CHAPTER XXXIX.
BEFORE THE CRISIS
The cattle lowed and the sheep-bells tinkled, and the springing blades of wheat waved in the wind. The eldest daughter of the family was again walking in the garden, surrounded by her brothers and sisters. What has become of the glad brightness of your eye and the hearty child's laugh, Lady Ilse? Your countenance has become serious and your demeanor subdued; your looks scan critically the men about you and the paths that you tread, and calm commands sound from your lips. Your home has not made your heart light, nor given you back again what you lost among strangers.
But it zealously exercises its right to be loved by you and to show you love; it recalls familiar images to your soul, and old recollections awake at every step; the people whom you fostered faithfully in your heart, the animals that you cared for, and the trees that you planted, greet you, and labor busily to cover with bright colors what lies gloomily within you.
The first evening was painful. When Ilse, accompanied by her neighbor, entered her home a fugitive, striving to conceal what tormented her, amidst the terror of her father and the inquisitive questions of her brothers and sisters, anger and dismay once more threw their black shadows over her. But on the breast of her father, under the roof of a secure house, together with the feeling of safety, her old energy revived, and she was able to conceal from the eyes of her loved ones that which was not her secret alone.
Another painful hour came. Ilse was sitting late in the evening, as years before, on her chair opposite her father. After her story was told, the strong man looked down anxiously, used hard words concerning her husband, and cursed the other. When he told her that even in her father's house danger threatened her, when he desired her to be cautious at every step, and when he told her that in her childhood there had been a dark rumor that a maiden from the house on the rock, a child of a former possessor, had been the victim of a distinguished prince, she raised her hands to heaven. Her father seized them and drew her towards him.
"We are wrong to forget in an uncertain future how mercifully Providence has guarded you. I hold you by the hand and you stand on the soil of your home. We must do what the day requires, and trust everything else to a higher Being. As for the talk of strangers we care not; they are weather-cocks. Be calm and have confidence."
The younger children chattered innocently; they asked about the charming life at the capital, they wished to know accurately what their sister had gone through, and above all how the Sovereign of the country had treated Ilse, he whom they thought of as a holy Christ, as the unwearied dispenser of joy and happiness. But the elder ones were more cautious in their language without exactly knowing why, with that kind of natural tact which children show towards those whom they love. Ilse accompanied her sister Clara through the upper floor, they arranged the room for the guests who were expected, and placed an immense bunch of flowers in the room which Mr. Hummel was to occupy. Her brothers took her through the kitchen-garden into the narrow valley, and showed her the new wooden bridge over the water to the grotto, which their father had built as a surprise for Ilse. Ilse passed by the swollen brook, the water rushed yellow and muddy over the rocks, it had overflowed the small strip of meadow by its banks and flowed in a strong stream down the valley to the town. Ilse sought the place where she once, under the foliage and wild plants, lay concealed, when she read in the eyes of her Felix the acknowledgement of his love. This cosy nook was also flooded; the stream ran muddily over it, the flowers were broken down and washed away, the alder bushes covered to their upper branches, and reeds and discolored foam hung round them: only the white stem of a birch rose out of the devastation, and the flood whirled round its lowest branches.
"The flood is passing away," said Ilse, sadly; "in a few days the ground will again be visible, and where the verdure has been injured the mild rays of the sun will soon restore it. But how will it be with me? There is no light so long as he is not with me, and when I see him again how he will be changed? How will he, so serious and zealous, bear the cold wind of adversity that has passed through his life and mine?"
Her father watched her carefully; he talked to her more frequently than formerly. Whenever he returned from the field he told her of the work that was doing on the farm; he was always taking care not to touch on thoughts that might give her pain, and the daughter felt how tender and loving was the attention of the busy man. Now he beckoned to her from a distance, and near him was walking a thick-set figure, with a large head and comfortable aspect.
"Mr. Hummel!" exclaimed Ilse, joyfully, and hastened with winged footsteps towards him. "When will he come?" she called out, with eager expectation.
"As soon as he is free," replied Hummel.
"Who detains him there?" said the wife, looking sorrowful.
Mr. Hummel explained. At his report the wrinkles on Ilse's forehead disappeared, and she led her guest into the old house. Mr. Hummel looked astonished at the tall race that had grown up on the rock: he looked with admiration on the girls and respectfully at the heads of the boys. Ilse did not to-day forget what becomes a good housewife in welcoming a guest. Mr. Hummel was happy among the country people, and delighted with the flowers in his room; he took the sprightly lad Franz upon his knee, and made him drink almost too much out of his glass. Then he went through the farm with the proprietor and Ilse; he was clever in his judgment, and he and his host recognized in each other sound common sense. At last Ilse asked him frankly how he was pleased with her home.
"Everything is magnificent," said Hummel; "the development of the family, their curly heads, the flowers, the cattle, and the domestic arrangements. Compared to the business of H. Hummel, it is like a gourd to a cucumber. Everything capacious and abundant, only to my taste there is too much straw."
Ilse was called aside by her father. "The Prince is preparing to depart. He has expressed a wish to speak to you first. Will you see him?"
"Not to-day. To-day belongs to you and our guest, but to-morrow," said Ilse.
On the morning of the day following, Professor Raschke entered his friend's room prepared for the journey.
"Has the Magister disappeared?" he asked, anxiously.
"He has done what he was obliged to do," replied Werner, gloomily. "Whatever his future life and fortune may be, we have done with him."
Raschke looked anxiously on the furrowed countenance of his colleague.
"I should like to see you on the road to your wife, and better still, with her on the road back to us."
"Have no doubt, friend, that I shall seek both roads as soon as I have a right to do so."
"Ilse counts the hours till your return," said Raschke, in still greater anxiety; "she will not be at rest till she has fast hold of her loved one."
"My wife has long been deprived of rest while she was with me," said the Scholar, "I have not understood how to defend her. I have exposed her to the claws of wild beasts. She has found from strangers the protection that her own husband refused her. The indifference of her husband has wounded her in that point which it is most difficult for a woman to forgive. I have become a mere, impotent dreamer," he exclaimed, "unworthy of the devotion of this pure soul, and I feel what a man never should feel-ashamed to meet my excellent wife again." He turned his face away.
"This feeling is too high-strained, and the reproaches that you angrily make yourself are too severe. You have been deceived by the cunning prevarication of a worldly wise man. You yourself have expressed that it is ingloriously easy to deceive us in things in which we are not cleverer than children. Werner, once more I entreat of you to depart with me immediately, even though by another road."
"No," replied the Scholar, decidedly; "I have all my life long been clear in my relations with other men. I cannot do things by halves. If I feel a liking, the pressure of my hand and the confidence that I give does not leave a moment's doubt of the state of my heart. If I must give up my relation to any one, I must have the reckoning fully closed. I cannot leave this place as a fugitive."
"Who demands that?" asked Raschke. "You only go like a man who turns his eyes away from a hateful worm that crawls before him on the ground."
"If the worm has injured the man, it is his duty to guard others from the danger of like injury, and if he cannot guard others, he ought to clear his own path.
"But if he incurs new danger in the attempt?
"Yet he must do what he can to satisfy himself," exclaimed Werner. "I will not allow myself to be robbed of the rights that I have against another. I am called upon by the insult to my wife; I am called upon by the ruined life of a scholar, whom we both lament. Say no more to me. Friend, my self-respect has been severely wounded, and with reason. I feel my weakness with a bitterness that is the just punishment for the pride with which I have looked upon the life of others. I have written to Struvelius, and begged his pardon for having so arrogantly treated him in the uncertainty that once disturbed his life. Here is my letter to our colleague. I beg you to give it to him, and to tell him that when we meet again I wish to have no words upon the past, only he must know how bitterly I have atoned for having been severe with him. But, however much patience and consideration I may require from others, I should lose the last thing that gives me courage to live, if I went from here without coming to a reckoning with the lord of that castle. I am no man of the world who has learnt to conceal his anger beneath courtly words."
"He who seeks to call a man to account," exclaimed Raschke, "should have the means of getting firm hold of his opponent, otherwise what should be satisfaction may become a new humiliation."
"To have sought this satisfaction to the utmost," replied Werner, "is in itself a satisfaction."
"Werner," said his colleague, "I hope that your anger and indignation will not draw you into the thoughtless vindictiveness of the weak fools who call a brutal playing with one's own life and that of others satisfaction."
"He is a prince," said the Professor, with a gloomy smile; "I wear no spurs, and the last use I made of my bullet mould was to crack nuts with it. How can you so mistake me? But there are things which must be expressed. There is a healing power in words; if not for him who listens to them, yet for him who speaks. I must tell him what I demand of him. He shall feel how my words are forced down into his joyless heart. My speaking out will make me free."
"He will refuse to hear you," exclaimed Raschke.
"I will do my best to speak to him."
"He has many means of preventing you."
"Let him use them at his peril, for he will thereby deprive himself of the advantage of hearing me without witnesses."
"He will set all the machinery that his high position affords him in motion against you; he will use his power recklessly to restrain you."
"I am no bawling soothsayer who will attack Cæsar in the open street, to warn him of the Ides of March. My knowledge of what will humble him before himself and his contemporaries, is my weapon. I assure you he will give me opportunity to use it as I will."
"He is going away," said Raschke, anxiously.
"Where can he go to that I cannot follow him?"
"The apprehension that you will excite in him will drive him to some dark deed."
"Let him do his worst; I must do what will give me peace."
"Werner!" cried Raschke, raising his hands, "I ought not to leave you in this position, and yet you make your friend feel how powerless his honest counsel is against your stubborn will."
The Professor went up to him and embraced him. "Farewell, Raschke. As high as any man can stand in the esteem of another, you stand in mine. Do not be angry if, in this case, I follow more the impulse of my own nature than the mild wisdom of yours. Give my greeting to your wife and children."
Raschke passed his hands over his eyes, drew on his coat, and put the letter to Struvelius in his pocket. In doing so he found another letter, took it out, and read the address. "A letter from my wife to you," he said; "How did it come into my pocket!"
Werner opened it; again a slight smile passed over his face. "Mrs. Aurelia begs me to take care of you. The charge comes at the right moment. I will accompany you to your place of departure; we will not forget the cap or cloak."
The Professor conducted his friend to the conveyance; they spoke together, up to the last moment, of the lectures which both wished to give in the approaching term. "Remember my letter to Struvelius," were Werner's last words, when his friend was seated in the carriage.
"I shall think of it whenever I think of you," said Raschke, stretching out his hand from the carriage.
The Professor went to the castle for a last conversation with the man who had called him to his capital. The household received him with embarrassed looks. "The Sovereign is just starting on a journey, and will not return for some days; we do not know where he is going," said the Intendant, with concern. The Professor, nevertheless, desired him to announce him to the Sovereign, his request was urgent; the servant brought as an answer that his master could not be spoken to before his return; the Professor might impart his wishes to one of the aides-de-camp.
Werner hastened to the adjacent house of the Lord High Steward. He was taken into the library, and gave a fleeting glance at the faded carpet, the old hangings, which were covered with engravings in dark frames, and on the large bookshelves, with glass doors, lined within, as if the possessor wished to conceal what he read from the eyes of strangers. The High Steward entered hastily.
"I seek for an interview with the Sovereign before his departure," began the Professor, "I beg of your Excellence to procure me this audience."
"Pardon my asking you your object," said the High Steward. "Do you wish again to speak to a sufferer concerning his disease?"
"The diseased man administers a high office, and has the power and rights of a healthy one; he is answerable to his fellow-men for his deeds. I consider it a duty not to go from here without informing him that he is no longer in a condition to perform the duties of his position."
The Lord High Steward looked with astonishment at the Scholar.
"Do you insist on this interview?"
"What I have learned since my return here from the country compels me to do so; I must seek this interview by every possible means in my power, whatever may be the consequences."
"Even the consequences to yourself?"
"Even these. After all that has passed, the Sovereign cannot refuse to hear me speak before I go."
"What he ought not to do he will yet try to do."
"He will do it at his peril," replied the Professor.
The High Steward placed himself in front of the Professor, and said, impressively:
"The Sovereign is going to Rossau to-day. The plan is secret. I accidentally learnt the orders, which were given at the princely stables."
The Scholar started.
"I thank your Excellence from my heart for this communication," he exclaimed, with forced composure. "I will endeavor to send a speedy warning beforehand. I shall not start, myself, till your Excellence has seconded my efforts to speak to the Sovereign before his journey."
"If you seek an audience through me," said the High Steward, after some consideration, "I will, as an officer of the Court, and from personal esteem for you, immediately convey your wish to the Sovereign. But I will not conceal from you, Professor, that I consider a criticism from you upon past events as very risky in every point of view."
"But I am thoroughly impressed with the conviction that the criticism must be made," exclaimed the Professor.
"To the Sovereign alone, or before others?" asked the High Steward.
"If the ears and mind of the Sovereign remain closed, then before the world. I shall thus fulfil an imperative duty to all who might suffer from the dark fancies of this disordered mind; a duty from which I, as an honest man, cannot escape. If calm remonstrance will not move him, I shall publicly arraign him before the rulers and people of our nation. For it is not to be borne that the conditions of ancient Rome should again rise to life among our people."
"That is decisive," replied the High Steward.
He went to his bureau, took out a document, and presented it to the Scholar.
"Read this. Will you renounce a personal interview with the Sovereign if this paper is signed by his hand?"
The Professor read, and bowed to the High Steward.
"As soon as he ceases to be what he has been, I shall consider him merely as an afflicted man; in this case my interview with him would be useless. Meanwhile I repeat my request to procure an audience before the Sovereign's departure."
The High Steward took back the document.
"I will endeavor to act as your representative. But do not forget that the Sovereign travels to Rossau in another hour. If we ever see each other again, Mr. Werner," concluded the old lord, solemnly, "may both our hearts be free from anxiety about that which sometimes one esteems lightly, as you do at this moment, but which one does not willingly allow one's self to be robbed of by the intervention of another."
The Professor hastened to the inn and called for his servant.
"Show me your fidelity to-day, Gabriel: none but a messenger on horseback can arrive at Bielstein in time. Do your best, take courier's horses, and put a letter into the hands of my wife before the Court carriages arrive there."
"At your command, Professor," said Gabriel, with a military salute, "it is a hard ride even for a hussar; if I am not detained in changing horses, I trust to be able to deliver the letter in due time."
The Professor wrote in haste, and despatched Gabriel; then he returned to the dwelling of the High Steward.
The Sovereign was lying wearily on his sofa, his cheeks pale and his eyes dim-a thoroughly sick man.
"I had formerly other thoughts, and could, when I had touched the keys, play more than one melody; now everything changes itself into a discordant measure: she has gone, she is in the neighborhood of the boy, she laughs at her foolish wooer. I see nothing before me but the track on the high road that leads to her. A strange power eternally strikes the same notes within me, a dark shadow stands near me and points with its finger incessantly to the same path; I cannot control myself, I hear the words, I see the road, I feel the dark hand over my head."
The servant announced the High Steward.
"I will not see him," said the Sovereign, imperiously. "Tell his Excellence that I am on the point of departing for the country."
"His Excellence begs admittance, it is a question of an urgent signature."
"The old fool," murmured the Sovereign, "usher him in."
"I am unfortunately much pressed for time, your Excellence," he called out to him, as he entered.
"I do not wish to make a long demand upon the time of my most Serene Lord," began the courtier. "Prof. Werner begs that your Highness will consent to receive him before his departure."
"What is the cause of this importunity?" exclaimed the Sovereign; "he has already been here, and I have refused him."
"I must be permitted to make the respectful remark that after all that has passed, the honor of a personal interview cannot well be refused him. Your Highness would be the last to approve of so marked a violation of seemly considerations."
The Sovereign looked vindictively at the High Steward.
"All the same, I will not see him."
"Besides these considerations, it is not advisable to refuse this interview," continued the old lord, with emphasis.
"Of that I am the best judge," replied the Sovereign, carelessly.
"This person has become privy to certain things, the exposure of which, for the sake of the princely dignity, must be avoided, even at a heavy sacrifice, for he is not bound to keep the secret."
"No one will listen to an individual, and a dreamer at that."
"What he will divulge will not only be believed, but will excite a storm against your Highness."
"Gossip from bookworms will not hurt me."
"This person is a highly-respected man of character, and will use his observations to demand of the whole civilized world that the possibility of similar occurrences at this Court should be made impossible."
"Let him do what he dare," cried the Sovereign, with an outbreak of fury, "we shall know how to protect ourselves."
"The exposure may yet be guarded against; but there is only one last and radical remedy."
"Speak out, your Excellence; I have always respected your judgment."
"What inflames the Professor," continued the courtier, cautiously, "will become generally known; at all events it will produce a great sensation and dangerous scandal; nothing further. It was a personal observation only that he was compelled to make at the foot of the tower; it was a conjecture only which he gave vent to beneath the same tower. According to his assertion, two attempts have been made, and yet neither has been followed by evil consequences. To be able to provoke the public judgment of the civilized world on such grounds is doubtful. However upright the narrator may be, he may himself have been deceived. Your Highness remarks rightly that the irritation of a single scholar would occasion disagreeable gossip, nothing further."
"Most admirable, your Excellence," interrupted the Sovereign.
"Unfortunately there is one important circumstance that I have not yet added. With respect to that personal observation at the foot of the tower, the Scholar has a witness, and I am that witness. When he calls upon me for my testimony and speaks of my personal observation, I must declare that he is right, for I am not accustomed to consider half-truth as truth."
The Sovereign started.
"It was I who restrained the hand," remarked the courtier; "and because that simple scholar is in the right, and because I must confirm his views concerning the state of my gracious master's health, I tell you there is only one last and radical remedy." The High Steward took the document out of the portfolio. "My remedy is, that your Highness should, by a great resolve, anticipate the storm, and high-mindedly consent to make this declaration the expression of your will."
The Sovereign cast a look on the paper, and flung it away from him:
"Are you mad, old man?"
"Insanity has not yet been discovered in me," replied the High Steward, sorrowfully. "If my gracious master would but weigh the circumstances with his usual acuteness! It has unfortunately become impossible for your Highness to carry on the duties of your high calling in the way you have hitherto done. Even if your Highness considered it possible, your faithful servants are in the painful position of not partaking of this opinion."
"These faithful servants are my High Steward?"
"I am one of them. If your Highness will not consent to give your princely approbation to this project, consideration for that which is dearer to me than your Highness's favor will forbid my remaining in your service."
"I repeat the question, have you become insane. Lord High Steward?"
"Only deeply moved; I did not think that I would ever have to choose between my honor and my service to your Highness."
He took out another document from the portfolio.
"Your resignation," exclaimed the Sovereign, reading. "You should have added to it, 'with permission.'" The Sovereign seized the pen. "Here, Baron von Ottenburg, you are released from your office."
"It is no joyful thanks that I express to your Highness for it. But now it is done, I, Hans von Ottenburg, express to you my respectful request that your Highness would still, at this hour, be pleased to sign the other document. For in case your Highness should hesitate to fulfil the earnest entreaties of a former servant, this same request, from now on, will be forced upon your Highness's ear in many ways, and by persons who would not use so much consideration for your Highness as I have hitherto done. Till now there has been one who has begged of you, a professor, – now there are two, he and I, – in another hour the number will become burdensome to your Highness."
"A former High Steward, a rebel!"
"Only a petitioner. It is your Highness's right, of your own free will, to make the high decision to which I endeavor to influence you. But I beg you once more to consider that it can no longer be avoided. Your Highness's Court will, in the next hour, be brought front to front with the same alternative as myself; for my regard for the honor of these gentlemen and ladies will compel me, on the same grounds which have led to my decision, not to be silent with respect to them. Without doubt, the gentlemen of the Court will, like me, approach your Highness with earnest entreaties, and, like me, will resign in case their entreaties are unsuccessful, and without doubt your Highness will have to find new attendants. Respect for the honor and the office of those who rule under you will oblige me to make the same communication to your Highness's ministers. True, these also might be replaced by less important servants of the State. But further, from loyalty and devotion to your Highness's house, from anxiety about the life and welfare of the Hereditary Prince and his illustrious sister, as well as from attachment to this country in which I have grown gray, I see myself obliged to appeal to every Government connected with ours for an energetic enforcement of this my request. As long as I was a servant of the Court, my oath and allegiance compelled me to silence and careful regard for your Highness's personal interests. I am now relieved from this obligation, and I shall from henceforth advocate the interests of our people in opposition to those of your Highness. Your Highness may yourself judge what that would lead to; this signature may be put off, but can no longer be avoided. Every delay makes the situation worse; the signing will no longer appear as the voluntary act of a high-minded decision, but as a necessity forced upon you. Finally, let your Highness bear in mind that the Professor has made in the Tower Castle another important observation, – another with respect to the conduct of a certain Magister; it is my destiny to know much which does not belong to the secrets of my department."
The Sovereign lay on his sofa, with his head turned away. He folded his hands before his face. A long oppressive silence intervened.
"You have been my personal enemy from the first day of my reign," suddenly put in the Sovereign.
"I have been the faithful servant of my gracious master; personal friendship has never been my portion, and I have never simulated it."
"You have always intrigued against me."
"Your Highness well knows that I have served you as a man of honor," replied the Baron, proudly. "Now, also, when once more I beg of you to sign this document, I do not stand upon the right which many years of confidence give me with your Highness; I do not advance as an excuse for this repeated importunity the interest that I have been entitled to take in the dignity and welfare of this princely house; I have another ground for relieving your Highness from the humiliation of a public discussion of your Highness's state of mind. I am a loyal and monarchically-minded man. He who has respect for the high office of a prince is under the urgent necessity of guarding this office from being lowered in the eyes of the nation. This he must do, not by concealing what is insupportable, but by extirpating it. Therefore, since that scene in the tower, there has been this struggle between me and your Highness, that I, in order to maintain your Highness's exalted office, must sacrifice your Highness's person. I am determined to do so, and there consequently only remains to your Highness the choice of doing that which is inevitable, of your own free will, and honorably in the eyes of the world, or dishonorably and at the instance of importunate strangers. The words are spoken; I beg for a speedy decision."
The old lord stood close before the ruler. He looked firmly and coldly into the restless eyes of his former master, and pointed with his finger fixedly to the parchment. It was the keeper conquering the patient.
"Not now-not here," exclaimed the Sovereign, beside himself. "In the presence of the Hereditary Prince I will take counsel and come to a decision."
"The presence and signature of your ministers are necessary for the document, not the presence of the Hereditary Prince. But as your Highness prefers signing in the presence of the Prince, I will do my self the honor of following your Highness to Rossau, and beg one of the ministers to accompany me for this object."
The Sovereign looked reflectively down.
"I am still a ruler," he exclaimed, springing up; and seizing the signed resignation of the High Steward, he tore it up. "High Steward von Ottenburg, you will accompany me in my carriage to Rossau."
"Then the minister will follow your Highness in my carriage," said the old lord, calmly. "I hasten to inform him."