he did not come. To work!—to work!"
The Princess sprang away with the fleetness of a gazelle, and the Prince was left alone.
"I wish I could go to meet him sword in hand," he muttered between his clinched teeth. "I understand their game. They would have poisoned me and carried off my sister, so that she would have been forced to marry him, and then by means of the Emperor she would have been declared heiress of the Electoral Mark of Brandenburg. Ah! I penetrate their designs, and they shall not succeed. Their poison proved inefficacious, and so shall their love! Now away to the door through which the fine gallant was to have entered. He will find it locked, and I shall keep guard before it the livelong night."