"Now for composure and cool blood. It can be no small matter which moves you so strongly. I will not leave you until I see you well protected." He looked at Gabriel, who made him a sign. "Do not trouble yourself further in the matter. Be quietly seated, and allow me to confer with Gabriel. I will take care of everything for you, and I shall answer for everything."
Ilse looked at him thankfully and seated herself obediently. Mr. Hummel beckoned Gabriel into the next room.
"What has happened here?" he asked.
"The master has gone away for a few days; meanwhile Mrs. Werner has been treated in an unseemly way; great wickedness is carried on here, and they will not let her go."
"Not let my lodger go?" cried Mr. Hummel; "ridiculous! I have a passport to Paris in my pocket, we will skip over this country like grasshoppers. I will fetch a conveyance immediately."
Gabriel shook his head. The confidants again conferred together. Mr. Hummel came back and said, with greater seriousness, to Ilse:
"Now I must beg of you to write a few lines to the Crown Inspector-to the husband, not to his wife, otherwise there would be confusion. You must request him, immediately after the receipt of this letter, if he is willing to do a great kindness, to come here in a closed carriage, to stop in the suburb, at the Black Bear; and he must not leave his carriage. Nothing further. This letter Gabriel will convey to him. How he does so is his affair, not ours; if he chooses to fly, like this ambiguous genius on the ceiling, who has forgotten its overcoat, it will be so much the better. Now the letter is written, forgive me if I read it. All right and accurate-away, Gabriel, quickly. When you have passed the castle, then make speed: till then, act like a composed philanthropist. I will allow you to whistle my Dessauer, if you can. If they ask you any questions, say you are attending to some business for me."
Gabriel hastened away. Mr. Hummel placed his chair in front of Ilse, and looked at his watch.
"You will have to wait five hours for the carriage if all goes right. Meanwhile you must bear my company, I will not leave the house without you. Do not be troubled at the delay. I am glad of it; for I wish to speak with you as with an honorable woman, to whom I can take off my hat with true respect, concerning my own affairs, which I have much at heart. We have time enough for it. I have also brought some papers to the Professor; they are of little importance, but I will lay them on the table, and we shall sit opposite each other like people of business. Then I should be glad if you would give that Judas in the servants' chamber a few instructions for me. Have the goodness also to take everything away that might lead him to suppose that you and I were going to elope."
Ilse looked round her, undecided.
"What shall I say to the man, Mr. Hummel?"
"You are so good a housewife," replied Hummel, politely, "that I can leave entirely to you to decide what you will provide for me. I have been travelling the whole day," and he made a significant gesture towards his waistcoat.
"Ilse jumped up; in spite of all her anxieties, she could not help laughing, and said:
"Forgive me, Mr. Hummel."
"That is the right frame of mind," replied Hummel; "there is no better remedy for tragic spirits than a well spread table. I beg, therefore that you will send not only for one plate, but for two. I could not eat if you were looking on. Believe me, Mrs. Werner, the noblest feelings are not to be depended on if an honest piece of bread and butter is not impressed on them as a stamp. It makes people calm and firm-and you will have occasion for these virtues to-day."
Ilse rang the bell.
"If the knave appears," proceeded Mr. Hummel, "mention to him my name and my firm. I do not generally travel incognito, and I wish not to be looked upon as a mystery here."
The lackey appeared. Ilse gave him orders to fetch the necessary refreshment, and asked him how it was he had denied her dear landlord admittance.
The man stammered an excuse, and went away hastily.
"When I came to the house I was aware that all was not right here. I asked after you at the castle and received no satisfactory answer. I asked a man at the back of the castle who was wandering about, which was your house. He looked at me like a crossbill. You were travelling, he declared, and he tried to discover my secret. Thereupon there was a short conversation, in which cross-bill showed his spite because I in ignorance called him by his proper title of spy. The sentinel came up at this, and I saw that these jovial comrades had a great mind to arrest me. Then a young gentleman appeared, who asked the other the cause of the disturbance, and said he knew that you were at home. He accompanied me up to this house, asked my name politely, told me also his own, Lieutenant Treeclimber, and advised me not to be frightened away, that the servants were insolent, but that you would be rejoiced to see an old friend. He must be known to you."
The lackey laid the table. Whenever he offered Mr. Hummel a dish, the latter gave him a withering look, and did not endeavor to make his office easy to him. While the servant was removing the things, Mr. Hummel began:
"Now permit me to talk of our affairs, it will be a long account; have you patience for it?"
The evening had set in, darkness lay over the dismal house, the storm came on, the windows rattled, and the rain poured down. Ilse sat as in a dream. In the midst of the stormy scenes of the past day and the uneasy expectation of a wild night, the comfortable prose of the Park Street rose before her, where, fearless and secure, she was at peace with herself and the world, – so far as the world was not vexatious. But she felt how beneficial this contrast was; she even forgot her own position, and listened with deep sympathy to the account of the father.
"I am speaking to a daughter," said Mr. Hummel, "who is going back to her father, and I tell her what I have said to no one else: how hard it is to bear my child's wish to leave me."
He spoke about the child whom they both loved, and it was pleasant intercourse between them. Thus several hours passed.
The lackey came again, and asked respectfully whether Mrs. Werner had sent Gabriel away.
"He has gone upon a commission for me," grumbled Mr. Hummel, to the inquirer; "he is looking after some money matters with which I did not choose to burden your honesty. If any one inquires from the city for me, I must beg, Mrs. Werner, to request this man to say that I am at home."
He again looked at his watch.
"Four hours," he said. "If the horse was good, and Gabriel did not lose his way in the dark, we may expect him every moment. If he has not succeeded, you may still be without anxiety; I will still take you from this house."
The bell below rang, and the house door opened-Gabriel entered. There was a gleam of pleasure in his countenance.
"Promptly, at ten, the carriage will stop before the inn," he said, cautiously; "I have ridden hastily in advance."
Ilse jumped up. Again the terrors of the day and anxiety for the future passed through her mind.
"Sit still," admonished Mr. Hummel again; "violent moving about is suspicious. I will meanwhile hold council once more with Gabriel."
This council lasted a long time. At last Mr. Hummel came back, and said, very seriously:
"Now, Mrs. Werner, prepare yourself; we have a quarter of an hour's walk. Yield yourself quietly to our guidance; all has been carefully considered."
Mr. Hummel rang. Gabriel, who had returned to the spy on the ground floor, entered as usual, and took several keys and a screw-driver out of his pocket, and said, cautiously:
"The first week we were here I closed the small back staircase and secured the door with a large screw; the people do not know that I have the keys."
He went to one of the back rooms and opened the entrance to a secret staircase. Mr. Hummel glided after him.
"I wished to know how I was to let myself in again," he said, returning to Ilse. "When I have taken you away some one must be heard moving about here as your spirit, otherwise all the trouble would be lost. Gabriel will take you down the back staircase, while I go out at the front door and keep the lackey in conversation. I will meet you a short distance from the house among the bushes; Gabriel will bring you to me, and I will be sure to be there."
Ilse pressed his hand anxiously.
"I hope all will go well," said Mr. Hummel, cautiously. "Take care to have a cloak that will disguise you as much as possible."
Ilse flew to her writing-table and in haste wrote these words:
"Farewell, beloved; I am gone to my father."
Again sorrow overpowered her; she wrung her hands and wept. Mr. Hummel stood respectfully aside. At last he laid his hand on her shoulder: "The time is passing away."
Ilse jumped up, enclosed the note in an envelope, gave it to Gabriel, and quickly veiled herself.
"Now forward," admonished Mr. Hummel, "out of both doors. I go first. Good bye, Mrs. Werner," he called out, through the open door; "I hope you will rest well."
He stepped heavily down the stairs, the lackey was standing on the last step.
"Come here, young man," shouted Mr. Hummel, "I wish to have you stuffed after your death, and placed before the council house as a model for later generations of the love of truth. When I return you may depend upon it I shall again give myself the pleasure of expressing my high opinion of you; then I will reveal to the Professor the consummate meanness of your character. I have a great mind to make your worthlessness known in the daily paper in order that you may become a scare-crow to the world."
The servant listened with downcast eyes, and bowed mockingly.
"Good-night, courtling," said Mr. Hummel, going out and closing the door behind him.
Mr. Hummel walked with measured tread from the house, turning to the left side where a path entered a thicket; there he concealed himself. The rain poured, and the wind roared in the tops of the trees. Mr. Hummel looked cautiously about him when he entered the darkness of the spot where Gabriel and Prince Victor had once spoken to one another of the ghosts of the castle. There was a slight stir in the thicket, a tall figure approached him and seized his arm.
"Good," said Mr. Hummel, in a low tone; "go back quickly, Gabriel, and expect me in time. But we must seek out dark paths and avoid the lights; you must conceal your face under your veil when we come into the open."
Ilse took the arm of her landlord and walked along, covered by the great umbrella which Mr. Hummel held over her.
Behind the fugitives the tower clock struck ten, when the outline of the inn outside the gate was seen against the darkened heaven.
"We must not be too early nor too late," said Mr. Hummel, restraining the steps of his eager companion. At the same moment a carriage came slowly towards them out of the darkness. Ilse's arm trembled. "Be calm," begged Mr. Hummel; "see whether that is your friend."
"I recognize the horses," whispered Ilse, breathless. Mr. Hummel approached the coachman's covered seat, and asked, as a password, "From Toad?"
"Ville," answered a firm voice. The Crown Inspector sprang down to Ilse; there was a little movement in the carriage, the corner of the leather curtain was lifted, and a small hand was put out. Hummel seized and shook it. "An agreeable addition," he said. Without speaking a word, the Crown Inspector unbuttoned the leather curtain. "My dear friend," cried a trembling female voice from within. Ilse turned to Mr. Hummel; "not a word," he said; "a pleasant journey to you." Ilse was pushed in; Mrs. Rollmaus seized hold of her arm, and held it firmly; and while the Crown Inspector was again buttoning the curtain, Mr. Hummel greeted him. "It gives me great pleasure," he said, "but for an exchange of cards this is not a favorable opportunity. Besides which, our classes, according to natural history, are not the same. But punctuality at the right time and goodwill were mutual." The Crown Inspector jumped upon the coachman's box and seized the reins. He turned the carriage, Mr. Hummel gave a farewell tap upon the wet leather curtain, the horses trotted off quietly, and the carriage passed into the darkness.
Hummel looked after it till the heavy rain concealed it from his view, cast one more searching glance down the now empty road, and hastened back to the city. He went to the Pavilion through the most remote part of the grounds; at the spot where Gabriel had put the lady under his charge, he dived into the deep shade of the trees, and made his way cautiously through the wet bushes to the back of the house. He felt along the wall. "Stop on the threshold," whispered Gabriel; "I will take off your boots."
"Cannot I be spared this court toilet?" grumbled Hummel. "Stocking-feet are contrary to my nature."
"All will have been in vain if you are heard on the staircase."
Hummel slipped up the stairs behind Gabriel into the dark room. "Here are Mrs. Werner's rooms. You must move backwards and forwards in the dark, and sometimes move the chairs, till I call you. There is now another spy, they are talking together below. I fear they suspect that we have something on hand. They look at me askance. The lackey every day carries the lamps from the sitting-room, and nothing must be altered; it would create suspicion if he did not hear some one moving about in the next room. When all is quiet, then the lackey leaves the house, and we can speak to one another."
"It is against my conscience, Gabriel," murmured Hummel, "to remain in a strange house without the permission of the owner or lodger."
"Quiet," warned Gabriel, anxiously; "I hear the man on the stairs; close the door behind me."
Mr. Hummel stood alone in the dark. He placed his boots near the arm-chair, walked around them, and sometimes gave them a push. "Very gently always," he thought, "for they are the movements of a Professor's wife. The demands which now-a-days are made on a householder exceed all imagination. An elopement from the house of a stranger, and acting the part of a lady in the darkness of night." The steps of men were heard outside, and he again pushed his boots. "Darkness in a strange house is by no means desirable," he continued, to himself. "I have always had a hatred of a dark room since I once fell down into a cellar; this gloom is only good for cats and rogues. But the most lamentable thing for a citizen is, that his boots should be withheld from him." He heard a light tread in the next room, and again moved the chair.
At last all became quiet in the house. Mr. Hummel threw himself back in the chair, and looked wearily around the strange room. A pale ray of light fell from without through a crevice of the curtains, and the tassel of the curtain and the gilded top of a chair glimmered in the darkness. Now at last Mr. Hummel might put on his boots, and then for a time he occupied himself with severe comments upon the world. His usual hour for rest had meanwhile come, and he was tired from his journey; he sank gradually into a dreamy state, and his last distinct thought was, "there must be no snoring in this princely darkness." With this intention he closed his eyes, and said farewell to the cares of the world.
In his sleep it appeared to him as if he heard a slight noise; he opened his eyes and looked about the room. He saw indistinctly that the wall looked different from what it had done. The large mirror that before stood there, seemed to have vanished, and it appeared to him as if a veiled figure stood in its place and moved. He was a courageous man, but his limbs now trembled with terror. He barricaded himself behind a chair. "Is this a magic lantern?" he began, with stammering voice; "if so, I beg you not to disturb yourself; I admire your skill, but have not my purse with me. But if you are a man, I should like a more distinct knowledge of the fact. I call upon you to show yourself in substance. I have the honor of introducing myself to you in this scanty light. Hat-manufacturer, Henry Hummel; my papers are correct-a passport to Paris." He put his hand into his breast pocket. "As a respectable citizen is bound to defend himself in these dangerous times, it has been inserted in my passport, avec un pistolet. I beg you kindly to bear this in mind." He took out a pocket pistol and held it before him. He again looked at the spot; nothing was to be seen; the mirror stood as before. He rubbed his eyes. "Stupid stuff," he said; "it was, after all, only a sleepy fancy."
The door of the house was closed outside. For a while Mr. Hummel stood looking round suspiciously, and perspiration rose on his brow. At last he heard Gabriel's knock at the door; he opened it, took the light quickly from his hand, and approached the mirror so as to throw the light upon the frame and wall.
"It seems to stand firm as iron," he said to himself; "it was only a deception."
But he hastily seized his hat, and took the servant out of the room.
"I have had enough for to-day," he muttered; "I wish to get out of this house as quickly as possible. I do not like to have you remain here alone, Gabriel. Early to-morrow I will call for you; I have business for the whole day in the city. Endeavor to sleep; in our beds we shall both think of this intrigue and of her who is still seeking a secure roof for protection from night-storms and spirits."
Ilse traveled through the night; the rain poured in torrents around her, the storm howled through the trees, and the water splashed high from the ruts about the horses and carriage. It was only between the figures of the men on the front seat that she caught glimpses of the midnight sky, which hung heavy and dark above the fugitives. Sometimes a glimmer of light twinkled from the window of a house, and then again there was nothing but rain, storm, and black night. She maintained a terrified silence during the ghostly journey, Mrs. Rollmaus still clasping her hand. Ilse was driving into the world, a storm-lashed world, poor in light and rich in tears. There was uncertainty and fearful anxiety everywhere, whether she thought of the loved one whom she left behind her in the hands of the persecutor, or saw before her the troubled countenance of her father, and the fields of the estate where the young man dwelt whose neighborhood now threatened her with new trouble; but she sat erect.
"When he returns to the door over which the dark angel hovers, he will ask in vain for his wife. But I have done what I had to do: may the sovereign Lord of life watch over me."
There was the sound of a horse's hoofs behind the carriage; it approached nearer. Where the private road to the estate branched off from the highway, a cavalier galloped up on a foaming horse; he spoke to some one on the coachman's seat, the carriage and rider rushed forward side by side for a few moments, then the rider reined in his horse. The Crown Inspector threw a branch of a tree into the carriage.
"The rider has brought this for Lady Ilse; it is from the tree under her window, and the reckoning is paid."
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE LORD HIGH STEWARD
At the same hour in which Ilse was listening to the comforting words of her landlord, the carriage of the Lord High Steward was driving to the tower castle of the Princess. The Princess received the announcement with astonishment, and flew down to her reception-room. The Professor caused the chest with its contents to be taken to his room, and was in the act of bending over the manuscript, when the High Marshal entered below to deliver himself of his commission. Meanwhile the Princess awaited the old gentleman.
The Lord High Steward had been appointed to the honorable office of attendance upon the Princess: it was a considerate way of removing him from the person of the Sovereign. At the same hour every morning his carriage was to be seen standing before the wing of the castle which was occupied by the Princess. His personal relations to the young Princess appeared cool; in Court society he was treated by her with just as much distinction as was needful, and petitioners learnt sometimes that their requests were imparted to him. He was esteemed by the citizens on account of his benevolence, and was the only one of the lords of the Court concerning whom one never heard an unfavorable opinion. He dwelt in an old-fashioned house surrounded by gardens, was unmarried, rich, without relations, and lived quietly by himself. He was, it was supposed, without influence; he was not in favor, and was therefore treated by the young cavaliers with chivalrous condescension. He was, notwithstanding all this, indispensable to the Sovereign and the Court. He was the great dignitary who was necessary for all ceremonious affairs; he was counsellor in all family matters; he was ambassador and escort in all transactions with foreign powers. He was well known at most of the courts of Europe, had acquaintances in the great diplomatic bodies, and enjoyed the special favor of various rulers whose good will was of importance to the Sovereign; and as in our courts the reputation that one enjoys at foreign capitals is the standard of the judgment of the palace, the correspondence which he carried on with political leaders in foreign countries, and the abundance of broad ribbons of which he had the choice, gave him with the Sovereign himself an authority which was at the same time burdensome and valuable; he was the secret counsellor for the Court and the last resource in difficult questions.
The servant opened the door of the Princess's room with a profound bow to the old gentleman. Indifferent questions and answers were exchanged, the Princess entered the adjoining room and intimated to her faithful lady-in-waiting by a sign that she was to keep watch in front. When the conversation was secure from the ear of any listener, the demeanor of the Princess altered, she hastened up to the old gentleman, seized him by the hand, and looked inquiringly at his earnest countenance:
"Has anything happened? No trifle could have caused you to take the trouble of coming into this wilderness. What have you to say to your little daughter, – is it praise or blame?"
"I am but fulfilling my duty," replied the old lord, "if I make my appearance in order to take your Highness's commands, and to ascertain whether the residence of my gracious Princess is suitably arranged."
"Your Excellency has come to complain," exclaimed the Princess, drawing back, "for you have not one kind word for your little woman."
The High Steward bowed his white head in apology:
"If I appear more serious than usual to your Highness, it is perhaps only the fancies of an old man which have intruded themselves at an unseasonable time. I beg permission to relieve myself of them by discussing them with your Highness. The health of the Sovereign is a cause of anxiety to us all: it reminds us of the transitory nature of life. Even the good humor of Prince Victor does not succeed in dissipating my troubled thoughts."
"How does my cousin?" asked the Princess.
"He overcomes the difficulties of being a Prince in a wonderful way," replied the High Steward; "but he is sound to the core; he knows very well how to manage serious things cleverly. I rejoice," added the courtier, "that my gracious Princess feels warmly towards a cousin who is faithfully devoted to her Highness."
"He has always been true and kind to me," said the Princess, indifferently. "But now you have punished me severely enough. What you have to say to me confidentially must not be carried on in this way."
She took a chair, and pushed it into the middle of the room.
"Here, sit down, my worthy lord, and allow me to hold the hand of my friend when he tells me what makes him anxious on my account."
She fetched herself a low tabouret, held the right hand of the old lord between hers, looking earnestly into his eyes.
"Your Highness knows the way of giving me courage to make bold requests," said the courtier, laughing.
"That is more to the purpose," said the Princess, relieved; "I now hear the voice and hold the hand of him in whom I most love to trust."
"But I wish for your Highness a nearer and stronger support than myself," began the old lord, earnestly.
The Princess started.
"So it was that which occasioned your Excellency's journey?" she exclaimed, with agitation.
"That was the anxiety which occupied me. It is nothing-nothing more than an idea," said the High Steward, inclining his head.
"And is that to tranquilize me more?" asked the Princess. "What has hitherto given me the power to live but your Excellency's ideas?"
"When your Highness, while still in widow's weeds, was called home, the wish of the Sovereign, making it a duty to attend upon you, was welcome to me; because I thereby obtained the right of carrying on this conversation with your Highness."
He motioned with his hand to the seat, and the Princess again hastened to place herself by his side.
"Now when I see your Highness before me in the bright bloom of youth, richly gifted and fitted to confer the greatest happiness on others and to partake of it yourself, I cannot forbear thinking that it is wrong for you to be debarred from the pleasures of home."
"I have enjoyed this happiness and have lost it," exclaimed the Princess. "Now I have accustomed myself to the thought of renouncing much. I seek for myself a compensation which even you will not consider unworthy."
"There is a difference between us of more than fifty years. A mode of life, proper for me, an unimportant man, may not be permitted the daughter of a princely house. I beg the permission of my beloved Princess," he continued, with a gentle voice, "to draw aside to-day the curtain which has covered a dark image of your early youth. You were witness of the scene which separated the Sovereign from your illustrious mother."
"It is a dark recollection," whispered the Princess, looking up anxiously at the old lord; "my mother was reproaching the Sovereign, – it was something concerning the fateful Pavilion. The Sovereign got into a state of excitement that was fearful. I, then but a little girl, ran up and embraced the knees of my mother; he dragged me off, and-" the Princess covered her eyes. The old lord made a motion to stop her, and continued:
"The after-effect of the scene was ruinous to the life of a noble woman, and also to that of yourself. Then for the first time the diseased irritability which has since darkened the Sovereign's spirit displayed itself; from that day the Sovereign sees in you the living witness of his guilt and his disease. He has for years endeavored to wipe away from you that impression by kindness and attentions, but he has never believed himself to be successful. Shame, suspicion, and fear have continually ruined his relations with you. He will not let you go away from him, because he fears that in your confidence to another man you might betray what he would fain conceal from himself. He unwillingly gave in to the first marriage, and he will oppose a second, for he does not wish to see your Highness married again. But in the hours when dark clouds lie over his extraordinary spirit, he rejoices in the thought that your Highness might lose the right of secretly reproaching him. The thought that he did an injury to the princely dignity of his wife gnaws within him, and he is now occupied with the idea that your Highness might under certain circumstances forget your position as princess."
"He hopes in vain," exclaimed the Princess, excitedly. "Never will I allow myself to be degraded by an unworthy passion; it has not been without effect that I have been the child of your cares."
"What is unworthy of a princess?" asked the High Steward, reflectively. "That your Highness would keep yourself free from the little passions which are excited in the quadrille of a masked ball there can be no doubt. But intellectual pastime with subjects of great interest might also disturb the life of a woman. Easily does the most refined intellectual enjoyment pass into extravagance. More than once has the greatest danger of a woman been when under powerful external excitement, she has felt herself to be higher, freer, nobler than her wont. It is difficult to listen to entrancing music and to preserve oneself from a warm interest in the artist who has produced it for us."
The Princess looked down.
"Supposing the case," continued the High Steward, "in which a diseased man, in bitter humor, should meditate and work for such an object, the sound person should guard himself from doing his will."
"But they should also not allow themselves to be disturbed in what they consider for the honor and advantage of their life?" cried the Princess, looking up at the old man.
"Certainly not," replied the latter, "if such benefits are in fact to be gained by the playful devotion of a woman to art or learning. It would be difficult for a princess to find satisfaction in this way. No one blames a woman of the people when she makes a great talent the vocation of her life; she may satisfy herself as singer or painter and please others, and the whole world will smile upon her. But if my gracious Princess should employ her rich musical talent in giving a public concert, why would men shrug their shoulders at it? Not because your Highness's talent is less than that of another artist, but because one expects other objects in your life; the nation forms very distinct ideal demands of its princes. If, unfortunately, the ruling princes of our time do not find it easy to answer to this ideal, yet to the ladies of these illustrious families the serious tendency of the present day makes this more possible than in my youth. A princess of our people ought to be the noble model of a good housewife, – nothing more and nothing else: true and right-minded, firmly attached to her husband, careful in her daily duties, warm hearted to the needy, kind and sympathizing to all who have the privilege of approaching her. If she has intellect, she must beware of wishing to shine; if she has a talent for business, she must guard herself from becoming an intrigante. Even the great social talent of virtuosoship she must exercise with the greatest discretion. A well-weighed balance of female excellence is the best ornament of a princess; her highest honor, that she is better and more lovable than others, without parading it, with goodness and capacity in everything, and with no pretensions of any kind. For she stands too high to seek conquest and acquisition for herself."