Chapter 7

I.--NEW PLANS.

"Strange, very strange," muttered Count Adam Schwarzenberg to himself. "The Prince must have set out on his journey four weeks ago, and still no news from Gabriel Nietzel! The journey by sea, it is true, offered no opportunity for any enterprise, and the Electoral Prince had the sublime fancy of choosing the water in preference to the land route, in spite of the severities of this season of the year. But, according to the Prince's scheme of traveling, and according to my own calculations, the Prince must have reached Hamburg full eight days ago, and as he was only to stay there three days, he must already have been journeying five days by land, and yet have I in vain looked for any tidings whatever from Gabriel Nietzel. Could it be possible that this man has dared to disobey me?--could he have carried his folly so far as to sacrifice wife and child rather than execute my commands?"

Gloomily the count's brow wrinkled, as he asked himself this question, and his eyes flamed with fury. With folded arms he walked rapidly to and fro.

"To think that all my plans may be wrecked by the pangs of conscience of a single fool!" he sighed--"to think, that for months, nay, for years, I have been laboring in vain to see the realization of these projects, and that in my highest, proudest aims I am dependent upon a blockhead, who--What is it Daniel? What is your errand?"

"Pardon me, your excellency; some one is without who desires most urgently to speak with you."

"Who is it?--do you know him?"

"No, my lord count, I do not know him, and he will not tell what he wants of your excellency. He says he must speak with your lordship himself, and I must only announce his name. It is Gabriel Nietzel."

"Gabriel Nietzel!" cried the count. "Why did you not tell me so directly, you fool! Bring him in without delay, and take care that no one disturbs us so long as the painter Gabriel Nietzel is with us."

The lackey hurried off, leaving the door open for the painter, whom he fetched in from the first antechamber. Breathlessly, in violent excitement, Count Schwarzenberg looked toward this open door. "It is my future fate that is about to enter," he murmured. "Ah, there he is! There is Gabriel Nietzel!" And in his vehement agitation he rushed forward a few steps to meet the painter, whom he saw approaching through the entrance hall. But forcibly constraining himself to an appearance of moderation and reserve, he stood still and assumed a calm, unimpassioned expression. Gabriel Nietzel entered, and behind him the lackey gently closed the door. The sharp eyes of the count rested inquiringly upon the newcomer, who remained standing near the door with head sunk and humble, melancholy mien. This submissive, contrite silence on the part of the returning painter was sufficiently eloquent to the mind of the count. It told him that Gabriel Nietzel had nothing welcome to communicate. He subdued his rage and proudly threw back his head, as if to shake off, like troublesome insects, all his disappointed hopes.

"Well, you are actually at home again, Master Court Painter!" he cried, in a tone that was well-nigh cheerful.

"Yes, your excellency," whispered Gabriel, with downcast eyes, "here I am again, and report myself forthwith to your excellency."

"To me?" asked Schwarzenberg, affecting astonishment. "Why do you report yourself to me, and what have I to do with you, Sir Court Painter Gabriel Nietzel? You should have gone to the palace, to the Electress, and gladdened her heart with your pleasing intelligence. I doubt not that you are the bearer of glad tidings for her, and come to forewarn her of the Prince's speedy arrival here in safety and good health?"

"I had no wish to go to her highness the Electress," said Gabriel Nietzel humbly. "She knows already, independently of any information from me, that the Electoral Prince is safe and sound. I come to your excellency to excuse myself for the failure of my undertaking, and to beg your pardon."

"I do not understand you at all, Sir Court Painter," replied Count Schwarzenberg, shrugging his shoulders. "I know not what sort of undertaking you had in view, what you have failed in, and what I can have to pardon you for."

"Your excellency!" cried Gabriel with an outburst of grief--"your excellency, I swear that I am innocent, that it has been the result of no ill will, no negligence, but because I really could not find an opportunity for carrying out what--"

"Well, carrying out what?" asked Schwarzenberg, when Gabriel faltered. "What do I care for your unfinished works, your abortive schemes? I only buy finished pictures, and, if they are well executed and successes, I pay for them in kingly style. With daubers, though, and wretched copyists who would pass off copies as originals, I have nothing to do. Speak not to me, then, Sir Court Painter, of your sketches and designs. I ask nothing about them, but only come to me when you have a completed work to exhibit."

"Your excellency will not understand me," said Gabriel, while drops of agony trickled from his cold brow.

"No," proudly retorted the count, "it is for you to understand _me_, Sir Court Painter Gabriel Nietzel. Were you not sent to The Hague to complete your studies there? Why have you returned home so soon?"

"Because I was homesick, most gracious sir--because I longed inexpressibly after my child, my wife!"

The painter ventured to lift his eyes with earnest anxiety and entreaty to the face of the count, but Schwarzenberg's glance remained cold.

"Ah, you have a wife?" he asked, with indifference. "You left her behind and went alone to The Hague?"

"Yes, I went there quite alone, because I had a great and important work to accomplish there; but before I had even stretched my canvas and sketched the outlines, an unexpected hindrance interposed which annihilated all my plans."

"What sort of hindrance?" asked the count carelessly, while he played with the heavy golden chain about his neck, to which was attached the portrait of the Elector set in brilliants. "What sort of hindrance?"

"The Electoral Prince, to whom the Electress had recommended me, and who received me into the number of his attendants, suddenly and unexpectedly determined to take his departure from The Hague, and straightway carried his resolution into effect. He himself, together with Baron von Marwitz, Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun, secretary Müller, and his chamberlain repaired forthwith to Amsterdam, in order to take ship there. He, however, ordered his majordomo and myself to break up his household, to pack up his books and paintings, and to journey with them by land to Berlin. I ventured to protest against this, and even preferred the request to be permitted to accompany the Electoral Prince upon his sea voyage; this, however, Baron Leuchtmar refused, and nobody was allowed to speak with the Electoral Prince himself. Up to the time of his departure he remained shut up in his chamber, and only left it to get into the carriage which conveyed him to Amsterdam. There, as was known, lay a passenger vessel ready to sail for Hamburg, and in this the Electoral Prince took passage."

"And you did not see the Electoral Prince at all before he set out?"

"Oh, your excellency, I had ranged myself along with all his other household officers at the side of his traveling carriage, and the Prince very condescendingly held out his hand to me, yes, he even tried to smile. 'Gabriel Nietzel,' he said, 'make all speed to reach Berlin right soon. I shall desire my mother to allow you to enter my special service, and then you shall paint for me many a pretty picture. Until then, farewell!' He once more nodded kindly to me, and jumped into the carriage."

"That is the only time that you have spoken at all to the Electoral Prince?"

"No, your honor, on the very day of my arrival I had an audience with him, and the Electoral Prince was highly delighted to receive news from home. I must tell him everything in detail, and since, with your gracious permission, I claimed to side with your lordship's opponents, the Electoral Prince immediately became very confidential and affectionate to me, receiving me into his house and retinue, and promising to present me at the courts of the Stadtholder and the Queen of Bohemia."

"How came it, then, that the Prince so immediately afterward suddenly took the resolution to depart?"

"Most gracious sir, four-and-twenty hours after myself the Chamberlain von Marwitz arrived at The Hague, and had a long conversation with the Electoral Prince. Immediately after that the Electoral Prince gave orders for departure, and three hours later had already left The Hague."

"Now it seems, therefore, that Baron von Marwitz is a very persuasive speaker, who well understood how to move the Electoral Prince's heart, and to lead him back to obedience to his father and--myself. I shall therefore prove my gratitude to Herr von Marwitz. I like very much to have my orders and commissions executed punctiliously and exactly, and this Herr von Marwitz has done, for I had bidden him to leave no means untried whereby the Electoral Prince might be induced to leave Holland."

A crushing glance from his large gray eyes as he uttered these words fell full upon Gabriel Nietzel's pale and contrite face, making his heart quake with undefined dread.

"Your honor is very angry with me?" he asked faintly.

"You?" exclaimed the count in astonishment. "Why should I be angry with you? What have I to do with you? I only know you as the painter Nietzel, who sold me a copy for a good original, and whom I could therefore have condemned to the gallows as a falsifier and cheat. But you know I have forgiven you, and let your copy be valued as an original. I even went further in my magnanimous forgiveness; I had even intrusted you with commissions for Holland, where you were to visit the picture galleries in order to make copies. You have not executed my commissions, for you have returned home too soon. That is all, and therefore all connection between us is dissolved. Farewell, Mr. Court Painter Gabriel Nietzel; you are dismissed!"

He haughtily motioned to the door, turned his back upon the painter, and slowly traversed the apartment. But Gabriel Nietzel did not go. There he stood as if rooted to the spot, and stared fixedly at the count, who walked to and fro, as if lost in thought, and seemed to be wholly unconscious that the painter had dared still to remain in his presence. After a long pause his eye fell quite accidentally on the spot where Gabriel Nietzel stood, and he started as if in sudden terror.

"Why, you still here?" he asked. "You dare to brave me? To terrify me with your dull, pale face? Have you grown deaf, Mr. Court Painter? Did you not hear me dismiss you?"

"I heard, but your honor knows that I can not go. Your lordship well knows that from your lips I await the sentence which is to seal my whole future fate, and that I will not leave this room until I have received this."

"How? You will not leave this room. You will stay although I have bidden you go? Very well, then, I shall call my servants and have you put out."

And already the count's hand was stretched forth to take his silver whistle. But Gabriel Nietzel dared to grasp this hand and hold it firmly between both his own.

"Pity, gracious sir, pity!" he pleaded. "Drive me from your presence, take from me the pension you most condescendingly insured to me; I feel that I am indeed undeserving of your favor and graciousness. Only, for pity's sake, for humanity's sake, restore to me my own--give me my wife and child!"

"What have I to do with your wife and child?" asked Count Schwarzenberg angrily. "Have you handed them over to me? Am I the chief of an asylum for deserted women and children?"

"My wife, Sir Count, give me back my wife!" cried Gabriel Nietzel, sinking down upon his knees.

"I know nothing about her, I have never seen her," said the count.

"You do know about her, your excellency! You took her and my dear, precious child under your protection when I went to The Hague. You had my wife and child carried to, Spandow, and gave them an abode within your palace there."

"Now I see plainly that you speak like a deranged man, Master Gabriel Nietzel," cried the count passionately. "Collect your faculties, man, or I shall immediately have you arrested and sent to a madhouse. I repeat, collect your faculties, and utter not such palpably idle tales. Very likely that I should have taken your wife and child into my keeping. Bethink yourself, Master Gabriel Nietzel, be rational, and remember that you are happily unincumbered and a free bachelor!"

"No, no, I am not free!" shrieked Gabriel Nietzel. "I have a wife, I have a child, and see them again I must! Deliver them up to me, Sir Count. I beseech you by all that is sacred--deliver them up to me! I must have my wife and boy again!"

"Well then, go and look for them," said Schwarzenberg composedly "Apply to the police, and furnish them with a description of both their persons. Show your marriage license and your child's certificate of baptism, that every one may be convinced of the truth of your deposition. Then write a description of your wife, or, as you are a painter, draw a likeness of her, publish her name and family, call upon her relatives to render you their assistance, and in that way, if you really have a wife, you will in the end succeed in discovering her."

"Sir Count, you well know that I can not do so," groaned Gabriel Nietzel. "You well know that I am a poor, ruined man, entirely in your power. I beseech you, have mercy upon me! Restore to me my wife and child, and I will do all that you require of me. Give me back my wife, and I swear to you that I will do here what I was to have done on the journey. I swear to you that I will make good what I missed, that I--"

"I do not believe your oaths, Gabriel Nietzel," interposed the count. "You are liberal with your oaths and promises, but come short in deeds, in performances. Nobody will pay for a picture before he has seen it, or at least a sketch of the same. Therefore take yourself off, devise a plan, sketch your outline, and bring it to me. If it pleases me, and is practicable, if I see that you are zealous and well disposed, then will I gladly aid you in its execution and pay you in princely style. That is my last word, Master Court Painter Gabriel Nietzel, and now go, and do not show your face here again until you can show me that sketch. You have understood me, have you not, Master Gabriel Nietzel? I bespeak a picture, and you are to furnish me with a sketch of it; then, as you are in want, I shall gladly pay you for it in advance."

"Yes, I have understood your lordship," said Gabriel Nietzel, heaving a deep sigh. "I know a subject for the painting you have ordered, and will make a sketch of it. You shall not have to wait long for it."

"It is a fine subject," said Schwarzenberg quietly. "We might call it the murder of Julius Cæsar."

"No, it is the execution of the Emperor Conrad III--the execution and murder of the last Hohen-Hohenstaufen," sobbed the painter, while tears fell in clear streams from his eyes.

"I believe another paroxysm of insanity has seized you," said the count contemptuously. "How can any one weep merely because he will represent a tragic scene? What is the last of the Hohenstaufens to you? You depict his death, and if the painting is a success I shall reward you handsomely for it, give you a splendid income, and then you can go to Italy, the home of all artists, to spend the remainder of your life there in pleasure and freedom."

"It shall be just as your excellency says," sighed Gabriel. "Only, your excellency, only be so gracious as to give me back my wife and child."

"I said so, your paroxysm of madness is coming on afresh!" cried Schwarzenberg, shrugging his shoulders. "Man, are you really beside yourself?--have you lost your senses? Do you demand your wife and child of me, of Count Adam von Schwarzenberg, the Stadtholder in the Mark? Go away with your follies. Be off, so that you can make your sketch, and when you come back, and it is good, you will perhaps find me inclined to answer all your silly questions for you!"

"Sir Count, oh, for God's sake, let me at least see my Rebecca once more!"

"Rebecca! your wife's name is Rebecca? Why, that really sounds as if she were a Jewess. And you say that she is your wife? Ah, repeat that again, then name the priest who celebrated your nuptials and united a Christian to a Jewess! By ----! I shall bring this evildoer to a strict account, and he shall be degraded from his office as a criminal and blot upon the Church, for he has sinned against God, the Church, and his Sovereign! Gabriel Nietzel, name the priest who married you to a Jewess!"

"I can not name him," murmured Nietzel, almost inaudibly. "Sir Count, I will be obedient and diligent in your service. I am a wretched sinner, and must expiate my crime. I shall do penance, too, and will be nothing more than a tool in your hands. Only have mercy upon me. Let me at least see my wife and child, if I may not speak to them! I only wish to see them, in order to gain courage and strength for my difficult and dangerous undertaking."

The count reflected for a moment, his eyes fastened upon Gabriel Nietzel's countenance, whose imploring, anxious expression seemed to touch him.

"I have in my house at Spandow," he said, after a long pause, "a beautiful painting by Albrecht Dürer. It was, unfortunately, a little injured in the transportation, and you shall restore it for me. To-morrow morning repair to Spandow, and ask for me. I shall be there, and will myself put the painting in your charge. Perhaps you will see there another painting besides, which will please you, and which, perhaps, is not unknown to you."

Gabriel Nietzel took the count's proffered hand, and with joyful impatience pressed it to his lips. "Sir Count, I will be your servant, your slave, your creature. I will damn my soul for you and suffer the torture of perpetual flames if you will only give back to me my wife and child!"

"Master Court Painter," said Schwarzenberg, parodying his words, "I shall make you a rich and distinguished man. I shall send you to Italy, and you will enjoy the heavenly fires of the Italian sky, if you will only bring me the sketch ordered, and prove to me that you are in earnest as to its execution."

Gabriel Nietzel laughed aloud in the joy of his heart.

"Your highness shall not have long to wait. I will very soon have the sketch at your excellency's disposal."

"We shall see," said the count, with a slight nod of his head. "And now that we have understood one another, and you have somewhat recovered your reason, now for the last time I tell you, you are dismissed!"

Gabriel Nietzel bowed low, and strode through the apartment toward the door of entrance, reverentially going backward that he might not turn his back upon the high-born, all-powerful count. He had almost reached the door, when it was opened and a valet appeared, who announced in a loud voice:

"His honor Count John Adolphus von Schwarzenberg!"

"My son!" exclaimed the count. "He has returned? Where is he? Where?"

"His honor has just gone to his apartments to divest himself of his traveling clothes, but with your highness's permission he will be here in a few minutes."

"Tell the count, that I expect him with impatience," cried the father. The valet hurried out, and Gabriel Nietzel was in the act of following him, when Schwarzenberg called him back.

"Do not go out that way now," he said; "my son is coming, and it is not worth while for him to see you. Go through yonder door. It leads to a corridor, and there you will find a small staircase by which you can descend to the court. Go!"

II.--COUNT JOHN ADOLPHUS VON SCHWARZENBERG.

"I think I have distressed and tormented him enough," said the count to himself; "he will devise some means of gratifying my wishes, and in his despair will risk everything in order to obtain his wife and child. It is well that men have hearts, for they supply the most convenient handles for seizing hold of them and managing them. And for that reason men without susceptible hearts always become rulers, conquerors. Therefore have I become great and powerful, and will ascend yet higher, grow yet more mighty, for I, thank God! I have no heart! I have never been a victim to the silly vagaries of an enamored heart, never made a fool of myself for any woman; never have I felt my heart moved by any other desire than that of attaining a pre-eminent position and becoming a great man. Such I have become, but I would mount yet higher, and in this--in this that enamored fool Gabriel Nietzel shall assist me."

The count grew suddenly silent, and looked toward the door. In the antechamber he had heard the sound of a voice familiar and grateful to his ears, a voice which awakened in his breast a rare and unwonted feeling of joy and happiness. "My son," he murmured, "yes, it is my son. I really believe that I have a heart at last, for I feel it beat higher just now, and feel that it is a happiness to have a son!"

He hastily crossed the room, and had almost reached the door, when it suddenly opened and revealed the presence of a tall and slender young man, dressed in the elegant Spanish garb, such as was worn at the court of the German Emperor Ferdinand III.

"Father, dear father!" he cried, with a voice full of tenderness, and with outstretched arms he sped toward his father to press him to his heart. Count Adam von Schwarzenberg smilingly submitted, and an infinite feeling of satisfaction penetrated his whole being under the warm pressure of his only son's embrace. But only one short instant did he yield to this sensation, for he was ashamed of his weakness, and gently extricated himself from his son's arms.

"Here you are again, you gadabout and rover!" he said; but he could not subdue the brighter glistening of his eyes, as they fastened themselves upon his son's handsome, spirited, and youthful face.

"Yes, here I am again, _cher et aimable père_," exclaimed the young man, laughing; "but you do me great injustice by calling me a gadabout and rover, for, indeed, I have only traveled on most serious and proper business, and it strikes me that I am vastly to be feared and honored in my capacity of imperial treasurer and member of the Aulic council."

"What?" cried Count Adam joyfully, "the Emperor has conferred upon you such a high favor and honored you with such lofty titles?"

The young count nodded assent. "In me he has honored my father's son," said he, "and distinguished me out of veneration and respect for you."

"You are far too modest, my son," cried the count, smiling. "What the Emperor Ferdinand has done for you he did not for your father's son, but in deference to your own merits."

"Please, oh please, let us talk no more on the subject," said the young man. "You will not succeed in altering my opinion, especially as I had it from the exalted mouth of his Imperial Majesty himself, that he gladly distinguished the son of so noble, gifted, and faithful a servant as Count Adam Schwarzenberg had ever been to the imperial house, and in consideration thereof bestowed upon him the dignity of imperial treasurer, and nominated him independently of individual merit a member of the Aulic council. I beg you to observe, my noble and highly deserving count, that your son has fallen heir to his honors without individual merit, whence it naturally follows that I am a worthless treasurer, and wholly devoid of merit as a member of the Aulic council."

"Well," laughed his father, "then I must console you with this, Adolphus, that you are besides that my coadjutor in my office of Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and that I entertain the fixed determination of soon seeing you share with me the Stadtholdership of the Mark."

"I assure you, I need no consolation whatever!" cried Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg. "I am your son, and that is as much as if I were the fair Danaë, and had a shower of gold perpetually poured out upon me."

"You would deceive me," said Count Adam, gently shaking his head. "You would have me believe that you are satisfied with being my son, and have no personal ambition for yourself."

"It is no deception, _cher père_" laughed the young man. "I really do not give myself the trouble to have personal ambition beforehand. I behold my much-loved father standing in the sunshine of renown, and I quite composedly allow a few stray beams from his splendor to alight upon myself. I would not say, though, that I am wholly devoid of ambition. I only avoid talking about it till the time comes."

"My son, the time is come," said Count Adam quickly. "Yes, the time for ambition is come with you, too, and to-day we must discuss it at length. But first tell me what news do you bring me from Vienna? Come, let us sit down, and confer with one another like two grave politicians and diplomatists." He took his son's arm and led him toward the divan.

"God forbid, Sir Stadtholder, that I, a mere tyro in diplomacy and politics, should venture to seat myself at your side," cried Count Adolphus. "No, father, I know my place, and you must indeed permit me to take my station at a reverential distance from you."

He took one of the little gold-embroidered footstools which stood near the divan and seated himself opposite his father. Count Adam looked upon him with a proud yet gentle smile, and seemed to have his own pleasure in his son's handsome and imposing appearance.

"I should like to know whether you resemble me," he said thoughtfully; "I should like to know whether I was ever such a lively, jovial young man."

"You are more than that, most respected father," cried his son; "you were handsome and possessed of irresistible attractions. I know that, for you are still so."

"So, it seems that my son has learned to flatter at the imperial court!"

"No, no; I speak the truth, and I swear that every one who has the good fortune to be admitted to your presence will confirm my testimony. You understand the art of fascinating men, and once let any one love you, then you can never be forgotten. The Emperor Ferdinand spoke of you with genuine admiration, and Princess Lobkowitz assured me that you were the only man whom she had ardently and truly loved. And yet they say that Princess Lobkowitz has had many admirers and still has."

"Princess Lobkowitz!" repeated Count Adam thoughtfully--"how fine that sounds, Princess Lobkowitz! Yet I well remember the time when Lobkowitz was quite a poor, inconsiderable count, who esteemed himself peculiarly happy when I lent him some of my pocket money, which, by the bye, I never saw again. We were both at that time pages at the court of Emperor Ferdinand I, and swore eternal friendship. But how vain are such oaths! I afterward left the imperial court and came to the court of Cleves, and thence here to Prussia. I have restlessly labored, and may well say that I have wielded the helm of state in this country for twenty years, and--am still nothing but plain Count Schwarzenberg! The little, insignificant Count Lobkowitz, on the other hand, has now become a Prince through the Emperor's favor, as have also Eggenberg, Liechtenstein, and Fürstenberg."

"You shall be a Prince, too, father," said Count Adolphus softly. "Yes, without doubt, you have only to hint your wish to receive the title of Prince, and the Emperor Ferdinand will gladly remunerate you in that way, if he first sees his own desires fulfilled through you."

The count started, and cast an inquisitive, questioning look upon his son. "I thank you, Adolphus," said he, "you have led back our conversation, or rather, my lord treasurer, our conference, to the subject in point, in a manner as tender as diplomatic. Yes, the question is, first of all, to learn what news you bring for me from his Majesty, and what orders the Emperor has to give me."

"First of all, _cher père_, the Emperor wishes that every possible obstruction be interposed to prevent the Electoral Prince's marriage with the Princess of the Palatinate, and that, if practicable, the Electoral Prince be deterred from forming any matrimonial connection. It would greatly complicate affairs if the Electoral Prince should chance to have offspring soon, and thereby outwardly give more firmness and durability to the house of Brandenburg."

The count's eyes flashed upon his son's countenance, which still preserved its placid, innocent expression. "Who told you that?" said he, "Who spoke such strange, mysterious words? Not the Emperor, no, he can not have said that!"

"No, but the Emperor's most confidential adviser, _mio padre amato_, the venerable father confessor and Jesuit, Signor Silvio. By the way, I regard him as a man turned serpent, and would avoid exposing a shoeless heel to him. But one thing is certain, that he has the Emperor's ear not only in the confessional, but in the council chamber as well, and what he says is just as good as if the Emperor himself said it. For the rest, they affirm at the imperial court that he is a sorcerer, and can look through men's eyes straight into their hearts and decipher what is therein as plainly and distinctly as if it was written on parchment in German text."

"I believe it is so," murmured the count. "I believe he has read into my heart, too. But further, further, my son! What more did Father Silvio say to you?"

"He spoke much of the weak and uncertain condition of the Electoral house of Brandenburg, which he said rested upon only two lives, and would be extinct if the Electoral Prince Frederick William should perish by a sudden death."

The count started, and a gray pallor overspread his face. His son, absorbed in his own discourse, observed it not and continued: "I ventured meanwhile to differ from the wise father, and reminded him that seven cousins and blood relations were still in existence, to give permanence to the Elector's family, and thereby lessen very greatly the weakness of the Brandenburg-Hohenzollerns. But Father Silvio smiled almost compassionately at this remark of mine, and said in a tone of lofty superiority: 'Young man, your father will be a better judge of this; only repeat my words to him: that the Emperor will not admit the claims of the collateral branches of the Electoral house, and if unfortunately the Electoral Prince of Brandenburg should die without descendants, he will consider the Electoral Mark as an unincumbered fief, which the Emperor of Germany, in the plenitude of his power and as an act of free grace, might bestow on another prince.'"

Count Adam Schwarzenberg sprang up, and for a moment his eyes rested with a penetrating expression upon his son's countenance. Then he turned and began to move violently to and fro. Now it was his son's turn to fix his eyes piercingly upon _him_. When the count turned again, however, there was no trace of excitement visible on the young man's countenance, and with a friendly smile he looked at his father. Count Adam stepped close up to him, and laid his hand on his son's shoulder.

"You did not remind wise Father Silvio, then," he asked, "that the Elector George William has, besides his son, two daughters? That there are two Electoral Princesses--Charlotte Louise and the young Sophie Hedwig?"

"No, father," replied Count Adolphus carelessly, "no, I did not. I deemed that superfluous, because in the Brandenburg Electoral house women have no right to the succession. The Salic law exists here, does it not?"

"As if laws could not be altered!" cried Count Adam. "As if the Emperor were not here to give new laws! My son, let us speak openly and candidly to one another, and answer me one question: On what terms are you with the Princess Charlotte Louise?"

The young man started, and for a moment a deep blush suffused his cheeks. "I do not understand you, father. What do you mean? On what terms should I be with the Princess?"

"John Adolphus, you understand me well enough, and know what I mean," returned Count Schwarzenberg smiling. "When I ask on what terms you are with the Princess Charlotte Louise, I mean by that, what progress have you made in her good graces?"

An almost imperceptible smile flitted across the young count's visage. "Well," he said, "the ladies of the Electoral house have ever been most condescending in their manner to me, Princess Charlotte Louise no less than her mother and sister, and, as I have done nothing to forfeit their favor, I hope that upon my return they will receive me as graciously as they dismissed me before I left home."

"My son," said Count Adam seriously, "you answer me evasively, and that is not well. We two are made to support each other, and to go hand in hand in the difficult path which lies before us. For you know as well as I do that our safety is imperiled when the Electoral Prince again makes his appearance at court, and we will henceforth find many stones of stumbling in our way."

"But my wise and puissant father will remove all such obstructions," cried the son, with a merry laugh. "Let the Electoral Prince throw ever so many stones in our way, we can pick them up, and your honor will find opportunity to hurl them back at the little Prince, the last scion of his house."

"I shall find opportunity, and, by heavens, I will make use of it."

"And if my gracious father can or will make use of me in picking up the stones, or maybe in throwing them, I am most heartily at his service. Your honor needs only to direct. I shall aim well, and hope to hit the mark."

"My son, verily, you are a great diplomatist," cried Schwarzenberg, "and many an one who esteems himself an old adept in this art might take lessons from you. How cleverly you managed to evade the question I put to you, and lead the conversation into a different channel! But I must recur to my question, and, since you will throw stones subject to my direction, then, my son, I tell you that your relations with the Princess Charlotte Louise may become a most effective missile against the Electoral Prince, which, if you aim it accurately, may inflict a deadly blow upon the Prince. Therefore, my fine son, answer my question honestly: On what terms are you with the Princess Charlotte Louise?"

A cloud of displeasure flitted across the young count's lofty and open brow, and his cheerful countenance became overshadowed with gloom.

"My God!" he said, "what on earth has the Princess to do with politics?"

"A great deal, my son. Let me remind you of Father Silvio's words, which you yourself reported to me. The father had me informed that in case of the Electoral Prince's dying without heirs, his Majesty would not recognize the claims of the other branches of the house of Brandenburg, but would consider the Electoral Mark as a vacant fief, which he might bestow elsewhere as matter of favor. The simplest and most natural thing will be, if there is no longer any son living, to pass the right of succession to the daughter, and for the Emperor to declare the eldest daughter of the Elector George William rightful successor, and to transmit the Electoral Mark Brandenburg to herself and her husband as an act of grace."

"Those are very great and very far-seeing plans," murmured the young man, with downcast eyes.

"But plans which may be realized," interposed his father hastily--"plans which you have very maturely weighed in your prudent brain, for--I shall answer my own question myself--for you are on very good terms with Princess Charlotte Louise. You have calculated very wisely and very correctly. The Princess loves you, and may bring you an electorship as a bridal gift."

"God forbid that I should play a criminal game with the Princess's heart!" cried Count Adolphus, in tones louder and more energetic than he had yet employed. "You accuse me falsely, most gracious sir. It has never come into my mind to speculate on such a bridal gift, or to make of love a calculation."

Count Adam gazed with an expression of painful astonishment upon the excited countenance of his son. "Unhappy boy, you love the Princess, then?" he asked.

"Yes," exclaimed the young man vehemently--"yes, I love her! I should love her were she a simple village maiden. I should seek to win her were she of obscure and humble parentage, if she could present me with nothing but her heart, her affectionate nature, her charming self. Learn now, father, on what terms I stand with the Princess: I love her, love her passionately!"

"Ah, my son, how well this enthusiasm becomes you!" said his father. "How happy the Princess would be if she could see you with those fiery glances flashing from your large bright eyes! My son, you will surpass me, for you have one great advantage over me, you have received from Nature a glorious endowment denied to me; you have a tender heart! You either feel glowing love or--maybe simulate, and act it to the life! We will not discuss this further; I only repeat it, you are destined to surpass me. You love the Princess Charlotte Louise! I thank you for this one confession, but add to it a second, Adolphus. Tell me whether the Princess returns your love?"

"I have not ventured to put this question to her," replied Count Adolphus, with downcast eyes. "The Princess is so high above me, is so pure and virtuous, that it would be a sin to tempt her innocence and virtue by the avowal of an unsanctioned love!"

"My son!" exclaimed the count, smiling, "you are a pattern of discretion and modesty. You amaze, you delight me. You have not ventured, and will not venture to declare your love to the Princess?"

"No, father, at least, not so long as it is an unsanctioned love--so long as I do not know whether it has your approval, and through you the Elector's."

"You would step surely, you would engage in no undertaking that does not promise good results! Ah, I understand now--I comprehend all now. I have an irresistible desire to embrace you, and I know you will pardon your father for this one ebullition of tenderness. Come to my heart, my great, my admirable son!"

He flung his arms around his son's neck and imprinted a warm kiss upon his lips.

"Count John Adolphus Schwarzenberg," he said then, "with this kiss I give you my consent to woo the Princess Charlotte Louise! With this kiss I promise so to work upon and bend the Elector's heart, that he will give you the Princess's hand, and agree to your union."

"My dear father, you open indeed to me the gate of paradise. But this gate has two wings, and if I would gain admittance, both wings must open to me."

"Oh, you mean the Electress? She will certainly be very much opposed to such a union, for she has a proud and willful heart, over which no one has any influence except the Electoral Prince, and he, indeed, will not use his influence in our behalf. Well, there is nothing for it but to oppose force to force, and to constrain the dear lady to give her consent. To employ such coercive measures is your affair, my son!"

"You empower me to do so, father? You will not refuse me your support? You will not disavow my acts?"

"I empower you to do everything you think needful, and you will find me a faithful ally, for I recognize joyfully in you my trusty coadjutor, and see that we may count upon each other."

"I shall ever esteem it a sacred and delightful duty to obey you, my much-loved father, and I shall joyfully hold myself ready to carry out your wishes."

"And you will do well in this, my son," said Count Adam Schwarzenberg, with a hearty pressure of the hand. "All that I do for myself is also done for you, all that I obtain is for your profit and advantage. You are my heir, to you will descend all my earthly possessions, my name, my renown, my dignities and offices, my money and estates."

"_Cher père_" cried the young man, "let us not speak of such solemn things. I hope that it will be a long time yet ere I enter upon that great and sad inheritance."

"I hope so, too," said Count Adam, with animation of manner. "I would leave you _all_ in perfect condition, and to effect this much labor is yet required. I have set myself a mighty task, and it is yet far from its accomplishment."

"And yet you have already conducted and executed matters so grandly, so admirably, father! You have no idea with what rapture they think of you and your performances at the imperial court. Emperor Ferdinand spoke of you as his most trusted and beloved servant, and Father Silvio called you a lamp of the faith and a faithful son of the Church, through whom many will yet be saved."

"Yes, many shall yet be brought within the ark of safety by my means!" cried Count Adam, in a lively manner. "I know what I purpose, I know the great aims after which I have striven for twenty years with intrepid spirit, with ardor never to be chilled. My son, with you I make no secret of my aims, and you must know them, that you may stand unflinching at my side. It is true, I am ambitious. I thirst for fame; it is true, I have labored for myself and forwarded my own personal interests as much as I could. My aims, however, are not restricted to these private interests, they are higher, nobler! I am the faithful servant and subject of my Emperor and lord; I am the believing and zealous son of our holy Church. To the Emperor and the Church belong the fruits of my striving and my energy, and to promote the greatness and consideration of both is the ultimate object of all my labors and all my schemes."

"And I, most gracious father, will take my station firmly at your side," said Count Adolphus fervently. "You will ever find in me an attentive pupil, eager to learn."

"We have both a great mission to fulfill," exclaimed Count Adam, "and it is well for us sometimes to place this clearly before our eyes, in order to be ever mindful of it, and never to forget it even in the pursuance of private ends. You, too, remember this, my son, and act accordingly. To the Emperor and the Church be all our services dedicated! To render the Emperor great and mighty, to strengthen his consideration throughout the German Empire, is and shall be my aim as a statesman. To extend continually the power and dominion of the Catholic religion is and shall be my task as a Christian, as a son of the Church, within whose pale alone is salvation. God himself has chosen me for his tool, else how would it have been possible that the bigoted, reformed Elector should have selected me for his first and mightiest minister? God wills that through me the influence of the Holy Roman See and the German Emperor be promoted and advanced; therefore has he caused me, the subject of the Emperor, an Austrian born, to become the servant of the Elector of Brandenburg. But the servant has become master, and the Catholic Austrian is Stadtholder in the Mark, the almighty minister in the land of the heretic. It is so, because through him this land is to be led back to the true faith and the Emperor, because through him is to be re-established the endangered supremacy of the Emperor of Germany! The Protestant Electors would have exalted themselves against the power of Emperor and empire; with the help of the Swedes they would have cut up the Holy Roman Empire into a number of free, independent States, great and small, where Protestants, Reformers, and Lutherans would have enjoyed as great consideration as the Catholics, and over which the Emperor would no longer have exercised control. The Protestant Elector of the Palatinate was to have been changed into a King, waving his scepter over Catholic Bohemia, and in place of the little Elector of Brandenburg was to have arisen a mighty Prince, who was to have broken the power of the German Emperor in the north, and become the chief and center of Protestant Germany! To that end were they leagued with the Swedes, to that end was King Gustavus Adolphus to have furnished help to his cousins and brothers-in-law. But the fates were against them! In the battle of the White Mountain the Count Palatine lost his Bohemian throne, in the battle of Lützen the Swedish King his life, and in the peace of Prague the Swedes and other enemies of the Emperor a powerful ally in the Elector of Brandenburg! It was I who alienated the Elector from the Swedes, who made him again the obedient vassal of his Emperor and Sovereign. And it shall be I who will make the Mark Brandenburg imperialist again! For the limbs accommodate themselves to the head, and if the Prince acknowledges himself a professed Catholic, his subjects will soon follow suit."

"What! most gracious father, is it possible that the Elector George William--"

"Hush, hush, my son! who says anything about the Elector George William? Who thinks of the decaying tree, which can no longer bear fruit, when he beholds at its side a young, vigorous tree laden with blossoms, rich for future harvests? My son, I herewith give you my consent to woo the love of the Princess Charlotte Louise, but I make one condition which you must solemnly swear to respect: none but a Catholic becomes the wife of my son John Adolphus."

"None but a Catholic becomes my wife!" cried the young count. "I solemnly give you my oath to that effect, father."

"And you actually suppose that the Emperor will bestow upon me the same favor he has conferred upon Fürstenberg, Lobkowitz, and Liechtenstein?"

"I am empowered to promise it prospectively, most gracious sir. The house of Austria is grateful, and forgets not that already your father before you rendered her important services, attending the Emperor with credit in his wars against the Turks; that you yourself have been through a whole lifetime true and unswerving in your fidelity to the Emperor's service; that the Stadtholder in the Mark, and the Grand Master of the Order of St. John has been ever mindful of his duty to the Emperor."

"I must and shall be ever called a good Imperialist," cried the count warmly, "and prefer the Emperor's to the Elector's service.[20] Bethlen Gabor, Prince of Hungary, has well said that the Elector and I are upon one ship, and that my fortune depends upon the Elector's fortune; but he shall be proved to have been in error, and we prefer making our voyage in our own little bark to take passage in the Electoral ship."

"Yes, father, that shall we!" cried the young count joyfully. "You sit at the helm and give management and direction to the boat. For my part, I shall so hoist and unfurl the sails that we catch the breeze and bound swiftly forward!"

"Do so, my son, and always heed the wind as it blows across from the apartments of the Electress and her princesses, as well as from the robber nests and dens of the squires and waylayers of the Mark, and from the fortresses and garrisons. We, too, my son, voyage together in the same boat; I am the pilot, you unfurl the sails, and upon our flag in mysterious and invisible colors is inscribed this device: Good Imperialists, good Catholics!"

"Yes, good Imperialists and good Catholics," replied the young count energetically. "But, dearest father, let us add besides, quite softly, good Schwarzenbergians!"

"Yes, my son, that will we. For, in addition to those great and holy interests, to keep one's own interests a little in view is manly and justifiable. My heavens! life would have been perfectly hateful and abominable in this dirty, cheerless Berlin if we had not seen above us a glittering star, to which we could look up when all was so dismal here below, which shone upon our path and cheered us when we feared to sink in the mud and mire. This star, my son, do you know its name?"

"Its name is Fame, its name is Love, _cher père_."

"Well, for the sake of fame I will put up with love, foolish dreamer. You may bring it on board our boat as ballast. But if a storm should come and necessity impel, we shall throw our ballast overboard."

"Dear father, if you do that, you will throw overboard likewise my happiness and life!" exclaimed Count Adolphus warmly. "If you call love ballast, then forget not, father, that in this ballast your son's heart is included."

"Enamored fool, you really have a heart? Do you believe so?"

"I believe so, most noble father, because I feel it, because--"

A hasty knock, thrice repeated, at the door of the antechamber interrupted him, and in obedience to the Stadtholder's summons, the lackey Balthasar hurriedly entered.

"Most gracious sir," he said, "it is a courier from the Commandant von Rochow at Spandow, who desires to speak with your lordship on most urgent business."

"I am going, most gracious father, I am going," cried the young count, speedily rising. "I can no longer lay claim to the Stadtholder's precious time."

"And you have very important affairs of your own to attend to, have you not?" asked his father. "You have been long enough diplomatist and politician, and that curious thing, whose possession you boast, the heart, will now assert its rights?"

The young man laughed and pressed the count's extended hand tenderly to his lips. Then he nodded once more affectionately to his father, and bounded lightly through the room to the side door, through which he vanished. Count Adam Schwarzenberg looked thoughtfully after his son. "Strange!" he murmured. "Is he acting a comedy, or is it truth? Does he prudently pretend to have a heart, or has he one in reality? Well, never mind. The courier from Spandow!"

In answer to the count's loud call a huntsman in dirty, dusty uniform made his appearance from the antechamber, and, making a military salute, remained standing near the door.

"What news have you for me?" asked Count Schwarzenberg, striding toward him. "Where are your letters and dispatches?"

"I crave pardon, your excellency, but I have no letters or dispatches. The Commandant von Rochow sent me with a verbal message, and entreats forgiveness in that haste allowed him no time for writing. I have only to announce that, even at the instant of my departure, the Electoral Prince was making his solemn entry into Spandow. All ranks and conditions of people from the region round about had joined the Electoral Prince, and followed him, in carriages, on horseback, and on foot. The commandant was greatly amazed to witness so much pomp, and hastened to array himself in parade uniform in order to go and meet the Electoral Prince with his corps of officers."

"That is all you have to communicate to me?"

"All, your excellency."

"Then ride back again, and return to the commandant my warmest thanks for his welcome message."

"Yes," repeated the count, when the courier had taken leave, "yes, this is a welcome message and by ----! I shall derive profit from it."

"Ho, Balthasar, Balthasar! Is the commander of police in the antechamber?"

"Your highness, he has been there an hour already."

"Bid him come in. There you are, Master Brandt! Well, listen! Send all your secret friends and emissaries through the city, privately inform the citizens, the magistrates, the merchants, the whole inhabitants in a body, that the Electoral Prince will arrive here in from three to four hours, and that it would surely be a right great pleasure to the Elector and his wife if they would prepare him a public reception, and go a little way on the road to meet him. Say, moreover, that it would assuredly prepare a very great joy for the Electoral Prince if they would illuminate the city this evening, and if this were done voluntarily, and without suggestion, the Electoral Prince would be forced to admit how very glad the people of Berlin are to welcome him, and how much they hope for from his return. Excite the populace properly, that their houses be brightly illuminated, and that they may give great demonstrations of joy. Dispatch your agents everywhere, and show me to-day for once that you know how to execute my orders punctually, and are a worthy successor of my dear, recently deceased Dietrich, your predecessor in office."

"Your excellency, I shall do all that lies in my power, and I doubt not but that I shall succeed in deserving your honor's approbation. I only venture to remark, that many of the citizens will find it exceedingly difficult to procure the candles or lamps needed for the illumination, for the poverty and distress are very great, and it would perhaps be well to aid the people and furnish them with the candles for illuminating."

"Do so, Master Brandt," cried the count, smiling. "I fully empower you to purchase tallow candles for distribution, to the amount of a hundred dollars; only, take care that the people actually light and burn them up, and do not consume them as dainties these hard times. And one thing more, Brandt! It would be pleasant to me if you would excite a few people against me and his highness the Elector, while you tell them various bad things about me, and attribute it as a crime to the Elector that he is so devoted to me. You might then urge on to the palace such people as you have stirred up and goaded, so that, as soon as the Electoral Prince arrives, they might shout with loud distinct voices: 'Long live the Electoral Prince! Long live our savior and deliverer! Down with the Catholics. Away with Schwarzenberg!' You can at least persuade ten or fifteen to do this, and promise them that they shall have money to buy a good drink if they shout right loudly and clearly. Well, why do you smile so all of a sudden, man?"

"Pardon me, your highness, but when I entered upon my office, four weeks ago, your excellency urged it upon me as a stringent duty to report truly to your honor, not only what happens, but what is the mood of the people here. Does this command always have validity, your excellency?"

"It has validity for the whole term of your service, Master Brandt, or, rather, you will only remain chief of police so long as I am convinced that you always report to me the full truth in all things, without reserve. Speak! What would you say?"

"Your highness, I would only say that it is not necessary to stir up the people to give utterance to such infamous and disrespectful outcries against your excellency. They will do so of their own accord, and if I should not pick up the first who raised such a cry, have him arrested, and carried off, then immediately would twenty fellows be found, without any prompting from me, to shout exactly the words which your excellency would gladly hear."

"You mean the words: 'Away with the Catholics! Down with Schwarzenberg'?"

"I beg your honor's pardon, but those are the words I mean."

The count laughed clearly. "Well," he said, "so much the better! We will be spared then some trouble and expense, which is always a very pleasant thing. But hear, Sir Master of Police! If we let the fellows shout to-day, it does not follow that we shall not administer fitting punishment to-morrow. Mark the shouters very narrowly, and to-morrow, when the merriment is over, have them arrested and thrust into prison for a couple of weeks!"

The chief of police shrugged his shoulders. "I crave pardon, your excellency; that is no punishment for the rabble in these days. They are glad when they are put away at Oxenhead, or here in the castle prison, receiving food and lodgings free of cost, and many a one, who formerly lived in honor and affluence, would to-day be gladly found guilty of some fault, for the sake of being arrested and supported in prison at the expense of the state."

"Well, then we will not gratify the shouting mob by punishing them with imprisonment, but cause the jailer to administer a sound cudgeling to each one of them, and then let the fellows go again. Make good speed now, Brandt, for I expect the Electoral Prince here in a few hours, and if the people are not properly notified, he will make his entry before they have taken off their rags and donned their holiday attire. Make haste, and let us have this evening a right brilliant illumination. Farewell, Master Brandt!"

The chief of police departed, and by a loud whistle Schwarzenberg called the lackey to him.

"One of the grooms must take horse," was his command.

"He must ride out on the road to Spandow about a quarter of a mile. There he is to halt, and wait until the Electoral Prince arrives with his attendants. As soon as he has seen him, he is to come back at full speed and make the announcement to me."

"All necessary preliminaries are arranged," said Schwarzenberg, when he found himself again alone. "Now let the Electoral Prince come on, we are ready to receive him. There will be a hard struggle, but I have been victorious over all my enemies for twenty years, and shall probably conquer the little Electoral Prince too! Now a hurried toilet, and then to the Elector, to open the skirmish in his neighborhood! Ah, we shall see, my young Prince! For you shouts the rabble of Berlin, for me speaks the Elector! We shall see which of us two has built upon the sand!"

III.--THE HOME-COMING.

"May I be so bold as to come in, most noble sir?" asked Count Schwarzenberg, as he opened the door leading into the Electoral cabinet and thrust in his head, encircled by a hundred beautifully arranged curls.

"Behold, there is Adam Schwarzenberg!" cried Elector George William, wheeling his chair from the writing table. "Why do you ask, count, since you know that you are always privileged to enter unannounced? Come closer, and be heartily welcome!"

And the Elector leaned both his arms upon the wooden aims of his chair, making an effort to rise. But the count was at his side in a moment, gently forcing him back into his seat, while at the same time he half bent one knee and imprinted a kiss upon the Elector's right hand.

"If your grace treats me with such formality, and rises on my account, then I must believe that you love me no longer," he said, with soft, insinuating voice. "But you well know, beloved master, that I could not live without your love, and that existence itself would seem gloomy and dark to me if the star of your favor and love should cease to shine upon it."

"Live, my Adam, live merrily, then, and joyously, for you well know that I love you," replied George William, nodding to the count in most friendly manner. "And how could it be otherwise, when I know that I can depend upon your love, and that you are the only one truly interested in my not being called away yet awhile, and in having me tarry a little longer upon earth. Come, my friend, sit down. Draw up your armchair close to my side--no, opposite to me, that I may look at you. I love dearly to behold your handsome, noble face, and then console myself with the thought that, after all, the Elector of Brandenburg can not be such a pitiful little Prince, since such a proud, distinguished lord as Count Schwarzenberg is his minister."

"Say his servant, his slave, his humble subject, most gracious sir! Yes, look at me, my much-loved master, and read in my countenance that I am devoted to you with my whole heart and soul. Ah! who knows how much longer you will read that in my face, and how soon it may come to pass that poor Adam Schwarzenberg will be thrust aside and no longer find a place in your heart! Oh, dearest sir, when I think of that, I feel perfectly wretched and inconsolable, and I would rather hide my head and weep and mourn, than go smilingly to meet the joyful countenance of him who will come to supplant me in your affections!"

"Nobody shall do that, Adam, and I know not, indeed, who could be bold enough even to attempt it."

"Most gracious sir, the Electoral Prince will attempt it! He who, when a mere little child, was my opponent. He, who has been brought up by his mother and other relatives to mistrust me. He will grudge me the smallest place in his father's heart, and will do everything to contest it with me!"

"But he will not succeed, be assured of that, my Adam, he will not succeed in it. I only know too well that in you I have a faithful, devoted servant, in the Electoral Prince a rebellious and refractory son; that with you all is bound up in my life; with him all in my death!"

"Oh, no, your highness, no, it is impossible that the Electoral Prince could be so heartless and degenerate as to wish for his father's death. No, I must take the part of the Electoral Prince against you. You accuse him falsely, most gracious sir; he surely loves you, and it is only his ambition and youthful arrogance that sometimes lead him to do what is not right, and what surely he would not do if he only reflected better. Out of youthful presumption he undertook, despite your commands to the contrary, to remain longer at The Hague, and even to send back the Chamberlain von Schlieben, whom you had dispatched to him with strict orders to bring him home. And only his stormy, boundless ambition is at fault now in inducing him to appear here in rather an unbecoming manner. But you must not be angry with him for it, dear sir, and on that very account have I come to you to-day, to beg and implore you most earnestly not to admit any feelings of resentment into your mind this day, which is to restore to you the Electoral Prince."

"He is coming, then, at last?" cried the Elector, breathing again. "He has finally had the goodness to heed our oft-repeated commands, and condescended to return home? But this return is, as I feel, likely enough to prepare renewed vexation for me, and in your magnanimity you come to me only to sweeten a little the pill which my son gives me to swallow. Speak out openly, Adam, and keep back nothing! What is it? What has the Electoral Prince done?"

"Oh, your highness, I am convinced that he means nothing bad, and has no design of vexing you. He naturally rejoices greatly on his return to his future dominions, and consequently enjoys the congratulations of his future subjects, and gladly allows them to receive him with demonstrations of delight."

"Do they so, his future subjects?" inquired the Elector, and his hands, swollen by gout, grasped convulsively the arms of his easychair. "Do they welcome him with rejoicings as their future sovereign?"

"Yes, most gracious sir, it is plainly to be seen how closely the people cling to the electoral house of Hohenzollern, and how they sympathize in every fortunate event occurring in that family. From the moment that the Electoral Prince crossed the boundaries of the Mark, the inhabitants of every village and town have joyfully poured forth to meet him; his journey is a genuine triumphal procession, and the reigning Sovereign of the country could not be received with more honor and delight than is the young Electoral Prince!"

"Me, their reigning Sovereign, me, they did not receive with rejoicings," exclaimed the Elector, whose face grew crimson with excitement and passion. "My journey was anything but a triumphal procession, resembling much more a funeral, so quiet and still was everything on my way. Nowhere did I hear a joyful welcome, nowhere did the people come forth to meet me, and as at Königsberg they permitted me to depart without greeting or acclamation, so here at Berlin they allowed me to enter without a sign of welcome or congratulation. I will now confess to you alone that I was much mortified by this, although I did not complain of it. I comforted myself by reflecting that the times were bad and depressing, and that in their afflictions the people could not even present a glad, cheerful countenance to the father of their country. But now it falls to my lot to hear that they _can_ make merry and rejoice, and that they have only saved up the joy in their hearts to bestow it upon the return home of my son and heir."

"Pardon, your highness, but I believe that we accuse the poor people wrongfully if we imagine that they are now acting thus of their own free motion, when they were so quiet on the arrival of their beloved Sovereign. No, the poor, unhappy people would have been equally silent at this time if they had not been stirred up to make noisy demonstrations of joy, if they had not been paid for it. It is otherwise wholly incredible and not to be thought of that the populace should have prepared such a triumph for the young home-returning lord. It is plainly to be seen that all has been settled and arranged beforehand. For it is not merely the offscourings of the streets, but burghers, magistrates, and officials, who have extended a welcome to the Electoral Prince. At Spandow, for example, all the citizens, with the magistracy at their head, issued from the town to pay their respects to him--yes, even Commandant von Rochow has found it necessary to join in the universal rejoicings, and has ridden out with his officers in their dress uniforms to do honor to the Prince's arrival. Here at Berlin, too, your own residence, all is uproar and excitement. They are putting on their holiday suits, and making ready to meet the Electoral Prince. That proves quite clearly that his speedy approach to the city has been already announced to the citizens, and communicated to the magistrates even before any tidings of the sort had reached your highness or myself, the Stadtholder in the Mark. For as soon as I obtained this intimation from Colonel von Rochow, I hastened hither to bring to your highness the glad news of your son's return home, and on the way I was stopped by whole crowds of festive men and women hastening to the suburb Spandow, to plant themselves near the Pomegranate Bridge and along the meadow dike.[21] Indeed, it strikes me that I even saw some gentlemen of municipal authority going the same way in full official dress."

"And you suffered this?" asked the Elector angrily. "You allowed them to prepare such an insult and affront as to do for the son what they have not found needful to do for the father? But I will not bear it; I shall not be humiliated by my own son. You are the Stadtholder in the Mark, you must provide against their offering me any cause of vexation. Send out your officers, Sir Stadtholder, to clear the streets of this gaping multitude, send the magistrates home, and order the people to remain quietly within their houses, to do their work and not to lounge about the streets."

"My much-loved lord and Elector, I sue for a favor in behalf of your most faithful servant, your poor Adam. I beg you out of consideration for me to retract these stringent orders, for I should be ruined if I were to execute them. Throughout the whole Mark, yea, throughout all Germany, they would raise the cry of murder against me, would everywhere blazon it, that Count Schwarzenberg is so inimically disposed toward the Electoral Prince that he would not even grant him an honorable reception on his return home after an absence of three years. Oh, most gracious sir, you will not increase yet more the number of my enemies and opposers, you will not excite public opinion yet more against me, and render it more favorably disposed to the Electoral Prince! If we now forcibly restrain these testimonials of pleasure on the part of the people, then will it be said that I misuse my power and am jealous of the Electoral Prince; that I am seeking to thrust him aside from his exalted position. If, on the other hand, it is seen how joyfully I acquiesce in the Electoral Prince's reception with acclamations everywhere, then will they be forced to acknowledge that it is not I who meet the young Prince with hatred, but that I willingly concede to him all honors and triumphs."

"It is true," muttered the Elector, "they would surely suspect and accuse you, and it would not mend matters to say that I myself gave orders that the Electoral Prince be allowed to come home quietly."

"God forbid that such a thing should be said!" cried Schwarzenberg. "No, rather let the whole world censure and condemn me--rather let it be said that I have acted as the spiteful and unworthy enemy of the Electoral Prince--than that they should dare even to cast one shadow upon my beloved master's heart. What matters it that they calumniate me, if they only venture not to attack and suspect your highness?"

"They shall not slander and suspect you, my Adam," said the Elector, offering him his hand. "For your sake let us suffer the Electoral Prince to come hither in triumph. But we will remember it against him, and our love for him will not be thereby increased."

"Yet I entreat your highness to receive your son kindly and graciously," pleaded Schwarzenberg with insinuating voice. "It is better, your highness, to try to chain him to you by goodness and love than by strictness and severity to repel him yet more, and force him to join the party of your opponents. It is a great and powerful party, and I well know that it is their plan to place the Electoral Prince at their head, and through him to attain their ends."

"And what are their ends?" asked the Elector, with lowering brow.

The count bent over closer to his ear, as if he feared letting even the walls hear what he had to say.

"Their ends are a transference of the government, and when this is effected a revolt from Emperor and empire, and a league with the Swedes and all Protestant German princes against Emperor and empire."

"The transference of the government? That means an insurrection, a revolution. They would hurl me from my throne and ensconce my son there?"

"They hope that in your distress you will do, gracious sir, what your blessed father did."

"Abdicate!" cried the Elector angrily. "Abdicate in favor of my son?"

"In favor of the Electoral Prince, who has grown up in Holland to become a promising Prince, a general of the future, a brilliant leader of the Protestant Church, and of whom his followers say that he will be a second Gustavus Adolphus!"

"A second plague--a second source of danger to myself!" screamed the Elector, striking with his clinched fist upon the arm of his chair. "It was not enough that my brother-in-law Gustavus Adolphus brought me into trouble and distress, and caused the Emperor's wrath to flame forth against me, so that I was really afraid that I would share the fate of my cousin the Margrave of Jägerndorf, whom the Emperor put under his ban, declaring that he had forfeited his margraviate, and giving it over as a feudal tenure to Prince Liechstenstein! I was only saved then from a like terrible fate by your intercession and fidelity! It was you who, by your address and eloquence, softened the Emperor's resentment against me, induced him to pardon me, and afterward brought about the peace of Prague, which reconciled the Emperor to me. Yet it was not enough to have gone through those times of anxiety and distress, they must be now renewed through my only son! In him am I to find a second Gustavus Adolphus, to plunge me into new perils and bring down upon me the Emperor's avenging wrath? But it shall not be--I solemnly swear, it shall not be! I will _not_ involve my land in new dangers and calamities of war. I will _not_ depart from my neutrality. I _will_ have peace--peace with the Emperor, peace for my poor people, and for their unhappy Prince! But I shall not act as my father did, and prepare a pleasure for my son by resigning sovereignty and rule in my lifetime and becoming the servant and subject of my own son! Before me shall he bow--me shall he acknowledge to be his lord so long as I live, and never while I breathe shall I cease to lay to his charge these hours of pain and vexation. I am Elector and ruler, and he is nothing further than my son and subject, my successor when I die, but not my coregent while I live! Count Adam Schwarzenberg, I charge you to stand courageously at my side, to remain zealous in my service, and to direct your attention especially to unraveling all the arts and wiles, the plots and schemes of my son and his abettors; to give me always information on these points, to keep nothing in the background, and not to conceal anything from me merely to save me from vexation. Will you promise and swear so to manage and act, my Adam?"

"I swear and promise it, and in affirmation will my Prince allow me to give him my hand upon it?" asked Schwarzenberg, laying his own right hand in the outstretched one of the Elector. "You will find in me a true servant and guardian of your sacred person and your throne, and he who would supplant or harm you must first step over the corpse of Count Schwarzenberg! But now, most gracious sir, I beseech you not to be overpowered by your feelings of indignation, and to be amiable and condescending toward the home-coming Electoral Prince; for it is sometimes very necessary to wear a mask and assume an appearance of harmlessness and unconcern in order the better to fathom the designs of one's enemies, and to make them feel secure, that they may the more easily betray themselves."

"Yes, I will do so," said George William, sighing. "I will swallow down my rage, although it would be a relief to me to vent it a little, and to show my son that I know him and am not deceived by him. But what noise is that without, and who is knocking so violently at the door?"

This door was now impetuously torn open, and the Electress Sophy Elizabeth entered, with beaming eyes and features lighted up by joy, while on high she held an open letter in her hand.

"George!" she exclaimed--"George, our son is coming! Our dear Frederick William is coming!"

"Well, I rather think he ought to have been here a half year ago," growled the Elector, "and we have been expecting him several months already."

"But he is here now, my husband, he is actually here now. Only see what a good, affectionate son he is! He has halted at the inn of the Spandow suburb, merely to forewarn us of his arrival. It was not enough for him that he had sent us a messenger with a verbal communication, no, he must send us a written salutation, and such kind, cordial words as he has written. There, read, my husband, just read!"

She handed the paper to the Elector, but he did not take it.

"Is the letter directed to me?" he asked.

"No, to me, to his mother he wrote, because he knew how happy it would make me, and how heartily I love him. Read, George!"

"I never read letters that are not directed to myself," said the Elector, turning away.

"Well, then, I will read it to you!" cried the Electress, who in the fullness of her joy heeded as little the ill humor of the Elector as she did the presence of Count Schwarzenberg, who upon her entrance had modestly withdrawn to one of the deep window recesses. "Yes, I will read it to you," she repeated, "for you must hear what our son writes."

And with a voice trembling from joy and agitation she read:

"My gracious, revered Mother: Before I enter my dear birthplace and return home to my beloved parents and sisters, I would announce my arrival to your highnesses, that you may not be alarmed by my unexpected coming, and that I may not come inopportunely to his grace, my father. I enjoy greatly getting home, and all the testimonials of love and sympathy which I have received ever since I set foot within my father's territories, and they will remain indelibly graven on my heart. I beg your grace to present my most submissive respects to my gracious father and Elector, and to speak a good word for me to him, that his grace may no longer cherish resentment against me on account of my long stay abroad, and that he may favorably incline toward and receive me, and be convinced that I am and shall ever remain the grateful and obedient son of my venerated parents.

"FREDERICK WILLIAM."

"Well" asked the Electress, "are not those affectionate, glorious words, and does not your fatherly heart rejoice in them? But just hear, hear, how they shout and hurrah! It is the good people of Berlin! They are coming to the palace to see our son!"

Again was the door through which the Electress had entered violently thrown open, and two young ladies entered. Their lovely and blooming faces beamed with happiness and their eyes glistened with joy.

"He comes! Our brother is coming!" they cried, rushing forward toward their parents. "Just come to the window, that we may see him, for he is riding around the corner into the pleasure garden"

"Are you all, then, wholly beside yourselves, and gone stark mad?" cried the Elector passionately, while he rose from his armchair and proudly drew himself up. "Who gives these two young ladies the privilege of entering my cabinet thus, unannounced and without ceremony? Just answer me one thing, Miss Charlotte Louise, did I permit you to come here?"

"No, dearest father," said the Princess timidly, casting down her large, dark eyes, "no, your grace has not indeed permitted us to do so, but we did not think of that in the joy of our hearts, and because from here is the best lookout upon the pleasure grounds, we--"

"We thought," interrupted the younger sister, who had hardly attained her fifteenth year--"we thought our dear papa, his Electoral Grace, would forgive us and look out with us to catch a sight of our beloved brother. And were we not right, dear papa, were we mistaken in thinking so, and will your grace not allow your little Sophie Hedwig to lead you to the great corner window, that with mamma you may have a view of dear Frederick William?"

The Princess had approached her father, and, tenderly and coaxingly stroking his cheeks with her little white hand, looked up at him with such a gentle, pleading glance in her blue eyes as George William had never hitherto been known to resist. But this time the eyes of his favorite had no power over the Elector's heart, and indignantly he repelled her encircling arms.

"Let me alone with your 'dear Frederick William,' you saucy piece!" cried he passionately. "You should at all events have waited until I had given you leave to appear here. If, in your childish giddiness, you knew no better, yet your sister Charlotte Louise, at the more mature age of twenty, ought to have arrived at years of discretion, and known what was proper."

"No one knows better what is becoming than the fair young Princess Charlotte Louise, most gracious sir," said Count Adam Schwarzenberg, issuing from the window recess and greeting the Princess with a reverential bow. "In the whole country the Electoral Princess is honored as a brilliant model of fine manners and noble demeanor, and every one feels himself blessed and honored who is permitted to approach her. And is not the young lady right even now, dear sir, in coming here with her young sister? It is surely proper and well for the united Electoral family to be seen by the nation as they look upon the dear son and brother, whose return gladdens their hearts?"

"Well, for aught I care, she may be right," muttered the Elector, "and I will grant my wife and daughters leave to look out of the corner window. But, meanwhile, where is the Electress?"

"Her grace is standing there before the corner window and gazing down so earnestly upon the square that I have not yet been so fortunate as to be allowed to pay my respects to her highness."

"For if the whole world had been assembled together she would have seen nothing but the Electoral Prince," called out the Elector, shrugging his shoulders. "Go to her, Adam, and present my compliments to her. Tell her that I resign my cabinet to her and my daughters, and will withdraw into my sleeping apartment until this uproar has subsided."

"Oh, do not do so, most honored father," cried the younger Princess. "Stay here, and look out of the window with us."

"Do so, your Electoral Highness," pleaded the count, softly and quickly. "Grant the people the light of your countenance."

"Well, so be it, then," sighed George William. "Call the servants, Charlotte Louise, that they may roll me to the window."

"As if I could not have the privilege of acting as servant to your highness, and as if my arm were not strong enough to guide your highness's chair. Permit me, gracious sir, to roll you to the window."

"And permit me to help your excellency," said Princess Charlotte Louise, smiling, while she seized one of the arms of the fauteuil.

"Now truly this is a very lofty equipage," cried George William, as the fauteuil rolled along through the spacious apartment. "The Stadtholder in the Mark and a Princess of the blood drawing my equipage."

"But what a man sits in it!" said Count Schwarzenberg. "A duke of Prussia, of Pomerania, of Cleves, an Elector of Brandenburg, and--"

"Hurrah, hurrah!" sounded up from below in a chorus of hundreds of voices. "Hurrah! long live the Electoral Prince!"

"He comes! Oh, my son, my son!" cried the Electress. "He comes! George, our son--"

She had turned round and her eye met the count's gaze, who immediately bowed low and reverentially before her. The Electress only thanked him with a slight nod of her head, and herself sprang forward to push the fauteuil into the window niche. Then, with trembling hands, she opened both window shutters and beckoned her daughters to her side.

"He must see us all, _all_" she said. "With one glance he must take in father, mother, and sisters."

"And my most faithful and best-beloved servant, the Stadtholder in the Mark!" cried the Elector. "Come, Adam, place yourself close beside me, that the picture may be complete, and my son may see us all at once."

Boundless public rejoicings seemed to be in progress below; a loud, long-sustained, ever-renewed cheering rolled over the square like the roar of the sea.

"My son, my beloved son!" cried the Electress, leaning far out of the window and stretching out both arms toward the young man, who had just emerged from the shrubbery, on horseback and followed by a brilliant train.

"Brother, dear brother!" called out the two Princesses, leaning out of the other side of the window, and waving their handkerchiefs in token of welcome. Behind them sat the Elector in his great armchair, quite forgotten and quite hidden from view by his wife and daughters, not at all visible to either the people or his son.

"I shall remember this hour, oh! to be sure, I shall remember it," he said, with trembling lips; "my son shall atone to me for this hour of shame and mortification. I--"

The huzzaing and shouting below drowned his words; they came pouring in at the open window like the pealing tones of an organ, like the roar of the sea, like claps of thunder.

The Elector could no longer bear it. He looked up with glances of entreaty at the count, who, drawn up to his full height, stood proud and commanding at the side of his chair, his sharp eyes piercing down into the court over the ladies' heads.

"Ah, Adam," sighed George William, "you, too, have forgotten me, and are only looking upon him who is coming!"

But, however softly these words had been spoken, the count heard them, and tenderly he leaned over the Elector, and seized his hand to kiss it.

"I am looking at the newcomer," he whispered, "but I never forget you, and my heart can never be unmindful of the love and fidelity it owes you."

"Hurrah! Long live the Electoral Prince!" was borne up in tumultuous uproar from the pleasure garden. "Long live the Electoral Prince! Long live the Elector! Hurrah for the Elector George William!"

"They are calling for you, my husband, they call for you!" said the Electress. "Will you not show yourself to our dear people?"

"I ought, indeed, to be thankful to the dear people," returned her husband. "The dear people have at least reminded the Electress that I still exist, although she had crowded me back and rendered me entirely invisible behind her. Yes, I will show myself to the people, as they still think of me in the midst of their merriment. Step back from the window, ladies, make room for your Elector and lord! And you, Count Schwarzenberg, come and give me your arm; I would lean upon you!"

The count willingly offered the Elector his arm. Powerfully drawn up by him, the Elector rose from his seat, and, leaning upon his favorite, stepped close up to the window. The shouts of joy were for a moment hushed; perhaps because the Electoral Prince had just ridden into the palace yard, perhaps because the ladies' retreat from the window was considered by the people a sign that the Elector was about to appear. And now, within the window frame, was seen the clumsy, broad figure of the Elector; now was seen his large head, sparsely covered with gray hairs, his pale, swollen face, prematurely old, with its melancholy blue eyes and thin, colorless lips, round which played not the slightest smile. In the handsome, powerful, and youthful Electoral Prince the people had just joyfully greeted Brandenburg's future, and now from the window of that gray, gloomy, wretched old palace looked out upon them the hopelessness of Brandenburg's present. Like gazing upon embodied care and joyless resignation it was, to behold the Elector's grave, forbidding aspect, and before it the joyous cry upon the people's lips was silenced. They stared up at the window in dumb horror, and only here and there sounded cries from compassionate or bribed mouths: "Long live the Elector! Long live George William!" And like a dying echo came back the answer on this side and on that, feebly and slowly: "Long live the Elector! Long live George William!"

But now the people caught sight of the tall, stately form, in gold embroidered velvet suit, with the star of brilliants glittering on its breast, which stood beside the Elector; now they recognized that haughty countenance with its glance of sovereign contempt, its smile of lofty condescension upon the thin, scornful lips, and a disturbance was perceptible among the multitudes, as when a sudden gust of wind agitates the waves of the sea and lashes them up into fury and rage. All at once there came thundering up to the window, shrieked, howled, and hissed by the crowd: "Down with the Catholics! Down with Schwarzenberg! Down with the Imperialist!"

A deep flush overspread the Elector's face. He hastily stepped back from the window, and looked almost timidly up at the count, whose countenance meanwhile had not for a moment lost its proud, smiling serenity. He seemed not to have heard the screams of the mob.

"They would vex me to death, therefore do they scream so!" cried the Elector; "they know my regard for Schwarzenberg, and therefore are they so set against him and insult him, in order to insult me through him!"

"My parents, my beloved parents!" cried a clear, rich voice, and a young man tore open the doors of the Electoral cabinet, revealing a tall, slender figure and a noble face, with sparkling eyes and smiling lips. The Electress uttered one scream of rapture, and hastened to meet her son with outstretched arms. He threw himself upon her breast, greeting her with phrases of fond endearment, and when he lifted himself from his mother's heart there were the two sisters to embrace their dear and only brother, to greet him with affectionate words of love, and to hold him long, long in their encircling arms. The Elector had again sunk back into his armchair. His "faithful servant," Count Schwarzenberg, had again rolled him back into the middle of the apartment and stationed himself immediately in the rear.

With unpropitious frowns had the Elector witnessed the first tender greeting exchanged between the Electress and her son. Now, when his sisters in their turn engrossed him and the mother stood looking on in transport, now the Elector turned round to Schwarzenberg, and an expression of deep bitterness spoke in every feature.

"My son seems not to know that I am yet in the world," he said, with quick, complaining tone of voice. "Had you not better remind him of it for decency's sake, Adam?"

But at this moment the Electoral Prince freed himself from his sisters' arms, perceived the Elector, and sprang forward to him with open arms to throw himself on his heart. But, when he got a nearer view of his father's dark countenance, he let his arms drop, bent his knee before the Elector, and grasped one hand to imprint upon it a reverential kiss.

"My dear father, my most gracious Sovereign and Elector!" cried he in tones full of tenderness, "I beg your pardon that my first word, my first salutation was not given to you. You see, I was always a foolish boy, whom my mother spoils, and who delights in being spoiled."

"I beg your pardon, my husband," said the Electress, approaching her husband; "I alone was to blame that our son did not come first to you, as was his duty, and pay his first respects to his father and Sovereign. I stopped him, and you must not impute as a fault to the son what was occasioned by a mother's tenderness."

The Elector made no reply, but looked down with moody resentment upon the Electoral Prince, who still knelt before him.

"My much-loved, gracious father," cried the Prince, "I once more beg your pardon, and pray you kindly to forget if I have hitherto often given you ground for annoyance, and have not appeared here immediately on your first command. I see my error, and I promise, my dear, kind father, that I have returned home as a penitent, affectionate son, as an obedient subject, whose earnest endeavor shall be to deserve the forgiveness and good opinion of his lord and father, and to live wholly and solely in subjection to his will. Only bid me welcome, too, my most revered sir; bestow upon your son one word of welcome and fatherly love."

The Prince glanced so tenderly at his father, there lay so much feeling in his handsome, expressive countenance, that the Elector could not resist him, but, in spite of himself, felt his heart stirred by tenderness and emotion. He bowed down to him, a rare smile lit up his face, and he was just opening his lips to greet his son with words of friendliness and love, when the shrieking and shouting down in the pleasure garden, which had ceased for some time (probably because their exhausted throats required rest), burst forth again with redoubled violence.

"Away with the Catholics! Down with Schwarzenberg! Long live the Electoral Prince. Down with Schwarzenberg!" came up with thundering impetuosity.

The friendly words died upon the Elector's lips, and the short sunshine of his smile vanished under a cloud of displeasure.

"It seems, sir," he said, "as if your arrival were a real jubilee for the low rabble, who have assembled down there in the pleasure grounds, and as if your arrival were to be the cause of much vexation to me. What seditious, scandalous words are those shouted by those wretches?"

"I do not know, I did not hear them," said the Electoral Prince quickly.

"My whole attention was concentrated upon y father's lips, waiting to hear one gracious word of welcome!"

"The mob saved me that trouble!" cried the Elector. They cut me off from speech with their 'Long live the electoral Prince!' What need is there for a further welcome from your old father?"

"I need it much," replied the Electoral Prince, with low, melancholy voice. "I need a kind, gracious word from my father, on returning home after so long an absence; and it would seem to me as if my whole future, my whole life were under a cloud if I lacked the blessing of your love, the sunshine of your favor."

"My son knows how to arrange his words prettily," said the Elector, shrugging his shoulders; "it is very observable that he has become quite a fine, elegant gentleman; who will find but little to his taste among us, and who will suit us just as little! But what are those people forever shouting?" said the Elector, interrupting himself, while he rose impulsively from his armchair, thus obliging the Prince to rise from his knees. "What infamous hubbub and howling is this, and what do you villains want of us?"

"Nothing further, most noble Elector," replied Count Schwarzenberg, to whom the Elector had turned with his query--"nothing further than that your honor drive me away, nothing further than that you dismiss the hated minister, whom they abhor, simply because he is a Catholic and not a Reformer, and because he is named Schwarzenberg and not Rochow or Quitzow, nor blessed with some country bumpkin's title."

"I will rout this pack of vagabonds!" cried the Elector. "Let them dare just once more to let such an opprobrious, insulting shout be heard!"

And, quite forgetting his weakness and his limb so painfully swollen with gout, the Elector went rapidly to the still open corner window, and, leaning far out of it, lifted up his hand, commanding quiet. The people took this inclination of the body, this movement of the hand, for a token of grace, for a kind salutation on the part of their Sovereign, perhaps even for a granting of their demand. They roared aloud with delight, waved aloft their hats and caps, their arms and handkerchiefs, and cried and whooped and hurrahed: "Long live the Elector! Long live George William! Long live the Electoral Prince!"

The Elector stepped back and shut the window so violently that the little panes of glass, framed in lead, fairly rattled.

"Frantic populace!" he growled, "they mix up a wretched salad of cheers and curses, mingle weeds with their herbs, and fancy that we will find this devilish compound pleasing to our palates! We shall remember them for it, and--"

"Most gracious sir!" cried Count Schwarzenberg, with radiant countenance, approaching the Elector--"most gracious sir, in this blessed hour of our beloved Electoral Prince's return, I have a favor to ask of your highness. His grace has just greeted me so amiably, so condescendingly, that he has caused my heart to overflow with joy, and I feel the strongest desire to give expression to this joy. The return of the Electoral Prince is just as propitious an event for me as, for the Electoral family, and for all your subjects it is a festive occasion which can not be sufficiently honored, and therefore I entreat your highness to permit me to celebrate it at my house also, and to gratify me by being present yourself at this _fête_, with all the other members of your exalted family."

The Elector looked upon his minister with an expression of joyful tenderness, and then turned his glance upon the Electoral Prince, who stood silent, and with lowered eyelids, beside his mother and sisters.

"Well, what say you to it, sir?" asked George William. "Do you accept the invitation to the feast?"

"I, Electoral Lord?" asked the Prince, astonished. "It is not for me to accept, or to say anything. I only await the decision of your highness, and now allow myself to remark that I shall ever feel honored by an invitation from the Stadtholder in the Mark, and that no one can have a higher appreciation of his services and a greater respect for his statesman-like experience and wisdom than myself."

"He knows how to speak, does he not, count?" asked the Elector, indicating his son by a quick nod of the head.

"Well, since it depends on my decision, I shall gladly extend to you my leave to celebrate the Electoral Prince's return by a little merrymaking, were it only that the good-for-nothing people of Berlin may see that we and our family are devoted to Count Schwarzenberg now as before, and that their pitiful howls have had no influence upon us and our determinations. Yes, we will come to your party, Adam, we accept your invitation cordially and affectionately."

"I thank my most gracious lord for this act of favor and condescension," cried the count, pressing the Elector's proffered hand to his lips. "Will your highness extend your favor by appointing the day on which so distinguished an honor is to befall my house?"

"Well, that you may not have time to make too great preparations, and put us to shame by the splendor of your _fête_, we will allow you but a short respite. To-day is Wednesday, the eighteenth of June, we therefore appoint Sunday, the twenty-second of June, for your festival."

"Be it then on Sunday, a sunny day truly for me and for my house," cried Count Schwarzenberg. "My son, too, will do himself the honor to participate in the joys of the _fête_, which your highness will do me the favor to give in my house, for he has returned from his journey, and will this very day petition for leave to present himself."

A fugitive glance from the count strayed across to the ladies, while he bowed low before them, but, however cursory this glance, it gave him full opportunity for perceiving Princess Charlotte Louise's deep blush, and the joyful flashing of her eyes.

"She loves him," he said softly to himself, "yes, she loves him, and my son will be Elector of Brandenburg."

"We shall be pleased to see again your son, Count John Adolphus," said George William kindly. "He is a very elegant and accomplished gentleman, besides being a very submissive and obedient son, in whom your father's heart may well rejoice. My son would do well to follow his example, and I shall be delighted for him to form a friendship with the count."

"I shall diligently strive to gain the friendship of the son as well as of the father," replied the Electoral Prince, smiling, "and it shall not be my fault, indeed, if I do not obtain it."

"Most honored sir, you can gain no more than you already possess," exclaimed Schwarzenberg, bowing low. "Will the Electress now permit me to address a question to her highness?"

"Ask your question quickly," cried the Electress, "that I may hear the request it is to introduce, for I am really curious to know what the rich and powerful Count Schwarzenberg can have to desire of the poor, uninfluential Electress."

"First, then, my question, most gracious lady: At what hour does your highness command my _fête_ to begin?"

"Will you leave the decision to me, my husband?" asked the Electress, smiling.

The Elector nodded assent.

"As you have invited my daughters," said the Electress, "I presume that there will certainly be dancing, and evening hours suit best for that. Let the _fête_ commence at six o'clock."

The Elector's brow darkened, for he did not at all relish gay, noisy evening parties, and a solemn dinner at the regular hour would have been far more welcome to him.

"Your grace has prescribed the hour for the opening of the ball," said Count Schwarzenberg reverentially. "But I now also entreat further that you name a dinner hour, for I hope your highness will favor me by dining with me on that day."

"Yes, that honor shall be shown you," cried the Elector cheerfully. "We shall come, surely we shall come. And I will myself appoint the hour for the mid-day meal. Let it be at two o'clock. Then we shall have some pleasant hours at table before the dancing comes off and the music puts our heads in a whirl."

"Two o'clock, then, most gracious sir."

"And now, Sir Count," cried the Electress, "now for your request. Say quickly what it is. What can you have to ask of me?"

"Most gracious Electress, I hardly venture to express it, and yet, by granting my request, you would do me a very great pleasure and honor. Some splendid silk stuffs have been sent me from France by my cousin, who is Austrian ambassador there. I had given him such a commission, as I thought of making a present to my aunt, the Countess Schwarzenberg at Vienna. My cousin bought these stuffs for me, and writes me, moreover, that they are the newest fabrics from the looms of Lyons, and that he has just sent three such dresses to the Empress and the two archduchesses at Vienna. Now, it did not seem to me becoming or appropriate that the Countess Schwarzenberg should wear robes such as the Empress and archduchesses wear, and I think gold and silver brocade suited to none but ladies of princely blood."

"And you would give them to us, Sir Count?" cried the young Princess Sophie Hedwig, with heightened color in her cheeks and sparkling eyes.

The Electress and older Princess laughed aloud at this naïve and hasty question, and even the Elector laughed a little.

A slight blush suffused the Electoral Prince's face; he withdrew to the window and looked out. Count Schwarzenberg, however, looked smilingly upon the young Princess, whose girlish impatience had come so opportunely to his rescue.

"I would venture," he said, "most humbly to ask her highness's permission to lay the brocade stuffs at her feet."

"Mamma, do so," coaxed Sophie Hedwig; "take the pretty dress patterns from the good Stadtholder."

"Well, then, I shall do so," said the Electress. "I accept your present for myself and the young ladies, and I thank you."

She extended her hand to the count, which he kissed.

"And you will give orders, Electress, that the dresses be made up in time for Count Schwarzenberg's _fête_!" cried the Elector cheerfully. "You must at least honor him by displaying his present first at his own house."

"There are a few plates accompanying it," remarked Schwarzenberg--"a few plates on which are painted the newest styles of ladies' dresses now fashionable in Paris. The robes of the Empress and the archduchesses were made by them."

"So shall our dresses be too!" cried Sophie Hedwig, joyfully clapping her hands. "Shall they not, dearest mamma--shall not our dresses be made by the fashion plates?"

Just at this moment the Electoral Prince again emerged from the window recess, and approached his father.

"I beg your highness's gracious permission to withdraw," he said. "I should like to retire to my own apartments a little while, in order to lay aside my dusty traveling suit."

"Do so, my son," replied the Elector, with a friendly nod of the head. "Go to your rooms, which have been prepared for you a whole half year, and await your return. Dress yourself and rejoin us at dinner. For the rest, I bid you heartily welcome, and may your return be productive of good, not evil, to yourself and us all."

"God grant that I may merit my father's favor, and ever show myself worthy of it!" exclaimed the Electoral Prince, with deep seriousness. "I have now the honor of taking my leave!"

He bowed low before the Elector, and with a like salutation bade farewell to the Electress and the Princesses. After greeting the count with a smile and a wave of his hand, he hurried with light elastic step through the apartment to the door.

IV.--THE DONATION.

When the Electoral Prince left his father's cabinet he found without the officers and servants of the household arranged in solemn order. They received him with a thrice-repeated cheer that was loud enough to penetrate through the door into the Electoral apartment, and to reach the Elector's ears in a manner by no means pleasant.

Affectionately and smilingly Frederick William thanked them. He could call each one of them by name, and charmed them all by recalling little incidents of his earlier days in which they had borne a part.

"I hope we shall always remain good friends," he said, when he had reached the door of the long entrance hall, "and once more I thank you for your friendly greeting."

Old Jock, who stood next to the door, and who looked quite grand in his artfully patched livery of state--old Jock had already just opened his mouth for another thundering hurrah, when the Electoral Prince laid his hand gently upon his shoulder.

"Hush, Jock, hush! do not shout," he said, loud enough to be heard by everybody. "It is enough that I read my welcome in your eyes, and not necessary for your lips to pronounce the words aloud. Our much-loved and gracious father is sick and suffering, and we must not therefore allow his rest to be disturbed by loud noises. Be quiet and silent, therefore, and only believe me when I say that I know I am welcome to you all!"

He gave them one more friendly nod, and stepped out upon the long corridor, on the other side of which lay his own apartments. Quickly he went on, opened the door of the antechamber with a vigorous pressure of his hand, and entered. The trunks and other baggage lay in wild disorder, heaped up in the outer hall, and old Dietrich, with a few other servants and lackeys, was busied in untying parcels and unpacking. The Electoral Prince went hurriedly past, and entered his sleeping room. Here, too, he found all in confusion; the dust lay thick upon the unwieldy old furniture, whose cushions were covered with faded and even here and there ragged tapestry. From the walls, hung with discolored papering, a few old ancestral portraits looked gravely and gloomily down upon him, and their melancholy eyes seemed to ask him what he wanted here, and why he had come to awaken them from their repose, and disturb the dust which had been collecting for years. It seemed to the Prince as if he heard this inhospitable question quite clearly uttered by the lips of his ancestor Albert Achilles, before whose picture he was just passing, and whose large, glittering eyes seemed to look out in defiance. Frederick William stopped and looked at his forefather with a sad smile. "I have come much against my will, Elector Albert Achilles," he said. "I assure you, very much against my will, and if I did not think of the future, I would go away again and _never_ come back. But for the sake of the future the present must be endured; therefore forgive me, my great, valiant ancestor, and believe me I will do you honor!"

He nodded to the picture and strode on, advancing into the next room, which was to be his study. Here everything was still exactly as he had left it almost four years ago. The old furniture stood unmoved in its familiar places; there was still the brown varnished writing table at which he had formerly applied himself to his studies, in company with his tutor Leuchtmar von Kalkhun; beside it stood the simple, rude book shelves, and on them, covered with dust and cobwebs, the old leather-bound volumes from which he had drunk in knowledge and wisdom. Before both windows hung, just as then, the dark red silken curtains, only that the sun had partially deprived them of their original coloring and interwoven sickly streaks of yellow. The old sofa, too, was yet in existence with its sleek brown leather covering, and by its side stood the two leather armchairs, with their high, straight backs and awkwardly turned feet. No one had taken the trouble to repair these inroads of dilapidation, and, long as they had been expecting the Electoral Prince, no preparations whatever had been made for his reception. Four years had passed over these chambers without leaving any further trace of their presence than dust and cobwebs, and faded stripes on cushion and curtain. Sighing, the Electoral Prince threw himself into one of the two armchairs. The old piece of furniture creaked under him, as if by this sound it would greet him and remind him of the past. He leaned his head against the back, whose leather cooled his temples as if a cold hand had been laid upon the brow of him who had just come home. Slowly his glance swept through the room, and it seemed to him as if he saw the four last years glide by like phantom shapes through the lonely, dreary, and dusty chamber. They looked at him with wan smiles and lusterless eyes, and hovered past shadowlike, leaving behind for him nothing but dust, nothing but a hardly cicatrized wound. Hardly cicatrized!

Sometimes it bled yet, this wound of his past. Sometimes he thought that there was no healing for it, that it would never close, and that its pain would never cease.

Just so thought he as the shadows of the four years floated by him through that gloomy, dusty room. Just so thought he, when the youngest of these phantoms paused beside him, threw back her gray veil of mist, and under it disclosed to him a beautiful, rosy female face, with flaming eyes, pouting lips, and lovely smile, when she raised her hand and beckoned to him, whispering: "Leave all behind and come to me! _I_ am waiting for you! _I_ love you! Oh, come to me!"

How sweetly enticing were these whispered sounds, how burning was the pain in the wound but barely healed! Again it began to bleed, again tears rose to his eyes. He was not ashamed of them, and yet, as he felt them flow burning down his cheeks, he stretched out his hands deprecatingly to the phantom with the rosy cheeks and fascinating smile, to the shadow of the last year, and murmured: "Away from me! Come not near me, to tempt my heart! I may not follow you--I may not, and I _will_ not."

"And I _will_ not!" he repeated quite aloud, and jumped up from his easychair, shaking his head defiantly and proudly, like a roused lion.

"What will you not?" asked a soft voice behind him, and when he turned round he saw at his back Baron von Leuchtmar, who had just entered, and whose mild, gentle glances rested upon him with tender expression.

"Leuchtmar!" cried the Prince, hastening to meet him with both hands outstretched. "God be praised, that you are here, that you come to me at this moment! Ah! would that you had not left me at Spandow, but had remained at my side!"

"No, my Prince! It was proper that the eyes of the people should have greeted you alone, and that the boy, whom they had seen go off at the side of his tutor, should now appear to them again as a bold and independent young man, who relies upon his own powers only, and has no longer any tutor at his side, but his own sense of duty and his conscience. But why so sad, Prince Frederick William? Your journey was verily a triumphal procession; like a Roman imperator you entered your father's city, and now do I find you here, solitary, with troubled countenance, with tears upon your cheeks?"

"With tears upon my cheeks?" repeated the Prince; "with imprecations, with wrath, and sorrow in my heart. Oh, friend, why were you not with me? You would have saved me perhaps from the bitterness of the last hour. You would have stood by me, would have encouraged me!"

"My God, what has happened then?"

"It has happened that I was received as if I were some criminal returning after a course of sin!" cried Frederick William, with indignant pain. "It has happened that they have treated me as if I were a rioter and inciter of rebellion, who had come hither with criminal designs, at the head of a mob, and as a captain of robbers, who had attacked his Sovereign in his stronghold. It has happened that they allowed me to sue for pardon upon my knees without lifting me up--that they have treated me like an abandoned villain, from whom they expected each hour to witness some new out-break."

"But consider, my Prince, that you had reason to expect that your reception would be ungracious, and that it was your father from whom these trials would come to you."

"No, not from my father, but from _him_--that evil spirit who, with his cold smile and mocking composure, stood at my father's side! He has poisoned my father's heart with jealousy and hate, he has filled it with mistrust toward his only son, and sowed discord, that he may himself reap a harvest from the hatred! And he was witness of my humiliation, and I saw how he looked down upon me with scornful superiority as I knelt before my father and pleaded in vain for one word of love from his lips! But _he_ had withered this word upon his lips, and only for _him_ were words of tenderness and veneration there! Only for _him_ acknowledgments, confidence, and love! As he stood there with cold and haughty face at the side of my poor father, who, stooping and insignificant, cowered below him--oh, so far below him in his easychair--I felt it in every nerve of my heart, in every fiber of my brain, that _he_ and _he_ alone is ruling lord here, the commander and Sovereign; and that he who will not bow and cringe before him, will by him be hurled into the dust and trodden upon! They all bow before him--_all_! He is like a magician, who by the magnetic glances of his eyes subjects to his will all who approach him, and makes the stoutest hearts soft and pliant, so that like wax they allow themselves to be molded by his forming hands. Even my mother, who is his enemy, who has been battling against him for twenty years, even she is conquered by him, and he has become her master and forces her to his will. She knows not at all that she has fallen within the circle of his magic, yet is, like all the rest, a mere tool in his hands. But she feels it not, and fancies herself free, while she lies bound, and has no will of her own in his presence. I have seen it, I have felt it, and it has filled my heart with unutterable woe, with raging anger. She felt not at all the shame and humiliation under which I almost expired; she came not to my aid, for the magician was there, and in his presence my mother forgot her son so recently come back to her, and _he_ was the center around which all turned, _he_ was master of the situation, and before _him_ all shrank into wretched nothingness. He charmed the hearts which had remained cold at my reception, charmed them with the prospect of a _fête_, which, as he said, he was to give in my honor, and they believed the mockery, and allowed themselves to be touched by that noble condescension, and felt not the cruel boasting with which he solemnizes the return of him who is a thorn in his flesh, a thorn which he is firmly determined to pluck out, and tread under foot! I came here humble, poor, and empty-handed, and _he_ solemnizes my return by offering presents to my mother and my sisters! And they accept them, feel not at all the degradation, and will appear at the _fête_ in clothes with which my enemy, my adversary, my murderer has presented them!"

"Prince, you go too far. Your hatred carries you away."

"No, I do not go too far!" cried the Prince, beside himself. His countenance was deadly pale, his eyes flashed, and his whole being seemed pervaded by the fire of wrath and hatred. "No, I do not go too far, and my hatred does not carry me away! He is the evil demon of my house--of my country! He is to blame for all the disasters of the last twenty years, for all the humiliation and shame by which my family has been visited. The Mark is to be ruined--that is his end, that is his aim; the Electoral house of Brandenburg must die out--that is his hope; and he will leave untried no means whereby this hope may become reality. He has already tried once to murder me,[22] and he will try it again. A dagger's point lurks in each glance that he fixes upon me, a drop of poison in each word that he directs to me. If I stood alone with him upon the summit of a tower, he would hurl me down, and then afterward follow my coffin with a thousand tears! And my father would lean upon him, and thank God that only his son had been snatched from him, not his friend, his favorite; and my mother would weep for me, and yet go about in mourning which he had presented to her, and she would esteem it a peculiar act of amiability if he should exert himself to divert her mind and raise her spirits. No voice would be raised against him, and no one would venture to accuse him, for my father himself would protect him, and the grace and favor of the Emperor would speak him clear of any suspicion. He is my master, my lord--that is what fills me with rage and indignation; and I will surely die of this if the count does not succeed in dispatching me first, and putting me out of the way."

"He will not venture to attempt that, for he knows public opinion would accuse and denounce him as the murderer."

"What cares he for public opinion, what asks he about it--_he_ who has power to repress it, _he_ who stands so secure that it can not touch _him_?"

"Nobody stands so high, Prince, that public opinion can not reach him and dash him into the depths below, for public opinion is the voice of the nation, and the voice of the nation is the voice of God! And believe me, Prince, this voice will one day accuse and sentence him."

"Yes, one day perhaps, when he has thrust me out of the way and murdered me, when my father has gone to his last home, when the Emperor has pronounced the Mark of Brandenburg an unincumbered fief, and bestowed it as an act of grace upon Count Schwarzenberg or his son. Oh, I know all his plans, and I know that no moment of my life is henceforth secure--know that I am a victim of death if prudence and cunning do not save me! I thought of all this during my long journey to this place. I have weighed all, pondered all, and my whole future lay before me like a white sheet of paper. I saw a hand unroll it, and with bloody letters inscribe the word 'Death'; but I saw this word blotted out by a cautious finger, and, ere it was written to the end, replaced by the word 'Life' in characters small and hardly visible. Yes, I _will_ live, _will_ reign, _will_ have fame, honor, and influence, _will_ make a name for myself! Leuchtmar, I have left behind in Holland my youth, my hopes, my dreams, my heart! I come here as a man, despite my eighteen years, as a man who from the wreck of his youth will save only this: the future and fame! A man, who has suffered so much, that he can say of himself: I defy pain, and it has no longer any power over me! I defy life, and _will_ conquer it! Yes, Leuchtmar, I _will_ conquer it; and although I no longer love it, I do not mean to allow it to be snatched away from me. Hear me, friend, for to-day is the last time for a long while that I may speak openly and candidly to you. I entreat you, guide of my youth, to preserve for me your friendship and your faith. I beseech you never to lose confidence in me, and, if ever a doubt should intrude itself with regard to me, to remember this hour, in which I have laid bare to you my heart, and in which you have been a witness to my indignation and grief, my excitement and hatred! You are familiar with my countenance, friend; impress it upon your memory, in order that you may never forget it, even if you should not see it for a long time again. Look once more in my eyes, and read in my glances my love and reverence for you!"

"I do look into your eyes, son of my heart," said Leuchtmar, deeply moved. "I look through your eyes into your soul, into your heart, and read therein great determination and heroic aims. Strive after them, my favorite, and when the present seems to you dark and gloomy, then lift your eye to the glittering star, which hovers over you and is your future. To endure evil, and still to remain joyful and valiant, therein lies true heroism. To turn from the dust of earthly needs, to step over it with head held heavenward, thereby is true faith proved. God bless you, my son! Be brave, be wise, be true! Trust in yourself, your friends, your people, and your God; then is the future yours, and you will overcome all your foes, and will triumph over the proud man who now thinks that he triumphs over you. I said to you, be brave, be wise, be true. I forgot one thing, though, which I shall now add--_be circumspect_! Remember that oftentimes it is not the sword which carries off the victory, but cunning; remember Brutus, who freed Rome."

"Oh, my friend, you have spoken truth," exclaimed the Prince; "you have read to the bottom of my soul, and understood my inmost thoughts. Now am I glad and full of confidence, for my friend and teacher will never doubt me. And hear one thing more, my Leuchtmar. You must accept a memento of this hour, a memento which I prepared even before my departure from The Hague, and which shall be to you a proof of my gratitude. I am poor and powerless, and as I build all my hopes upon the future, so must I do with my presents as well. You must accept from me a gift of my future, friend. I know full well that what you have done for me can not be recompensed, but I would so gladly testify my gratitude to you, and therefore I give you this paper!"

He drew forth a paper from his pocketbook, and handed it to Leuchtmar with a friendly smile. "Take it and read," he said.

Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun took the paper, and fastened his eyes upon the words, which were inscribed in large letters on the outside.

"A Deed of Expectancy!" he said, astonished.

The Electoral Prince nodded. "A deed of expectancy, written with my own hand and sealed with my own signet ring. Yes, yes, my friend, I have nothing to give away but expectations; yet if the Electoral Prince should ever become Elector, he will convert these expectations into reality and truth. Now unfold the paper, and see what manner of expectation it holds out."

"An act, donating the feudal tenure of Neuenhof, lying within the territories of Cleves!" cried Leuchtmar joyfully. "Oh, my dear Prince, that is truly a princely gift!"

"Yet it is not the Prince, but the grateful scholar who gives it to you," said Frederick William, "and in proof of this I have written these words, which I will read to you myself." He bent over the paper, and read: "We have voluntarily and with due consideration promised and engaged to give to Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun this estate of Neuenhof, out of the particular and friendly affection which we bear to him. We also swear that if we hereafter attain to power and authority, and our much-esteemed Romilian von Leuchtmar be to our sorrow cut off by death, we in the same way will this estate to his eldest son, and grant him the enjoyment of all that we assigned and destined for his father in his lifetime."[23]

"That is indeed to carry happiness and reward beyond the grave!" cried Leuchtmar, with tears in his eyes. "Oh, I thank you, my Prince, thank you from my inmost soul, for myself and my children!"

"You have nothing at all to thank me for, friend," said the Prince. "I shall ever be much more in your debt. If, however, I some day become a good Prince to my country and a father to my people, then you must reflect that this is the return I make to you, my teacher, my educator! You see I hope in the future, and think that I shall succeed in evading murderous designs and fulfill my aims. But, indeed, your warning I may never forget, and circumspect I _must_ be first of all. Wear a mask, as Brutus did! Let me embrace you once more, friend Leuchtmar; look me once more in the eye. And now--I hear some one coming! Farewell, Leuchtmar! I put on my mask and not for a moment can I withdraw it from my features."

V.--BRUTUS.

The door was now opened, a valet entered and announced, "Her highness the Electress!" And before the Electoral Prince had time to advance, the Electress had entered the room.

"I come to welcome you once more, my Frederick!" she cried, stretching out her arms to her son. "Entirely without witnesses, simply as his mother would I greet my son, and tell him how happy I am that he is once more here."

She flung her arms around her son's neck, and pressed him ardently to her bosom. Baron Leuchtmar, who upon the Electress's approach had stepped aside, now crept softly through the apartment to the door, and was already in the act of opening it, when the Electress quickly raised her head and looked around.

"Stay where you are, Baron Leuchtmar," she said; "why would you slip away from us?"

"I may not presume by my presence to disturb the confidential discourse between the Electress and her son."

"You do not disturb us at all, for you belong to us, Leuchtmar," replied Charlotte Elizabeth, nodding kindly to him. "On the contrary, I will tell you that I knew you were here, and came here on that very account, in order to salute you without witnesses, and to have a private conversation with you and my son. For well I know, Leuchtmar, that we may confide in you, and that you belong to _us_--that is to say, to the enemies of Schwarzenberg, to the enemies of the Imperialists and Catholics, to the friends of the Swedes and Reformers."

"Your highness may be well assured that I return home just as I went away," said Leuchtmar earnestly--"that is to say, an upright Protestant, a true Brandenburger, and a determined opponent of those who concluded the peace of Prague, and thereby separated the Elector of Brandenburg from the Swedes, and made him wholly and solely subservient to the Emperor's interests."

"You will not name _him_, the evildoer, who has brought this to pass," cried the Electress, "but I will name him: it is Count Schwarzenberg! It is the Stadtholder in the Mark, who has brought upon us all this mischief and disgrace, who has sundered us from our nearest blood relations, the family of the Swedish King, and has leagued us with and subjected us to those who are our sworn enemies and adversaries, the Imperialists, the Austrians. Oh, my son! promise me that you will some day take vengeance for the ignominy and humiliation which we must now undergo. Swear in this first hour of your return home, solemnly joining hands with me, that as soon as you come into power the first act of your government shall be to renounce allegiance to the Emperor and to ally yourself again with the Swedes, our natural allies."

She stretched out her right hand to her son. "Swear, my son!" she cried, solemnly, "give me your hand upon it!"

But Frederick William did not lay his hand within hers. He drew back, declining her proffered hand.

"Forgive me, my dearest mother," he said, "forgive me; but I can not swear, for I do not know whether I could keep my oath! May the good God long preserve my gracious father's life, and grant him a glorious reign. But if hereafter, and surely to my deepest regret, duty and the right of Succession deliver into my hands the reins of government, then I must guide them, as circumstances direct, as determined by the contingencies of the times and the good of the country; and I dare not bind myself beforehand by any given word or by promises."

"You refuse, my son, to promise me that you will make amends for all the evil done by that wicked enemy of your house, your family, and your country?"

"Dearest mother, I know not of whom you speak, and who it is that has burdened himself with so heinous a crime."

With impulsive movement the Electress laid her hand upon his arm, and looked him steadily in the eye.

"Are you dissembling, or is that the truth?" she asked. "You do not know of whom I speak? You do not know who is the enemy of your house and family?"

"I am trying in vain to study it out, mother, and I beg you not to be angry with me on that account, for your grace must reflect that I have been absent almost four years, and am therefore a little unacquainted with the situation of affairs here. If you had addressed that question to me before my departure, most assuredly I should have replied without hesitation, 'It is Count Schwarzenberg!' But I have since then found out that I had done the count injustice in many things through my inexperience and want of foresight; that he is a very great and experienced statesman and politician, who with his far-seeing glances can discern much more clearly than I with my unpracticed eyes the relations of things. Who knows but that, after all, the peace of Prague has been a real blessing to our land. When I behold its present pitiable and languishing condition as a neutral, how can I avoid reflecting with horror upon what might have been the state of things had we joined any decided war party. Had we sided with the Swedes, the enmity of the powerful Emperor, vastly surpassing us in material resources, would long since have destroyed us root and branch, and my dear father would have most probably shared the same lamentable fate as the Elector of the Palatinate, his brother-in-law, or the Margrave of Liegnitz and Jägerndorf, his cousin. He must have wandered with wife and children an exile in foreign lands, or died of grief among strangers. On the other hand, had we sided with the Emperor against the Swedes, a raging, implacable foe would have quartered himself in the heart of our dominions, and not merely Pomerania, but the Mark and the duchy of Prussia would have been overrun-by his warlike hordes. But on my journey hither I have witnessed the misery and unspeakable wretchedness of our land, and asked myself with heavy, sorrowing heart what would have become of our unhappy country in times of war if neutrality could reduce it to such poverty and plunge it in such want and suffering. And then I was forced to acknowledge that Count Schwarzenberg had acted right well as Stadtholder in the Mark in wishing, before all things, to preserve the Mark intrusted to him from yet greater calamity, by holding it to that neutrality, being alike impartial between the Emperor and the Swedes. I therefore begged his pardon in my heart for having often accused him unjustly before, for he is indeed a faithful and zealous servant to his master, and especially endeavors to further his interests, to maintain his position, and to console him in these times of affliction. I see, too, that not merely the Elector holds him in high estimation, and honors him as his true and valued counselor and friend, but that my mother as well has taken him into her favor, and that she has quite recovered from the mistrust with which she previously regarded him. For surely it is a proof of great favor when the Electress allows the count to offer presents of dresses to herself and her daughters, and no one of us can mistrust _him_, who so cordially rejoices over my return that he volunteers to celebrate it by a splendid festival. The whole Electoral family has accepted the invitation to this festival, and thereby prove to Berlin, yea, to the whole country, that we are on the best terms with the Stadtholder, and that nothing has transpired which could shake our confidence in him.'"

The Electress had listened to her son with ever-growing amazement. Her glances had grown more and more indignant; she had often turned from her son to Leuchtmar, as if to read in his features whether or not he shared her astonishment and irritation. Now, when the Prince was silent, she stepped across to Leuchtmar, and laid her hand upon his arm.

"Leuchtmar," she asked with trembling voice, "is he in earnest? Has he actually altered so entirely? Has he really gone over to our enemies and adversaries?"

"Most gracious lady, the Electoral Prince is by far too tender a son ever to become alienated from his mother," replied the baron earnestly.

"He speaks the truth, my dearest mother," exclaimed Frederick William, nearing his mother. "Never could I alter toward you, never forget the gratitude and love I owe you, never go over to your enemies and adversaries. But why should we carry politics into private life, and what have Swedes and Imperialists, Catholics and Reformers to do with our family life and our domestic circle? Let us hand politics over to those whose duty it is to deal with them; let us not seek to meddle in the government, for we have no right to do so, and should step aside for those who understand matters far better than we do, and who manage the machine of state with as much foresight as wisdom. I, at least, am determined to hold myself aloof from all such burdensome affairs, to enjoy my youth and freedom, and I thank God that I have not to bear the weight of administering the government, but have only the pleasant task allotted me of permitting myself to be governed!"

"It is not possible!" cried the Electress, with an outburst of passion--"no, it is not possible that _my_ son can so speak and think! O Leuchtmar! what have you made of my son? Who has changed him, my darling, my only son? I hoped that he would come back a hero, around whom would cluster all those who are true to our house, our faith, and our fatherland! I hoped that in him I should find a refuge against the aggressions, the villainy, and the wiles of my enemy! I hoped that the son would succeed in winning back his father's heart, and turning him against that proud man who rules him entirely, and who will crush us all. O God! my God! for three long years I have been looking forward to his return as the time of vengeance and retribution, and now that son is here, and what do I find in him? A son weakly obedient to his father, a submissive admirer of Count Schwarzenberg, a weakling who longs not at all for honor and influence, who is glad that he has not to govern and work, but that others must govern and work for him! Alas! I am a poor mother, and much to be pitied, for in vain have I hoped that my son would assist me to avenge the misfortunes of my house, and punish and bring my enemies to account!"

She covered her face with her hands, weeping aloud. The Electoral Prince gave her a look of mingled grief and pain, took one hurried step forward, as if he would go to her, and encircle her in his arms, then paused, retreated slowly, gently, ever farther from the spot where she still stood with face concealed and sobbing aloud. It was as if an invisible hand continually drew him farther from his mother, ever nearer the door of the antechamber. Now he stood close to it, leaned against it, and--was the old castle so disjointed, or had the Electoral Prince with sudden touch pressed upon the latch?--the door flew open. The Electoral Prince fell backward into the antechamber, and, had it not been for the Electress's valet, against whom he stumbled, would have fallen to the ground.

"By my faith!" he cried, while he nodded to the lackey, who stood there with red face and deep embarrassment of manner--"by my faith! it was a piece of good luck for me that you were standing so near the door, my friend, else I should probably have had a bad fall. This rickety old castle must be repaired. One can not even lean against the doors without their flying open!"

He nodded to the lackey, who stood there in confusion, not having at all recovered his self-possession, and stepped back into the room. In passing, his eye caught that of Leuchtmar, who replied by a nod of assent, stolen and significant; then he approached the Electress, who, surprised by this sudden and unexpected interlude, had let her hands glide from before her face, and now dried her tears.

"I beg my revered mother's pardon for disturbing her so ridiculously," he said, seizing her hand and pressing it to his lips. "It was not my fault, and only occasioned by the insecure fastening upon the door. It was by a right fortunate accident that your grace commanded your valet to station himself close to the door of the cabinet, for he thereby saved me from an unpleasant fall."

"I did not command the lackey to station himself in your sleeping apartment," said the Electress, "and consider it contrary to all rules of propriety."

She rapidly crossed the study and opened the door just as the lackey was slinking through the one opposite.

"Frederick, come here!" cried the Electress, and with head sunk and humbled mien the lackey came a few paces nearer.

"Did I not order you to wait for me in the antechamber, and to forewarn us of the approach of any one else?" asked the Electress.

"Your highness," replied the lackey humbly, "I followed your grace's orders exactly, and stood here in the antechamber and kept guard, but nobody came."

"But this is not the antechamber, you blockhead!" cried the Electress. "It is there, without! Go out there and wait!"

The lackey made haste to obey the order given him, and the Electress turned to the Prince. "I beg you, my son, to pardon the man his stupidity," said she; "but he deserves some indulgence in so far as he has only been in our service for a short while, and consequently is not well acquainted with the plan of the palace. My valet fell sick on the journey from Königsberg here, and we were obliged to leave him behind, which was so much the more inconvenient as he was our hairdresser besides, and understood how to arrange the Elector's hair as well as my own and the young ladies'. Count Schwarzenberg heard of it, and by a piece of good fortune, was able to spare us one of his valets."

"Oh!" cried the Electoral Prince, smiling. "This fellow, then, has been transferred from the Stadtholder's service to that of your grace?"

"Yes, and I must say that he is a very useful and efficient servant, who understands all the newest styles of French hairdressing, and is well skilled in other ways also. I beg you therefore to excuse him for this little mistake."

"He is perfectly excusable," said the Electoral Prince, bowing. "So much the more excusable, as it might well happen that he is not yet familiar with this castle."

"It is true," cried the Electress, casting her eyes around the room, "it does look a little dilapidated and desolate here, and care ought indeed to have been taken to refurnish your apartments and give them a more comfortable aspect. You know, Frederick, we only expect to tarry here for a short time, and think of returning to Prussia very soon, and there I shall see myself that you are provided with handsomer and more commodious rooms. There I am the princely lady of the house, and everywhere reigning duchess, while here, in the resident palace of Berlin, I seem to myself only a guest, who has nothing at all to say in the directing of the household, but must silently acquiesce in everything. And it _is_ so, too, and has come to this pass, that the Stadtholder in the Mark is the only ruling lord and commander, and the Elector seems to come here only as the Stadtholder's guest."

"The Stadtholder, though, seems at least a right polite and splendid host," remarked the Electoral Prince, smiling, "a host who lays himself out to attend to the comfort and entertainment--nay, even to the wardrobes--of his noble guests."

"Your Electoral Highnesses!" cried an advancing lackey--"your Electoral Highnesses, the steward of the household is without, and announces that dinner is served, and that the Elector and the young ladies have already repaired to the dining hall."

"Then let us go too, my son," said the Electress, offering her hand to the Electoral Prince.

"But, most gracious mother, I still have on my traveling suit, and--"

"My son," sighed the Electress, "your traveling suit is so showy and elegant that I can only wish that in the future your court dress may always be so handsome. Come, give me your arm, and let us hurry, for your father does not like to be kept waiting, and is very punctual at mealtimes. You, Baron von Leuchtmar, follow us. We herewith invite you to be our guest, and to accompany us to table."

The Electress took the Prince's proffered arm, and swept through the door held open for her by the lackey. The steward of the household, who had awaited them in the antechamber, golden staff in hand, now preceded them, the lackeys flew before them to open the doors, and through a suite of gloomy, deserted rooms, with old-fashioned, dusty, and half-decayed furniture, moved the princely pair, followed by Baron von Leuchtmar, behind whom strutted the lackeys at a respectful distance. The Elector stood with the two Princesses in the deep recess of the great window, when his wife and son entered; he greeted them both with a short nod of the head, and, casting a dark, unfriendly glance at Baron von Leuchtmar, who was reverentially approaching him, gave his arm to his wife, and led her to the two upper places at the oblong table.

"It seems our son can not dispense with his tutor," said he, in a low, peevish tone of voice to the Electress. "He brings his tutor to dine with us, as if it were a matter of course."

"I beg your pardon, George," whispered the Electress. "I invited the baron, whom I found in our son's room. Do me the favor to receive him affably. He has bestowed much labor and love upon our son, and has ever been a faithful servant to us."

"To you, perhaps, but not to me," muttered the Elector, while he allowed himself to sink down in his great, round easychair, thereby giving the signal for dinner to commence.

The hours of dinner were usually those in which George William was accustomed to dismiss all the cares and anxieties of government, and to give himself up with cheerful countenance to harmless conversation with his wife and daughters.

At times he even loved to carry on a lively chat with those court officials who were present, at the table, or to amuse himself with hearing their recital of the events of the day or the gossip of the town. But to-day the Elector remained gloomy and taciturn. He left it to his wife to lead the conversation, and get from the Electoral Prince accounts of her dear relations at the Dutch court. The Prince answered all her questions, confining himself meanwhile to the duly necessary, and never spontaneously adding anything or entering into any details as to his own life and residence at the court of Holland. The Elector continued to listen in moody silence, and this reserve on the part of his son seemed to put him still more out of humor. His face continually grew darker, and he even disdainfully pushed away untasted his favorite dish, a wild boar's head, served up with lemons in its mouth, after it had been presented to him for the third time.

"You have been beating about the bush long enough now, Electress!" he cried warmly. "You have made inquiries after all possible things, except the principal matter and person in whom you are at bottom most interested. It might have been expected that our Electoral Prince would have begun himself, since 'out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.' But our young gentleman remains elegantly monosyllabic, and it would seem that he is not at all overjoyed upon his return to the poverty-stricken, quiet house of his father. It is true, he has lived in much handsomer style at the Orange court, lived there, indeed, amid plenty and pleasure--by the way, we can sing a little song on that subject, for our son has seen well to the outlay, but the payment all fell to the lot of us at home. But now, sir, now tell us a little of the petty court at Doornward, of our sister-in-law, the widowed Countess of the Palatinate, and finally, what I know your mother thinks the principal thing, finally tell us also about her beautiful and fascinating daughter, the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine."

The Prince slightly shuddered. At the mention of this name, which he had not heard since his departure from The Hague, he could not prevent the ebbing of all his heart's blood, and a deadly pallor overspread his cheeks. He cast down his eyes, and yet felt that all eyes were turned upon him with questioning, curious glances. But this very consciousness restored to him his self-possession and composure. Once more he raised his head with a vigorous start, shook back into their place the brown locks which had fallen down over forehead and cheeks, and met the Elector's looks of inquiry with a full, intrepid gaze.

"Most gracious father," he said, with quiet, passionless voice, "very little can be said about the petty court of Doornward. Our aunt, the Electress of the Palatinate, reflects with sorrow upon the past; the three Princesses, her daughters, and their three little brothers, reflect with hope upon the future, and of the present therefore but little is to be told."

"They must be very beautiful, those Princesses of the Palatinate, are they not?" asked the Elector.

"I believe they are," replied the Prince composedly.

"He only believes so!" cried his father. "Just see how they have slandered him, for they would have had us believe that he knew exactly, and was quite peculiarly edified by the beauty of the Princesses of the Palatinate."

"And why should he not have been, your highness?" asked the Electress, smiling. "The Princesses of the Palatinate are our own cousins, and it seems very natural, surely, that he should have a cordial, cousinly regard for them."

"Maybe, Electress!" cried George William, "but it were to be wished that it had stopped there! I should like, therefore, to hear something about the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine. Is she, indeed, so very fair as report represents her to be?"

"Yes," replied the Prince, with husky voice--"yes, she is very fair. Only question Leuchtmar on the subject; he can confirm what I say."

"I prefer to question yourself," said the Elector, with inexorable cruelty, "and to learn something more concerning your fair cousin from your own lips. We have been informed that the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine is a very lively, merry young lady, and that she is by no means disinclined to become our daughter-in-law."

"But, my husband," pleaded the Electress in an undertone, "you would not speak of such confidential matters in the presence of our court, and--"

"Ah, Electress!" interrupted George William, "these confidential matters have been bruited abroad everywhere; the talk has been, not merely here at Berlin, but throughout the land, yea, even so far as the imperial court at Vienna, that our son meant to surprise us on his return from the Netherlands by presenting to us the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine as his wife, without applying to us beforehand for our consent. I therefore desire that the Electoral Prince answer me openly and candidly, that we may all know once and forever how the matter stands, and what we have to expect. The good, gossiping city of Berlin, the whole land, even the imperial court and the whole world, which seems to interest itself so much in the marriage of our Prince, will then soon have an opportunity of learning directly and reliably what is the state of affairs, and that is exactly what seems to me desirable, and was the motive for our question. Therefore, let our son tell us how matters stand between the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine and himself."

The Electoral Prince sat with downcast eyes. His cheeks were still deadly pale, and on his high, broad brow rested a threatening cloud. He put his hand around the stem of the large glass goblet before him, and held it so firmly that the glass broke with startling clangor and poured its purple wine upon the tablecloth. The shrill clinking seemed to rouse him from his reverie; with a hasty movement he threw a napkin over the red stain, and again raised his eyes, slowly and tranquilly.

"Your Electoral Highnesses desire me to tell you the truth with regard to all the reports circulated as to a marriage between the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine and myself," he said. "I will, therefore, as becomes an obedient and submissive son, acquaint you with the truth. And the truth is this," he continued, with raised voice, while at the same time his cheeks became suddenly scarlet and his eyes flashed with the fire of inspiration--"the truth is this: the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine is the prettiest, sweetest woman in the whole world; happy and enviable is the man whose fortunate destiny will permit him to take her home as his bride, blessed above all men he on whom this noble, fascinating, and amiable girl bestows her love, whom she allows to enjoy the treasures of her mind and heart. Your highness said that the Princess Hollandine was not ill inclined to become your daughter-in-law. On that point I can give you no information, for I perceived nothing of this inclination; but this I can and must confess, that _I_ experienced the most glowing desire to make the Princess your daughter-in-law; this I must confess, that I have loved the beautiful, witty, and charming Princess Hollandine with my whole soul and from the very depths of my heart. But never would I have ventured to make the noble Princess my wife in opposition to your will, father; and since I must admit that a union with her is not in accordance with your wishes, and that it is opposed by policy and state reasons, I have obediently submitted to your orders, and brought to you and my country the greatest and holiest of sacrifices that a man can offer: I have sacrificed my love to you, father! It has indeed been a bitter struggle with me, and I do not deny that I yet suffer, but I shall conquer my pain; yet that I can ever forget the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine, I can not promise, for he who has truly loved never forgets. You have desired me to acquaint you with the truth, father, now you know it. Let it now he blazoned forth through all Berlin, through the whole country, even as far as the imperial court of Vienna, and through the whole world. The Princess Ludovicka also will then hear of it, and the report of this confession of my love will reach her. But let rumor announce this one thing more to the Emperor, to our country, and to her: that, while the Electoral Prince Frederick William of Brandenburg could, indeed, give up a marriage with a Princess whom he loved, out of respect and obedience to his father, he never will take as his wife a princess whom he does not love, out of obedience and respect; that the Electoral Prince thinks himself much too young and inexperienced to marry, and that he most humbly implores his father to spare him the consideration of all matrimonial projects for long years to come, since he is firmly determined not to marry yet, and this, indeed, not out of any refractoriness toward his father, nor out of any want of veneration for the princesses who might be proposed to him, but merely because his heart has received a sore wound, and because this must first heal. But I do not reproach the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine with having inflicted this wound. On the contrary, I speak it aloud, and may my speech penetrate to her ears as a parting salutation: Blessed be the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine of the Palatinate, and may God send her the happiness she deserves so richly by her beauty, intellect, and goodness of heart!"

And, carried away by his own warmth and enthusiasm, forgetting all sense of restraint in this moment of highest excitement, Frederick William jumped up from his seat, took up in his hand the unbroken cup of the glass whose foot he had smashed, and filled it to the brim with wine.

"Most gracious mother!" he cried, "look here! the base of this goblet is broken off, and an apt symbol it is of my love. With the last wine which this glass will ever hold let me drink a last farewell to my love, and do you pledge her with me: To the health of the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine of the Palatinate!"

The Electress had listened to her son with tears in her eyes, and the two Princesses also had been deeply moved by the vehement and painful recital of their brother's love. Now, upon his invitation, spoken with so much ardor and enthusiasm, the Electress rose from her seat and took her glass in her hand; the Princesses followed her example.

"To the health of the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine of the Palatinate!" said the Electress, with full, distinct voice, and the young ladies repeated it after her.

"Here is to her health!" cried Frederick William, with animated features and beaming eyes. "May she be great, happy, and blessed forever!"

At one draught he emptied the chalice, then, in the fervor of the moment, forgetting all discretion, he threw the glass backward over his shoulder into the hall, so that it fell, with a crash, shivered to atoms, upon the floor.

The Elector rose, his face flushed with passion, and violently rolled his chair back from the table. "Dinner is over," he said. "May this meal be blessed to all!"

The court officials bowed low and withdrew. Herr von Leuchtmar also made a motion as if to go, but George William's call detained him. "Come here," he said imperiously; "I have still a couple of words to speak with you. Just tell me, Baron Leuchtmar von Kalkhun, is it you who have taught the Electoral Prince such singular manners, or are those the fine fashions which he has been used to at the Orange court? Is it the custom there to make scandal at table, and to throw glasses behind them?"

"Your Electoral Highness," replied Leuchtmar hesitatingly, "I do not know--"

"Permit me, most gracious father," interposed the Electoral Prince, while he most respectfully drew near to his father--"permit me to answer you on that point myself. No, it is not the fashion to behave so strangely at the Netherland court, and God forbid that my former tutor, Baron von Leuchtmar, should have taught me such ill manners. It was only my heart, which for the moment was stronger than any form or fashion, and I pray you to forgive it, for henceforth it shall be right good and quiet, and not even cause it to be remarked that it still beats."

The Elector only answered by a silent nod of the head, and then turned again to the baron.

"Leuchtmar," he said, "I have now a few words to address to you, and, had you not appeared here to-day, I should have been obliged to have had you summoned to-morrow to tell you what I have to say. You have brought the Electoral Prince back to us, a young gentleman, who has outgrown the schoolroom and needs no tutor; let life then receive him into its school and play the tutor for him. But he has outgrown you and your protection, and your office is herewith at an end. I might wish, indeed, to retain you still near the person of my son, and so I could have done if the Electoral Prince had married, and we had set up a princely establishment for him, as would have become his rank. But the Electoral Prince's distinct declaration that he will not marry for some years, even if we should desire it, is welcome to us in so far as we shall not have to give him a separate household, which would have been rather hard upon us in these times of sore embarrassment. The Electoral Prince will therefore reside at our court, simply and quietly as we ourselves, and we can not provide him separate attendants. Therefore, you are honorably dismissed from your office, and it will suit us no longer to confine you to our household. You are free to seek another master, another office, and we herewith dismiss you forever from our service. It will not, indeed, be difficult for you to find another service, and, since you are so well disposed to the Swedes, you would do best to repair to The Hague, or, indeed, to Sweden itself."

"If Baron von Leuchtmar will do that," exclaimed the Electress, "he shall not want for recommendations from me, and my uncle the Stadtholder will surely esteem it a privilege to receive into his service a man so pre-eminently wise, learned, and trustworthy as Baron von Leuchtmar. I will at any time write on the subject to the Stadtholder of Holland, and tell him what a debt of gratitude we owe you, and how little able we are to requite you. We shall further entreat him to do what is, alas! impossible for us--to give you a good, honorable, and lucrative position for the whole of your life."

"I thank your highness out of a sincere soul for so great a favor," softly replied Leuchtmar. "Meanwhile I do not intend to go into any other service, but to content myself with quiet retirement in the bosom of my own family."

"Do just as you choose," said the Elector, "and may good fortune attend you everywhere. Electress, give me your arm, and let us withdraw to our own apartments. And _he_, our son, will doubtless, first of all, have to take a most touching and tearful farewell of Leuchtmar, and sing a mournful ditty about the cruel father who would take away from him his nurse--that is to say, his tutor."

"No, most gracious father," cried the Electoral Prince, laughing, "I shall sing no mournful ditty, but cheerfully second your decision. It is quite fine to have no longer a tutor at one's side, for it makes one feel as if he were indeed a grown-up man, no more in need of a governor; and as to that touching and tearful parting, that is by no means called for. Herr von Leuchtmar and I have had some hot disputes lately on the subject of noble politics. He was too much of a Swede for me, I too much of an Imperialist for him, and those two things accord not well together, as you know yourself. Meanwhile, farewell, Baron von Leuchtmar, and for all the good you have done me accept my best thanks! And now a last embrace, and then God go with you, Herr von Leuchtmar!"

He flung his arms around Leuchtmar's neck, and pressed him closely to his heart. "Farewell, my dear friend," he whispered, "farewell; we shall meet again!"

"We shall meet again, my Brutus," said Leuchtmar, quite softly, and laid his hand upon the Prince's brow, blessing him.

Frederick William felt the tears gush from his heart to his eyes, and with a brusque movement repelled the baron. "Farewell!" he repeated hoarsely, then hurried with quick steps through the dining hall to the door.

"Frederick William, come with us!" cried the Elector, but the Prince did not or would not hear his call. He hurried through the antechamber and the long corridor, and when he had gained the solitude of his own gloomy apartments, and not until then, rang forth from his breast the long restrained scream of agony, streamed from his eyes the long-restrained tears. He sank down upon the old creaking armchair and wept bitterly.

VI.--REBECCA.

"Well, Master Gabriel Nietzel, here you are," said Count Schwarzenberg, greeting the painter, who had just entered, with a gracious nod. "And it must be granted that you are a very punctual man, for I agreed to meet you here at Spandow by twelve o'clock, and only hear, the clock is just now striking the hour."

"Most gracious sir, that comes from my already having stood an hour before the gates of your palace, waiting for the blessed moment to arrive when I might enter. I have been gazing this whole hour up at the dialplate of the steeple clock, and it seemed to me as if an eternity of torture would elapse while the great hour hand slowly, oh, so slowly, made its circuit of sixty minutes."

"You are a queer creature!" cried Count Schwarzenberg, shrugging his shoulders. "Romantic as a young girl, full of virtuous desires, and yet not at all loath to commit certain delicate little crimes, and to pass off copies for originals, and that not merely pictures on canvas, but pictures in flesh and blood as well. For what else is your Rebecca but the copy of a respectable, decent matron, whom you thought to smuggle in as an original, while in reality she is nothing but a copy."

"In the eyes of the law and the Stadtholder perhaps, but not in the eyes of God and of him who loves her more than his life and his eternal salvation, for he is ready, in order to possess her, to renounce even his honor and his peace of conscience. Oh, your excellency, be pitiful now and let me see my Rebecca. You have given me your word, and you will not be so cruel as to break your promise."

"I promised you nothing further than that I would intrust certain damaged pictures to you for repairing, and that I would show you a picture which might perhaps be familiar to you--that was all. I shall perform my promise, and that immediately. But first, just tell me how you are progressing with the painting I ordered of you. Perhaps you have already with you some sketch of it? It would be peculiarly pleasant to me, for on the day after to-morrow I give a _fête_ in my palace at Berlin, and it would be quite opportune if I could then lay the sketch before the dear Electoral Prince, who is to honor the _fête_ with his presence. He is a connoisseur, and interests himself greatly in such things. Say, then, how comes on your sketch, and can it be completed by that time?"

"It can, noble sir! But it is not possible for me to speak about that now, for my thoughts are wandering and my heart beats as though 'twere like to burst. If I am to become a reasonable man once more, let me--first of all--"

"See the picture which I promised to show you?" interposed the count. "Well, then, you shall see it, Master Gabriel Nietzel. Remember, though, that I only show it to you on condition that you examine it in silence. So soon as you shall venture to speak to it, it vanishes, and you see it never more. One has to prescribe strict regulations to you, for you are such an odd fellow, freely entertaining bad thoughts, but shrinking from bad deeds like an innocent child. But you shall prove to me by deeds that you are in earnest about making amends for your crime against _me_, the world, the laws, and the Church. Only when you have done the right thing shall you again obtain your beloved and your child, and may depart unhindered from this country. Mark that, Master Nietzel; and now come. Follow me to my picture gallery."

He nodded smilingly to the painter, and led the way out of the cabinet and through a suite of magnificent apartments. At the end of these they entered a spacious, lofty hall, whose walls were hung with great paintings.

"This is my picture gallery," said the count on entering; "now look and be silent!"

Gabriel Nietzel remained standing near the door, and leaned against one of its pillars. He could proceed no farther, his knees shook so, and all the blood in his body seemed to concentrate in head and heart. He shut his eyes, for it seemed to him that he must expire that very moment. But finally, by a mighty effort of will, he conquered this passionate emotion, slowly opened his eyes, and ventured to cast a weary, wandering glance through the hall. How wonderfully solemn this broad, handsome room seemed to him, and how devout and prayerful was his mind! A mild, clear light fell from the glass cupola above, which alone illuminated the hall, and displayed the pictures on the walls to the best advantage. In the middle of the room, beside the splendid porphyry vase standing there upon its gilded pedestal, leaned the tall, athletic form of Count Schwarzenberg, casting a long, dark shadow upon the shining surface of the inlaid floor. Gabriel Nietzel saw all this, and yet he felt as if he were dreaming, and that all would vanish so soon as he should venture to move or step forward. The count's voice aroused him from his stupefaction.

"Now, Master Nietzel, come here, for from this point you can best survey the pictures, and judge of their merits."

Nietzel advanced with long strides, breathless from expectation, blissful in hope. Now he stood at the count's side, and lifted his eyes to the pictures. With one rapid glance he swept the whole wall. Paintings, beautiful, costly paintings, but what cared he for _them_? Glorious in the pomp of coloring, and perfect in their truth to nature, they looked down upon him out of their broad gilt frames, but he had no senses for _them_. His eyes fastened again and again upon that broad, massive gold frame which hung opposite him in the center of the wall. The painting which this frame inclosed could not be seen, for it was hidden from view by the green silk drapery hanging before it, and at the side of the frame was suspended a string. Gabriel Nietzel saw nothing of the paintings, he only saw the green curtain, only the string which kept it fast. His whole soul spoke in the glance which he directed to them.

Count Schwarzenberg intercepted this glance and smiled.

"You are certainly thinking of Raphael's exquisite Madonna," he said, "and because that is always seen from the midst of a green curtain, you suppose, probably, that behind this curtain must also be concealed a Madonna and Child. Well, we shall see some day. Stay in your place, stir not, speak not, and perhaps a miracle will take place, and you shall behold _una Madonna col Bambino_ of flesh and blood. But silence, man, for you well know how it is with treasure diggers: as soon as you speak, the treasure vanishes. Now, then, look and stand still!"

He stepped across to the wall and grasped the string. The curtain flew back and--there she stood, the Madonna with the Child in her arms, so beautiful, so instinct with life and warmth, as only nature has ever painted and art imitated from nature. There she stood with that richly tinted olive complexion, with those transparent, softly reddened cheeks, with those full crimson lips, with those large black eyes at once full of mildness and fire, and with that broad and noble brow full of depth of thought and yet full of repose. And in her arms that sweet child, that vigorous boy so full of life, loosely clad in his little white shirt, that left bare his plump arms and firm legs. Roses were on his cheeks, dimples in his chin, and in the great black eyes lay the deep, earnest look, full of innocence and wisdom, that is sometimes peculiar to children.

The painter had sunk upon his knees, stretching out both arms to the picture, and from his eyes the tears flowed in clear streams over his cheeks. But indignantly he shook them away, for they prevented him from seeing the Madonna, _his_ Madonna. Prayers he murmured up to her, prayers of love and confidence, supplications for steadfastness in danger, for courageous perseverance during separation. But he ventured not to address them audibly to the beloved Madonna, for he knew that a mere word would have snatched her away from him.

And she, she knew it too, and therefore she also was silent. Only with her eyes she spoke to him, and the tears which flowed from her eyes gave eloquent reply to his. Thus they looked at one another, at once full of bliss and pain. The child, which until now had sat quiet upon its mother's arm, silent and as if in deep thought, suddenly began to move. Its large eyes were fixed upon the man who lay there on his knees, and, whether it were the result of an involuntary movement or the instinct of love, it spread out its arms and smiled.

"My child, my darling child!" screamed Gabriel Nietzel, springing from his knees and rushing forward with outstretched arms. But the frame with its living picture hung too high--his arms could not reach it, his lips could not touch that smiling, childish mouth to press upon it a father's kiss of blessing and seal of love. "My child!" he cried again, and now, since love had once opened his lips, silence could no longer be maintained.

"Rebecca, my beloved," he cried.

"Gabriel, my beloved," sounded down.

"You have broken your word!" cried Count Schwarzenberg angrily, and he vehemently drew the string, so that the green curtain hastily rustled together. But it was in vain. A rounded, powerful female arm thrust it back, and now it was no more a Madonna with her Child who looked forth from the green curtain, but a glowing creature, a wife flaming with indignation and love, with defiance and grief.

"Nobody shall hinder me from looking at you, from speaking to you!" she cried. "I _will_ see you, Gabriel. I _will_ tell you, that I love you and am true to you. I _will_ tell you that I would rather go barefoot through the world, begging with you and the child, than to live longer in this count's grand castle, amid splendor, without you. Gabriel, rescue me from this place; do all that they require of you, only take me away from here."

"Rebecca, I will rescue you, for I can not live without you--without you the world is a desert to me. You are my sun and the light of my life."

"Gabriel, release me, while yet there is time. They will make a Christian of me, and I shall renounce my faith and my salvation, in order to be with you again, but afterward I shall die of repentance."

"Rebecca, I shall release you, and I too am ready to renounce my salvation in order to be with you. But I will not die of repentance, for I shall have you again, and when I look upon you and the child I shall feel no repentance."

"Gabriel, release me, give back to me my happiness, my home, my family. For you are all that to me, and without you the world is a desert."

"Without you the world is a wilderness, Rebecca. Swear to me that you love me!"

"I swear to you, by the God of my fathers, that I love you!"

"And would you love me if the whole world despised me?"

"What matters the world to me? Would I still love you? I would love you more fervently yet if all the world despised you, for then you would be like me. They despise me too, and turn away contemptuously from me, and yet I have done nothing bad."

"Would you love me, Rebecca, even if I had committed a crime?"

"What do men call crime? Do they not say that you commit a crime in loving me? Would they not say, too, that the priest who blessed our union was a criminal? Be whatever you may, do what you will, I shall love you still. Your soul is my soul, and my heart is your heart. Release me, Gabriel, release me!"

"I will release you, Rebecca; in four days you shall be free, and we shall journey away from here, and return to Italy, never to leave it again."

"To Italy!" rejoiced she--"to my home! Oh, my Gabriel, I shall not merely love you, I shall worship you--you will be to me the Saviour, the Messiah, in whom my people have hoped so long! I--"

"Now that is enough," cried Count Schwarzenberg, who had been silent hitherto, because he felt well how much Rebecca's words forwarded his own plans. "Now that is enough of refractoriness! Come, Gabriel Nietzel, and you, Rebecca, step back, or I shall have your child taken away, and you shall never see it again!"

"Go, Rebecca, go!" cried Gabriel Nietzel cheerfully. "You remain with me, even if you go, and I shall still see and speak to you when I am far from you. Four days only, and then we shall be reunited!"

"I am going, Gabriel! I shall spend all these four days praying for you--to your and my God!"

"Sir Count!" cried Nietzel in cheerful tones--"Sir Count, let us now return to your cabinet. I have something important to communicate to you."

He cast not another look up at the curtain; he had no longer any sense of pain in her disappearance, but this was his one absorbing thought, that in four days he would again embrace his Rebecca, and that it lay in the power of his own hands to deserve her. With firm steps he followed the count, who now again led him out of the hall and into his cabinet.

"Well, speak, Master Gabriel!" cried the count; "what have you to say to me?"

Nietzel drew a paper from his breast pocket, and handed it to the count. "See, your excellency, here is the sketch of the painting I am to make for you."

"Truly, a precious sketch," said Schwarzenberg, examining the paper attentively. "That looks like a Holy Supper."

"It is no Holy Supper, but a very unholy dinner."

"In the middle of the table I see sitting a man and a youth. The man wears a crown upon his head and the youth wears a princely coronet."

"It is the Elector and the Electoral Prince," explained Gabriel Nietzel.

"Yes, indeed, the portraits are theirs. And beside them sits the Electress, and beside her I see myself, and quite gorgeously have you dressed me, with a princely ermined mantle about my shoulders and a prince's diadem upon my brow. But what is that which I hold in my hand and offer to the Electress?"

"It is a lachrymatory, your excellency."

"And yet the Electress smiles, Sir Painter."

"She takes the lachrymatory for a golden vase, which your excellency is presenting to her as a present."

"You are witty, it seems, Master Gabriel," said the count sharply. "But that your portraits are good must be admitted, and your sketch is altogether charming. Only you have sketched for me there a joyous festival, and, if I remember rightly, I ordered of you a picture which should represent the death of Julius Cæsar, or some such murderous occasion. But I see no dagger and no murderer in this sketch."

"Only look at that man standing behind the Electoral Prince."

"Ah, I see him now. Why, master, that is your own likeness!"

"Yes, your excellency, my own likeness. You grant me your permission, then, to appear at the feast?"

"Why not? Paul Veronese, too, has introduced his own portrait among those of his banqueters. What is your image there handing to the Electoral Prince in that basket?"

"A piece of white bread, most gracious sir, nothing more."

"Ah, a piece of white bread! You have become, it seems, the young Electoral Prince's lackey, have laid your character as artist upon the shelf, and become body page to the gracious Prince?"

"It seems so, most gracious sir," replied Nietzel with solemn voice. "But see here, the truth lies on this page."

And he handed the count a second sheet of paper.

"What do I see? Something seems to have disturbed the banquet."

"Yes, your excellency, very greatly disturbed it. Do you still see the man who stood behind the Electoral Prince?"

"No, I see him nowhere."

"He has fled, your excellency. He is the murderer of the Electoral Prince, who is borne out senseless."

"Of the Electoral Prince? Conrad the Third, you mean! For was it not the murder of the last of the Hohenstaufens which you promised me?"

"Yes, your excellency, and I will perform my promise if the sketch pleases you."

"It pleases me very much, and it suits me perfectly," replied the count, whose glance remained ever directed to the two sketches. "Yes, yes," he continued slowly, "I understand, and the design has my approval, for it is simple and natural. You have your plan complete in your head?"

"Quite complete, your excellency."

"Then it is not necessary to talk any more about it, or to preserve the sketches," said the count, slowly tearing the two papers into little bits.

"You are right, count, it is not necessary to preserve the sketches, since I soon expect to carry them out on a large scale. But we have something else to talk about, your excellency."

Schwarzenberg looked in amazement at the painter, whose voice had now lost its reverential expression, and was very firm and determined.

"We have only to speak upon such subjects as I may choose, master," he said haughtily.

"No, Sir Count," retorted Nietzel decidedly; "but we have to speak about what follows the completion of my painting. We must speak of _that_, even should it not please your excellency. On Sunday your banquet takes place; on that day I should like to set off for Italy with my wife and child, and leave Germany forever."

"Do so, Master Nietzel, I strongly advise you to do so."

"Will your excellency condescend to assist me thereto?"

"Joyfully, from the bottom of my heart, my dear Nietzel. You would travel to Italy. First of all you want funds for your journey, I suppose. Here, Master Nietzel, here I transmit to you a pocketbook containing twelve hundred dollars--your pension, which I pay you in advance for two years."

"I thank your excellency," said Gabriel, taking the pocketbook. "The principal thing, though, is, how am I to get at my wife and child? Am I to come here to fetch them away?"

"Not so, Master Nietzel. I shall send Rebecca and the child to you at your lodgings in Berlin."

"Before or after the banquet?"

"After the banquet, of course."

"But if you do not do so, your excellency. If you should forget your promise to poor Gabriel Nietzel?"

"Ah! you mistrust me, do you, Mr. Gabriel Nietzel?"

"Do you not mistrust me, too, Sir Count? Have you not taken my Rebecca and my child as pledges for my keeping my word? Have you not deprived me of what is most precious to me in this world, not to be restored until I have fulfilled my oath to you? But what pledge have I that you will keep your word, and what means have I for forcing you to fulfill your oath to me?"

"You have my word as security--the word of a nobleman, who has never yet forfeited his pledge," said Count Schwarzenberg solemnly. "I swear to you that on the day of the banquet your Rebecca and your child shall be at your lodgings in Berlin, and that you will find them there on your return from the banquet. I swear this by the Holy Virgin Mary and by Jesus Christ the only-begotten Son, and in affirmation of my solemn oath I lay my right hand here upon this crucifix."

The count strode across to his escritoire, and laid his hand upon the crucifix of alabaster and gold, which stood upon it. "I swear and vow," he cried, "that next Sunday I shall send to Gabriel Nietzel's lodging his Rebecca and her child, and that he shall find them there when he returns from the banquet. Are you content now, Master Gabriel Nietzel?"

"I am content, Sir Count. Farewell! And God grant that we may never meet again on earth!"

He greeted the count with a passing inclination of his head, and left the apartment without waiting for his dismissal.

VII.--THE OFFER.

"And now," murmured Gabriel Nietzel to himself, as he stepped out upon the street--"now for work, without hesitancy and without delay, for there is no other way of escaping from that cruel tiger who has me in his clutches. He is athirst for blood, and I must sacrifice to him the blood of another man in order to save that of my wife and child! But, woe to him, woe, if he does not keep his word, if he acts the part of traitor toward me! But I will not think of that, I dare not think of it, for I have need of all my presence of mind in order to prepare everything. First, I must speak to the Electoral Prince; that is the most important thing."

He went back to Berlin, and repaired forthwith to the palace. The Electoral Prince was at home, and the lackey who had announced the court painter Gabriel Nietzel now reverentially opened for him the door of the princely apartment.

"Well, here you are, my dear Gabriel," cried the Electoral Prince affably. "Welcome, to receive my thanks for the zeal and dispatch with which you attended to the removal of my effects. Truly you merit praise, for I am told that you arrived in Berlin before me. We had contrary winds, it is true, and had to lie at anchor before Cuxhaven for fourteen days. Well, say, master, how are you pleased with Berlin?"

"Very well, your highness," replied Nietzel gloomily, looking into the pale, sad countenance of the Electoral Prince with a glance full of strange meaning.

"Why do you look so inquiringly at me, master?" asked the Prince restively.

"Pardon me, most gracious sir, I will not do so again," said Gabriel, casting down his eyes. "I have something to say to your highness, and I would fain gather the needed courage therefore from your countenance."

"Do so then, master, look at me and speak."

"Step into the middle of the room, gracious sir, and permit me to come close to you; then I will speak, for I shall know then that no one can overhear us."

The Electoral Prince did as Gabriel requested. The latter stepped close up to his side. "Most gracious sir," said he, "have you confidence in me?"

"Yes, Gabriel Nietzel, I have confidence in you."

"Then hear what I have to tell you. Ask no questions, require no intelligence and explanations. Hear my warning, and act accordingly. Count Schwarzenberg plots against your life!"

"Do you believe that?" said the Electoral Prince, smiling.

"He has invited you to a feast, which is to take place on Sunday. At that feast you are to be poisoned."

The Electoral Prince started, and a transient flush gleamed upon his cheeks. "Whence know you that, Gabriel Nietzel?"

"I beseech you ask me no questions, but believe me. Will your highness do so?--dare I speak further?"

"Well, I will believe you. Speak further, Master Gabriel."

"I told you thus much, that you were to be poisoned at Count Adam von Schwarzenberg's banquet. The count's valet has been bribed by him; he will have the honor of waiting upon you at the feast, and he will therefore present to you all you eat or drink, even down to the bread. Do not accept them from him, your highness, especially the bread."

"I shall at least eat nothing, Gabriel Nietzel."

"When he sees that, he will offer you some fruit or viand which will prove hurtful to you. The count's valet must not stand behind your seat, that is the principal thing; another must take his place, another, on whose fidelity you may rely."

"Who is that other? Where is the man to be found in these parts on whose fidelity I may rely?"

"You may rely upon me, Prince. I will stand behind your chair, I will wait upon you at Count Schwarzenberg's feast."

"You, Gabriel Nietzel, you?" asked Frederick William, and his eyes were fixed upon the painter with a long glance of inquiry. Gabriel Nietzel sustained this glance, and succeeded in forcing a smile upon his lips.

"I will be your valet at the feast. I will stand behind your chair and wait upon you."

"Impossible, Gabriel. How could we manage that without insulting the count?"

"Very simply, your highness. Have the kindness to say that you brought me with you, in order that I might make for you a painting of the banquet, and to that end sketch the outlines, and that, to furnish a pretext for my presence, you have allowed me to appear as your page."

"It is true, that will suit! You have weighed all excellently, Gabriel Nietzel, and your plan is good."

"And you accept it, gracious sir, do you not, you accept it?"

Frederick William was silent, and his large, deep-blue eyes were again fixed testingly and questioningly upon the painter's countenance. After a long pause he slowly laid his hand upon Gabriel's shoulder, and his looks brightened.

"Gabriel Nietzel," he said solemnly, "I will have confidence in you, I will assume that God sends you to me to save me; I will _not_ assume that Count Schwarzenberg sends you to me to ruin me. You shall accompany me to the feast and stand behind my chair as page."

Gabriel Nietzel only answered by the tears, which in clear streams gushed from his eyes. "Oh, you weep," cried the Electoral Prince. "Now I see well that you mean honestly, and that I can trust you, for your tears speak for you."

Just then the lackey opened the door of the antechamber and announced, "The commandant of Küstrin, Colonel von Burgsdorf, wishes to pay his respects!"

"Let him wait an instant; I will summon him directly."

"Most gracious sir," murmured Nietzel, when the door had again closed, "dismiss me in the colonel's presence, and immediately, that the spies may not have it to say that there has been to-day a meeting, of Count Schwarzenberg's enemies here."

"Are there spies here too, Gabriel?"

"Everywhere, sir, each of your servants is bribed, and you must suspect them. Dismiss me, sir, dismiss me."

The Electoral Prince went to the door and opened it.

"Colonel von Burgsdorf, come in!"

"Here I am, most gracious sir, here I am!" cried Burgsdorf's rough voice, and with clashing sword and glittering corselet Conrad von Burgsdorf entered the room. The Electoral Prince nodded to him, and then turned to the painter, who humbly and with lowered head had crept away toward the door. "Master Nietzel," he said, with a condescending wave of the hand, "go now, and be careful to carry out my instructions. I will request my mother to do me the kindness to sit to you every day for her portrait, which you are to paint for me. Make all your preparations, and come early to-morrow morning with the canvas stretched."

"Your highness's commands shall be punctually executed," said Gabriel Nietzel, and, after reverentially bowing, he left the room.

"And now for you, my dear Burgsdorf!" cried the Electoral Prince, advancing a few paces to meet the colonel, and kindly offering him his hand. "You are heartily welcome, and let me hope that I, too, am welcome to you and your friends."

"Your highness, you are more than welcome to us--you have been longed for by us, and we thank God from the depths of our souls that he has finally given you back to us. All had already abandoned hope of your return to us. All really believed that you would forsake us in our wretchedness and want, and would never more return to the unhappy Mark of Brandenburg. But here you are at last, my dearest young sir, and blessed be your coming and your staying."

"I thank you, colonel, thank you with my whole heart for your good wishes," said Frederick William kindly; "and trust me, my dear colonel, I know how to treasure them, and will never forget you for these. You are one of the faithful ones, on whom our house can count in evil as in good days, and on whom an Elector of Brandenburg would never call in vain, if he had need of him."

"Call upon us, most gracious sir," said the colonel briskly and joyfully--"call all your faithful ones, and you shall see they will all come, for they are only waiting for your summons."

The Electoral Prince smilingly shook his head. "I am not the Elector of Brandenburg, and I have not the right to summon you."

"You shall and must be Elector of Brandenburg, and that you may be so, you must gather your faithful ones around you."

"I do not understand you," said the Electoral Prince slowly. "Whether I will ever be Elector of Brandenburg, God only can decide, for in his hands lies my father's life as well as my own. May the day be far distant when I enter upon the succession--may my venerated father for long years to come rule his land in peace and tranquillity. I long not to grasp the reins of government, for I know very well that I am yet much too young to guide them with wisdom and prudence."

"You will not understand me, your highness," cried the colonel impatiently, and his red swollen face glowed with a brighter hue. "But I must still try to make you understand, for to that very end have I been sent hither by your friends; they have chosen me as spokesman for them all, and therefore I must speak, if your highness will grant me leave so to do."

"Speak, my dear colonel, speak, and may God enlighten my heart, that I may rightly understand you! Let us sit down, colonel, and now let us hear what is the matter."

"This is the matter, your highness, the Mark of Brandenburg is lost to you, if you do not seize it now with swift, determined hand. You do not believe me, sir; you shake your head incredulously and smile. Ah! I see plainly, that you have been suffered to remain in great darkness as regards the situation of affairs here, and you know very little of our sufferings and our distresses. You know not that poverty and want prevail throughout the whole land; that the peasant, the burgher, the nobleman, all classes of the people, in short, are equally oppressed; that trade and commerce lie prostrate; and the aim of each one is only how he may prolong a wretched existence from day to day."

"Nevertheless, my dear colonel, I know that. I saw enough solitary, ruined villages, waste and empty towns, uncultivated and ravaged fields on my journey hither to prove to me what the poor inhabitants of the Mark have had to suffer in these evil days of war."

"Have had to suffer, says your highness?" cried Burgsdorf impatiently; "they still suffer continuously, and their suffering will be without cessation or end if your highness does not take pity upon the poor people, upon us all."

"I?" asked Frederick William, astonished. "What then can I do?"

"You can do everything, my Prince, everything, and in the name of your future country, in the name of your subjects, I beseech you to do so. The Mark Brandenburg stands upon the brink of a precipice. Save it, Electoral Prince. The religion, policy, and independence of Brandenburg are in danger; take your sword in hand and save her. Speak three words, three little insignificant words, and all the noblemen in the Mark will rally exultingly about you, and the people will flock to you in crowds, and make you so mighty and so strong that you need only to will and your will shall be executed."

"What three words are those, Sir Colonel von Burgsdorf?"

"Those three words, your highness, which the people shouted up at the palace window yesterday, when you got home. The three words, 'Down with him!'"

"Down with _him_," repeated the Electoral Prince. "And who is this _him_?"

"It is Count Schwarzenberg, your highness--it is the minister who rules here in the Mark as if it were his own property, and as if he were not your father's Stadtholder, but the reigning Prince, who had obtained the Mark as a fief from the Emperor of Germany, to whom alone he were responsible. Look about you, Frederick William, look at these poor, wretched apartments, in which you live--look at the decay of the princely house, the embarrassments with which your father has to contend, and the privations which your mother and sisters have to undergo. And then, Prince, then look across at Broad Street, at Count Schwarzenberg's palace. There all is glory and splendor, there are to be seen lackeys in golden liveries, costly equipages, handsomely furnished halls. They practice wanton luxury, they live amid pomp and pleasure, arrange magnificent hunts and splendid entertainments, while the people cry out for hunger. They make merry in Count Schwarzenberg's palace, and while the burgher, whose last cent he has seized for the payment of taxes and imposts, creeps about in rags, _he_ struts by in velvet clothes, decked out with gold and precious stones, and laughingly boasts that half the Mark of Brandenburg might be bought at the price of one of his court suits. Most gracious Prince, yesterday the steward of your father, with the Electoral consent, brought out the velvet caps which had been kept in the Electoral wardrobe, took off the genuine silver lace with which they were trimmed, and sold it to the Jews, in order to pay the servants their month's wages,[24] and the count's servants yesterday received new liveries, so thickly set with gold lace that the scarlet cloth was hardly distinguishable underneath. The Stadtholder in the Mark revels in superfluity, while the Elector in the Mark almost suffers want, and esteems himself happy if he can give one piece of land after another to his minister as security for the payment of debt. Oh, it is enough to drive one to despair, and make him tear his hair for rage and grief, when he sees the state of things here, and must perceive that the Elector is nothing and the Stadtholder everything. To his adherents he gives offices and dignities, and those whom he knows to be attached to the interests of the Electoral family he removes from court, and replaces by his favorites and servants. Upon the Colonels von Kracht and von Rochow he has bestowed good positions, making them commandants of Berlin and Spandow, with double salaries, but me, whom he knows to be the faithful servant of the Electoral family, he has banished from court and sent to Küstrin with only half as high a salary as the other two have. From the Electoral privy council he has also removed all those gentlemen who were bold enough to lift up their voices against him, and has introduced such men as say yes to everything that he desires and asks. No longer does an honest, upright word reach the Electoral ear, and while the whole people lament and cry out against Schwarzenberg, fearing him as they do the devil himself, our Elector fancies that his Stadtholder is as much beloved by the people of the Mark Brandenburg as by the Emperor at Vienna. But it is just so; Catholics and Imperialists will Schwarzenberg make us; ever he presses us further and further from our comrades in the faith, the Swedes and Dutch; ever he draws us closer to the Catholics; and if he could succeed in making the Elector Catholic, removing all Evangelists and Reformers from court, and putting Catholics in their places, then he would rejoice and obtain a high reward from the Emperor and Pope."

"And you believe, Burgsdorf, that he will do such a thing, and esteem such a thing possible?" asked the Electoral Prince, with a sly smile.

"I believe that he will, and we all believe so. And with the Stadtholder to will is to do, for he carries through all that he undertakes. But we will not suffer it, Prince, we will not be turned into Imperialists and Catholics. We will hold to our Elector and our religion; we will not suffer and submit to our Elector's being any longer in dependence upon Emperor and empire, and nothing at all but a powerless tool in Schwarzenberg's hands. We want a free Elector, who has courage and power to defy the Emperor himself, and league himself with the Swedes against him. For the Swedes are our rightful allies, not merely because the mother of the little Queen Christina is sister to our Elector, but also because we are neighbors, and of one religion and one faith. Oh, my gracious young sir, do not allow Schwarzenberg to make us Catholics and Imperialists! Free your country, your subjects, and yourself from this man, who weighs upon us like a scourge from God!"

"But, Burgsdorf, just consider what you say there. I, who have but just returned from a three years' absence, I, who am almost a stranger to these combinations and circumstances, _I_ am to free you from this most mighty and influential man, the Stadtholder in the Mark! I should like to know how to go about it."

"Gracious sir, I will tell you," replied Burgsdorf, with smothered voice and coming close up to the Prince. "Only say that you will place yourself at our head; give me only a couple of words in your own handwriting to give assurance to your friends and adherents that you will at their head battle for your good rights and for the faith and law of the land. Do this, and then just wait eight days."

"And what will happen after these eight days?"

"Then will happen that you shall see an army assembled about you, my Prince, in eight days. We have all been long making our preparations in secret, and putting everything in position, to be able to break forth as soon as you should appear and place yourself at our head. Every nobleman belonging to our party has procured arms and ammunition for the equipment of his people, and a brave, well-appointed host will be ready to execute your orders. You will take Schwarzenberg prisoner in his proud palace; you will be able by persistency to drive the Elector to dismiss the hated minister and his hated son from their offices and dignities, and to banish them forever from the country. You will be able to force the Elector to nominate you Schwarzenberg's successor, and then, having the power in your own hands, it only depends upon yourself to break, with the Emperor, to recognize the peace of Prague no longer, but to renew the alliance with the Swedes, and united with them to battle against the encroachments of the Emperor, and in behalf of religion!"

"Just see, colonel, you have your plan already cut and dried!" cried the Prince. "If I should accede to it I would have nothing further to do than to execute what you have previously determined and arranged, and I should be nothing more than a tool in your hands. Now, I must confess to you that such a part would not at all suit me, even if I were ready to fall in with your plans. But I am not ready to do so, and am thoroughly indisposed to accept your proposition."

"You are not inclined to do so?" asked the colonel, shocked. "Not even," he continued more softly, "when I tell you that the Electress knows our plans and consents to them?"

"Not even then, colonel. However much I love my mother, yet in this matter I can not suffer myself to be guided by her wishes. No, Colonel von Burgsdorf, I am not minded to go into your plans; for have you well considered what you require of me? You ask me to head a revolution, to give you a deed of rebellion, and to call upon the noblemen of the country to revolt against their rightful Sovereign. You ask me, as a rebel and agitator, and yet at the same time only as your tool, to do force and violence to my lord and father, and to force him to dismiss his minister, to alter his system, and to make enemies of his friends and friends of his enemies. Truly, you offer me a great advantage in prospective, and are good enough to propose that I step into Count Schwarzenberg's place and rule the country in the Elector's name, as he has done. But I am not blind to my own shortcomings, and do not overestimate myself. I know very well that I am as yet but an inexperienced young man, who has still a great deal to learn, and is by no means in a position to take the place of so distinguished and adroit a statesman as Count Schwarzenberg. I must yet go to school to him, and learn from him statecraft and policy."

"Will you learn from him, gracious sir?" cried Burgsdorf passionately, "would you go to school to him, to that Catholic, that Imperialist?"

"Tell me a better schoolmaster for my father's son?" asked the Electoral Prince softly. "My father has bestowed full confidence upon him for these twenty years past, he has adhered firmly and faithfully to him in evil as well as in prosperous days, and therefore I conclude that the count is worthy of this unshaken confidence, and must well deserve his master's love. It would, therefore, be very disrespectful behavior on my part toward my father, and put me in the light of exalting myself against him in unchildlike disobedience, if I should make the attempt to remove Count Schwarzenberg from his side by force. The Elector alone is reigning Sovereign within his own dominions, and what he concludes must be good, and it does not become us to censure or presume to know better."

"Your grace, then, will be nothing but an obedient and submissive son?" asked Burgsdorf in a cutting tone.

"Nothing further, Burgsdorf," replied Frederick William quietly. "May my father yet live to rule long years in peace; I am still young, I am learning and waiting."

"You are learning and waiting," cried Burgsdorf, beside himself, "and meanwhile your land is going wholly to ruin; the people are hungry and in despair; the noblemen are reduced to beggary or have, in their desperation, gone over to Schwarzenberg--that is to say, to the Emperor--who pays a rich annuity to each one who adheres faithfully to him. And when your grace has waited and learned enough, then will come the day when Count Schwarzenberg will hunt you from your heritage, even as he has hunted the Margrave of Jägerndorf; then will the Emperor give the Mark Brandenburg away, as he has done with Jägerndorf, and his favorite, Schwarzenberg, is here ready to receive the welcome donation. He has already ruled the Mark Brandenburg twenty years in the Emperor's name, why should he not rule the Mark as its independent Sovereign? Oh, gracious sir, it makes me raving mad just to think of it, and I can not believe that you are in earnest, that you actually thrust from you myself and those loyal to you, and will not enter into our plans. My dear Prince, I have known you all your life. I have carried you in my arms as a little boy; I have borne you under my cloak when you went with your mother to Küstrin; I have staked upon you all the hopes of my life; and it would be a bitter grief to me to be obliged to think that you will have nothing to do with me and all your friends."

"And think you, man," asked the Electoral Prince, "that it would be no grief to my father if I should step forward as his adversary? Think you that it would make for him a good name in history should the son present himself as his father's enemy? No, Burgsdorf; I repeat it to you, I am learning and waiting."

"And I? I have waited twenty years, to learn in this hour that all my waiting has been in vain. The Mark is lost, and you, Electoral Prince, with it. I shall tell your mother, I shall tell your friends, that you are lost to us. Farewell, sir, and, if you will, go to Count Schwarzenberg and tell him that I am a traitor and conspirator. I shall go back to Küstrin, and if I were not ashamed, I could weep over myself and you. No, I am not ashamed; look, sir, at least you have constrained me."

And the tears gushed from his eyes and fell down upon his grizzly, gray beard. He clapped his hands before his face and sobbed aloud. The Electoral Prince turned pale. He fixed a glance full of confidence and love upon the colonel, and had already opened his lips for an answer, which he would probably have afterward repented, when Burgsdorf suddenly drew his hands from before his face and angrily shook his head.

"I am a fool!" he said furiously, "and it would serve me right, old baby that I am, if you should laugh at me. Farewell!"

He made a formal military salute, turned abruptly and crossed the apartment to the door. Now, when his hand was already upon the latch, the Electoral Prince made a few steps forward. Colonel Burgsdorf turned about.

"Did you call me, sir?"

"No, colonel, farewell!"

The door closed, and Frederick William was alone. His large blue eyes were directed toward heaven with a look of inexpressible grief.

"I have in this hour offered up a greater sacrifice than Abraham, when he sacrificed his son to his God," he whispered. "Has God accepted my sacrifice, will he in his mercy some day reward me for it?"

VIII.--THE BANQUET.

The city of Berlin was to-day in a state of unusual stir and excitement. Everybody made haste to finish his noon-day meal, and nobody thought of complaining especially that this repast was so sparingly provided and served in such small portions, and that the dread specter of hunger was ever stalking nearer to the inhabitants of the unhappy, much-plagued town. They were to-day looking forward to a spectacle--one, moreover, for which no money was to be paid, which could be had gratis, just by being upon the street in right time and struggling to obtain a good position on the cathedral square, before the palace, or much better, before Count Schwarzenberg's palace. For to-day the count gave a great banquet in his palace on Broad Street, and it was well worth the trouble of contending for a place before the palace, and not even being frightened by a few cuffs and blows. The whole fashionable world of Berlin, all the nobility of the regions round about, were invited to this feast, and the whole court was to appear there. And it was so rarely that the Electoral family was ever to be seen by the town. They had passed almost a year in the Mark, but in such quiet and retirement did they live that their presence would hardly have been recognized if on Sunday in the cathedral church, which stood in the center of the square between the palace and Broad Street, their lofty personages had not been discernible behind the glass panes of the Electoral gallery. But to-day they were not to be seen in the seriousness of devotion, with their solemn, church-going faces, but in the pomp and splendor of their exalted station, in the glitter of their earthly greatness. And, above all things, they were to see the Electoral Prince, the Prince who had but just returned home, the hope of the downtrodden land, the future of the Mark Brandenburg!

How the good people hurried with joyful, eager faces along toward Broad Street, with what hasty movements did they rush across the Spree Bridge! A black, surging throng of men stood before the castle on the cathedral square, a dense, motionless mass before Count Schwarzenberg's palace. Only one passage was left free, broad enough to allow the carriage to drive across the castle square to the palace, and on both sides of this stood the halberdiers of the Stadtholder's bodyguard, threateningly presenting their halberds toward those who ventured to step forward. The Stadtholder in the Mark had his own bodyguard--fine, athletic fellows, of proud bearing, in splendid uniforms, trimmed everywhere with genuine gold and silver lace, while, as everybody knew, the members of the Electoral bodyguard wore nothing but imitation lace upon their uniforms. The Elector's bodyguard, indeed, were paid and clothed by citizens, and they, on account of their want and distress, had refused to pay the last bodyguard tax, while the Stadtholder's bodyguard consisted of members of his household and was paid and clothed by himself. And Count Schwarzenberg was very rich, and the citizens were very poor, but still the count had never once practiced mildness and mercy, and relieved the poor cities of their taxes and imposts, or given of his wealth to their poverty.

To-day, however, he gave a _fête_, a splendid _fête_, and however much at other times they dreaded and hated him, his _fête_ they could still look upon, and with longing eyes behold all its magnificence. It was, indeed, glorious to look upon, and they saw, moreover, how much the Stadtholder honored and esteemed the Elector, for never before had he displayed such splendor, when he merely invited the high nobility. Above the grand door of entrance was stretched a canopy of crimson cloth, edged with gold, the golden pillars of the canopy reaching out even into the street. The four stone steps leading from the front door were covered with fine carpeting, which also stretched away to the street, to the spot where the guests were to alight from their carriages. On both sides of the carpet stood serried ranks of the Stadtholder's lackeys in their flashy gold-trimmed liveries. They were headed by the count's two stewards, with golden wands in their hands, broad gold bands about their shoulders, and monstrous three-cornered hats upon their heads. It was very fine to look upon, and not merely the merry urchins, who were swinging upon the iron railings of the count's park, opposite the palace on the side of the cathedral square, enjoyed the spectacle, but the respectable burgher, with his well-dressed wife upon his arm, found his pleasure in it as well. The front doors were wide open, and they could look into the gorgeous columned hall, decorated with garlands and vases of fresh flowers. Yes, it was plainly to be seen that the Stadtholder felt himself greatly honored by the high company he was to receive to-day, and this even reconciled the good people a little to the proud, imperious Count Schwarzenberg.

And now the distinguished guests came riding up. There were the noblemen from the country round about, in their antiquated, rumbling vehicles, drawn by beautiful, handsomely harnessed horses. There were the Quitzows, the Götzes and Krockows, the Bülows and Arnims, and as often as a carriage arrived the musicians, stationed on both sides of the palace, blew a flourishing peal of trumpets, and the noblemen bowed right and left, greeting, although no one had greeted them except Count Schwarzenberg's chamberlain, von Lehndorf, who received the guests upon the threshold of the house. But now resounded a loud shouting and huzzaing, rolling nearer and ever nearer, like a monstrous wave, and an unusual, joyful movement pervaded the densely packed mass of men. "They come! they come!" sounded from mouth to mouth, and small people raised themselves on tiptoe, and tall ones turned their heads toward the corner of the cathedral square. Already they saw the foot runner, with his plumed hat and golden staff, as he came bounding on, then the two foreriders in their bright blue liveries, with low, round caps upon their heads, and then the electoral equipage, the great gilded coach of state, drawn by four black horses.

"Who is sitting in the coach of state? Is the Electoral Prince in it? Does he come in the same carriage with his father?"

The people grew dumb from impatience and expectancy, in the midst of their cries of joy; they wanted to see! All eyes shone with curiosity as the equipage rolled on. Over in the park, behind the railing, stood the drummers, and they began to beat a roll, which the boys riding on the railing seconded with genuine rapture. The trumpeters blew a flourish, and now Count Schwarzenberg himself issued from the broad palace door, followed by his son, the young Count John Adolphus. Ah! how glorious to behold was the Stadtholder in the Mark in his official costume as Grand Master of the Order of St. John, his breast quite covered with the stars of the order, whose gems glittered and sparkled so wondrously; and how handsome looked the young count, in his white suit of silver brocade, with puffs of purple velvet, his short, ermine-edged mantle of purple velvet, confined at the shoulders by clasps. The two counts made haste down the steps to the equipage. The Stadtholder in his amiable impatience opened the carriage door himself, and offered the Elector George William both his hands to assist him in alighting. And now, laboriously, gasping, with flushed face, and a forced smile upon his lips, the Elector dismounted from his carriage. Leaning upon his favorite's arm, slowly and clumsily he moved forward to the house, his stout, lofty form bent, his gait heavy, and his blue eyes, which were only once turned to the gaping multitude, sad--oh, so sad! The people looked with pity and compassion upon the poor, peevish gentleman, who, in spite of the great Prince's star upon his breast and the Electoral hat with its waving plumes, was not by far so splendid to behold as the proud, stately Count Adam, who strode along at his side.

While the Stadtholder was conducting the Elector into the palace, the Electress alighted from the carriage, the two young Princesses following her. A loud cry of joy and admiration rang out, and called a smile to the lips of the Electress, a deep blush to the cheeks of the Princesses. The Electress's robe, with its long train of gold brocade, was wondrous to behold, and above it the blue velvet mantle with black ermine trimmings; and how beautifully the diadem of diamonds and sapphires gleamed and sparkled on the brown hair of the Princess! Again the Stadtholder came out of the palace with hasty steps, flew to the Electress, and offered her his arm, to lead her into the palace. Nor need the two Princesses walk alone behind; they, too, have their knight--young Count Schwarzenberg, who had received the Electress. He offered his arm to the Princess Charlotte Louise, which she accepted with a lovely smile and a becoming blush. Ah! what a handsome couple that was, and how remarkably their dress corresponded, for the Princess was also dressed in silver brocade, and from her shoulders fell a mantle of purple velvet edged with ermine. The little Princess Sophie Hedwig stepped behind her. But who was this young man, who suddenly stepped forward, made his way through the throng, and offered her his arm? Nobody had seen him or observed him, and he had come on foot, accompanied by a single page. Who was this handsome young man, in light-blue velvet suit, who with the young Princess on his arm mounted the steps with her, laughing merrily.

"It is he! It is the Electoral Prince! It is Frederick William! Cheers for our Electoral Prince! Hurrah for Frederick William! Welcome, welcome home! Long live our Electoral Prince!"

Within the hall, at the window, stood the Elector, and these shouts emanating from thousands of throats darkened his countenance. The people had kept silence when their Sovereign showed himself to them, and now they exulted on seeing his son!

Without, at the head of the steps, stood the Electoral Prince, and the shouting of so many thousand voices summoned a glad smile to his face. How handsome he was, and what a happiness it was to look at him! How like a lion's mane fell his thick, fair brown hair on both sides of his narrow oval face, how like brilliant stars sparkled his large, dark-blue eyes, and what bold thoughts were written upon his broad, clear brow! And how stately and impressive was his figure, too--how slender, and yet how firm and athletic! Yes, those broad shoulders were well fitted to bear the burden of government, and behind that breast beat surely a strong, great heart!

"Long live the Electoral Prince! Three cheers! Long live Frederick William!"

He bowed once more, nodding and bestowing kind greetings upon those on both sides, then entered the palace, followed by his page in black velvet suit.

Who is that page? Nobody observes him, nobody has looked at him. Who troubles himself about the servant when he looks at the master?--who asks why the page's face is so pale, why his glance so feverish and restless? Very few know the court painter Gabriel Nietzel, and those who do know him will surely never imagine that it is he who to-day acts as page to the Electoral Prince Frederick William. He mingles with the host of gold-bedizened servants and lackeys in the entrance hall, and follows them into the banqueting hall. The doors of the house are closed; for the gaping crowd without the festival is ended, for the high-born guests within it is but just begun. The two wings of the doors leading into the banqueting hall are thrown open by the halberdiers, the musicians in the gilded balcony to the rear blow a loud, dashing flourish, and the Elector enters the hall, followed by the Electress, who leans upon the arm of Count Schwarzenberg. On both sides of the hall stand the lords and ladies of the nobility, who bow down to the ground, nothing being visible but the bowed necks of men, the courtesying forms of women--all is reverence, solemnity, and silence. In the middle of the long table, just before that immense, solid mirror of Venetian crystal, are the places of the Electoral pair, as may be seen by those throne-like armchairs, on whose tall, straight backs is carved a golden crown--as may be seen by the glittering gold plate of both covers.

How gorgeously is the long table laid, nothing to be seen but gold and silver plate! In the center is a huge piece of chased silver, representing Cupids and genii, who in golden shells, cornucopias, and vases offer the rarest fruits, the most delicious confections! Before each lady's plate, in wondrously cut goblets, is a magnificent bouquet of flowers; before each gentleman's, a silver bowl. A gold-bedizened lackey is behind each chair; two stand behind the chairs of each of their Electoral Highnesses.

"Why stands that page behind the Electoral Prince's chair?" asks the Stadtholder, loud enough to be heard by the Prince, who is near him.

Frederick William breaks off in the midst of his conversation with the young Count John Adolphus, and turns smilingly to the Stadtholder.

"Pardon, your grace," says he kindly. "I wished to preserve a memento of this handsome entertainment, the first entertainment by which my return home has been solemnized, and with my father's permission I have brought with me the court painter Gabriel Nietzel, in order that he may look upon the feast and make a sketch of the scene. Since, of course, he could have no place at the table, he has assumed a page's garb, that he may have the privilege of standing behind my chair. I fancy that the vain man would willingly immortalize himself in that picturesque costume. But as he has put on a page's clothes, he will also perform a page's part, and I have therefore at his request consented that he shall wait upon me to-day and hand me all my food. Does your grace also grant him this upon my bequest?"

"Oh, most gracious Prince, you need never make requests; you have only to command. Away there, you fellows! away from the Electoral Prince's chair, vacate your places for the page! Mr. Court Painter Nietzel, take good care not to be negligent in your duties, to-day be nothing but the Electoral Prince's page so long as we are at table, afterward you can again be the court painter!"

The page bowed in silence, and Count Schwarzenberg paid no further attention to him, but followed the Electoral pair, who were making the circuit of the hall, here and there addressing a friendly word to some member of the nobility, sweeping past before an answer could be stammered forth. The circuit was completed; a thrice repeated nourish of trumpets resounded; the Chamberlain von Lehndorf rushed to the window, and with a white handkerchief made a signal down to the pleasure garden. Cannon thundered forth salutes, informing the town that the Elector had just sat down to table, that the feast at the house of the Stadtholder in the Mark had begun.

A choice, a sumptuous banquet! Delicious viands, splendid wines! Gradually they forgot a little the requirements of rigid etiquette and pompous silence; gradually tongues were loosened, and there was talking and laughing; even the Elector lost his hard, peevish nature, his face glowed with a brighter hue, his form became more elastic, and cheerful words sounded from his lips.

A choice, a sumptuous banquet! The Electress laughed, and had totally forgotten that Count Adam Schwarzenberg, sitting at her side, was her detested enemy. She chatted as cozily and earnestly with him as if he were one of her most devoted friends and servants. Opposite her sat her two daughters, and Princess Charlotte Louise inclined with a pleasant smile toward Count John Adolphus, who sat beside her, and had just been painting to her with glowing eloquence the glories of the imperial city, gorgeous Vienna.

Now his bold glance darted across at the Electoral pair; they were busy talking and eating; nobody was noticing him.

"Princess, dear, adored Princess, do you hear me when I speak so softly?"

"I hear you, Sir Count."

"Sir Count!" repeated he, sighing. "You retract your word, then? You thrust me again into the ranks of your court cavaliers and counts? You have no longer a word of welcome for the poor, pitiable man who worships you, who is blessed if he can only look at you, only hear the tones of your sweet voice, and who has been longing for this with desire and painful rapture for three long months? Not one word of welcome for me?"

"I welcome you--welcome you with my whole heart! Have you only been away three months? Were they not three years?"

"Seems it so to you, my adored mistress? I believe it was three hundred years--three eternities. And yet these eternities have not altered your angelic face. It is still ever radiant in its heavenly, rosy beauty, and not a feature betrays that you have suffered on my account, that you have longed for me."

"Then my face belies me, for I have longed for you; therefore the months lengthened into years, and it seems to me as if I have become a very old, sedate person since I last saw you."

"Oh, dearest, how I long for one moment of solitary communing with you, when I can kneel at your feet, cover your hands with kisses, and tell you how inexpressibly I love you! Be not cruel, Louise, in this hour of reunion. Tell me that you, too, long for such a moment--that you will grant it to me."

"And if I should say so, how would it help us? You know well that I am watched day and night. My mother never lets me leave her side, and our governess watches over me still, just as if I were a child that could not walk a step without an attendant, nor write a line without her reading it."

"Ah, you dear, sweet angel! if you only loved me half as ardently as I love you, your pretty, prudent little head would already have devised some means whereby poor John Adolphus would not have to plead in vain for one blissful moment passed alone with you."

"I love you, John Adolphus, but oh, I dare not love you! The wrath of my mother would be boundless if she even suspected it."

"She need not suspect it beforehand, nor hear anything about it before we are certain of your father's gracious consent."

"You esteem that possible? You believe that my father will ever consent for me--"

"For you to condescend to become my wife? I hope so--hope that the Emperor's favor exalts me a little, so that the chasm which separates us is not too great for you to cross, for you to carry in your bosom a strong heart and a true love. About all these things I must speak with you, sweetest Princess, for here we must be cautious. Only see with what earnest looks the Electress is already regarding us! Be pitiful, Louise; tell me that you will consent to meet me alone for one quarter of an hour."

"Pass by the cathedral, then, to-morrow about ten o'clock of the forenoon. Old Trude will be there and have a message for you, and--"

"Long live our most gracious Sovereign! Long live George William!" cried Count Schwarzenberg, rising from his seat and holding the golden bumper aloft in his right hand.

All the guests started from their seats, and joined in the shouts: "Long live our most gracious Sovereign! Long live George William!" And the golden goblets clashed against one another, and the trumpets and kettledrums chimed in with crashing peals.

The Electoral Prince, too, would rise from his seat, but his head swam, all was whirls and turns before his eyes, and he sank back upon his chair.

Gabriel Nietzel stooped over him. "How are you, gracious sir? Are you not well?"

"Quite well as yet, Gabriel. Only give me a fresh glass of water and put some sugar in it."

Gabriel Nietzel flew to the sideboard, and, while he filled a glass with water, his pale lips murmured, "Your evil genius bade you say that!" And while he shook into the glass the white pulverized sugar, which, by the way, he had not taken from the bowl standing on the sideboard, in the depths of his heart he whispered, "Rebecca, this I do for you!"

He took up the tall tumbler and presented it to the Electoral Prince. Frederick William seized the glass and drank, in long draughts. It had done him good, his head was easy again, there was no longer such a fearful roaring in his ears.

George William's countenance glowed and his eyes burned. He loved the pleasures of the table, and the wine was costly and had driven all ill humor from his heart. He now felt quite comfortable, quite happy, and bent friendly glances across upon his son, who was so splendid, so glorious to look upon, and the sight of whom, although he would probably not acknowledge it to himself, rejoiced his father's heart.

Frederick William had just removed the great goblet from his lips, and placed it half full upon the table. The Elector saw it, the cold liquor looked inviting, and at the same time he would give his son a public token of his kindly disposition: all the guests must see how high in his favor stood the Electoral Prince.

"You drink water, my son?" he asked. "That is wise and prudent, and deserves to be imitated at this table of reveling. I will follow your example, Frederick William. Hand your glass across the table to me, son."

The Electoral Prince hastily rose from his seat, and tried to hand the glass to his father; but his hand trembled so violently that he could not hold the glass; it escaped from his hands, and fell with a crash upon the table.

The Electress uttered a piercing cry, the Princesses shrieked aloud. The music stopped in the midst of a strain commenced, the guests interrupted their conversation, and all eyes were directed to the middle of the table, where the Electoral family was seated. What did it mean? Prince Frederick William rose from his seat. His countenance was pale as death, but he still tried to keep a smile upon his lips. He bowed across the table to his father. "Your pardon, sir. Permit me to absent myself, for I am not quite well."

"Go, my son!" exclaimed George William. "That comes from not being accustomed to strong Hungarian wine!" And the Elector turned, laughing, to his wife, who glanced anxiously at her son. "Your wise son," said he, "has learned everything, only he has not learned to drink. He has not been taught that in your uncle's polite and polished court, and we must supply their negligence here."

The Electoral Prince reeled through the hall, waving off all who approached him or offered him assistance. "It is nothing, nothing at all," he said with cheerful, broken voice. "I have taken a little cold. Let me get away unnoticed."

All kept their seats, as the Prince desired, and as the Elector required by tarrying himself at the table. Only the Stadtholder, in his capacity of host, had risen from the table to offer his guidance to the Electoral Prince. He approached him, proffering the support of his arm.

"Will your highness do me the honor to rest upon my arm, and permit me to escort you to your carriage?"

The Electoral Prince shuddered, and, suddenly lifting his head, flashed an angry glance from his already clouded eyes into the proud, composed countenance of the count. But it quickly vanished, Frederick William accepted Schwarzenberg's proffered arm, and, leaning upon him, tottered out of the hall into the antechamber. His countenance was deadly pale, dark circles were under his eyes, his lips were colorless, his eyes bloodshot. But still he maintained his erect position by mere force of will, and even controlled himself so far as to smile and address a few friendly words to the count.

"My heavens, noble sir!" cried Schwarzenberg, with an expression of painful horror, "this is more than a mere passing indisposition. You are really sick--you are suffering!"

"Not so, count. I am not suffering at all, and it is only a trifling ailment. My father is quite right--the strong wine has mounted to my head. I am not used to drinking and feasting, that is all. To-morrow will--Count, I beg you to lead me to my carriage. It is dark before my eyes!"

And the Prince sank back groaning and half unconscious. The count beckoned the princely Chamberlain von Götz to approach, and the two gentlemen, aided by a few lackeys, bore the Prince carefully out to the carriage. Then Frederick William opened his eyes, his wandering glance strayed around, and his lips stammered softly: "Where is Gabriel Nietzel? Is he with me?"

But Gabriel Nietzel was nowhere to be seen; only the Chamberlain von Götz was there, and he got into the carriage, which bore the deadly sick Prince at full gallop to the palace.

Count Schwarzenberg looked after the retreating vehicle with earnest, thoughtful face, then turned to re-enter the palace. On the threshold stood Gabriel Nietzel, and the eyes of the two men met in one glance of awe and horror.

"Your grace sees I have kept my word," murmured Gabriel Nietzel.

"Away!" commanded the count imperiously. "If you are not out of Berlin in one hour I shall have you arrested by the police, and accuse you as the murderer of the Electoral Prince, for you alone waited upon him! Be off!"

But Gabriel Nietzel stirred not from the threshold, and the look which he fixed upon the count was not humble and reverential, but threatening. "Sir," asked he shortly and harshly--"sir, where are Rebecca and my child?"

"At your lodgings, you fool! Hurry, I tell you!" And with ungentle hand the count thrust the painter from the door, and returned to the banqueting hall to inform the Elector and his spouse with smiling, almost mocking gesture, that the young gentleman himself had said that the strong wine had slightly affected his head, and produced a temporary indisposition.

The Elector laughed aloud, and the anxious brow of the Electress cleared up again. The entertainment quietly proceeded.

Why should they be uneasy about the young gentleman, who had no other sufferings than those resulting from unwonted indulgence in strong drink?

The Electoral Prince had meanwhile arrived with his chamberlain at the castle. No one came to meet them. All the servants had dispersed hither and thither, in pursuit of their own business or enjoyments. They knew, indeed, that Count Schwarzenberg's feast would be continued to a late hour of the night, and who could imagine that the Electoral Prince would return home in so unexpected a manner? The castle was deserted, and the chamberlain must needs summon to his aid the sentinel who was pacing up and down before the castle, in order to lift the Prince from his carriage and into the entrance hall. Now he called aloud for help, since the Prince had become perfectly helpless, and lay senseless upon the stone bench in the hall.

The porter, who was only asleep in his lodge, rushed out, and old Dietrich, the valet, also came hurrying down the steps.

They bore the Prince to his own apartments, put him to bed upon his own couch, and, as the Chamberlain von Götz saw the old faithful Dietrich standing beside his young master, sobbing and so full of grief, he kindly laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"It is nothing of moment, good old man. The Prince has only taken too much wine, that is all. Be comforted. To-morrow will make all straight again."

Dietrich sorrowfully shook his head. "You are mistaken, Sir Chamberlain; this is not the effect of wine. The Electoral Prince is much too fine and noble a gentleman for that; he never drinks more than he can stand. Just see how pale and wretched he looks. My dear young master is sick, very sick. They have murdered him, they have killed him, they--"

"Hush, Dietrich, for God's sake, hush!" interposed the chamberlain, turning pale. "Guard your tongue, that it never again utter such horrible words; guard your thoughts, that they dare not even think anything so dreadful."

"It is true, nevertheless," murmured the old man, and, as he bent over the Electoral Prince and watched him with loving looks, the tears fell hot and fast from his eyes upon Frederick William's pale face. These tears roused the latter, restored him to consciousness.

There was yet one man who loved him, who sympathized with him, who wept when he saw him suffer!

The Electoral Prince opened his eyes, and, on recognizing old Dietrich, nodded to him and murmured softly, "Dietrich, I am suffering fearfully."

"Hear, Sir Chamberlain," said Dietrich; "the dear Prince recognizes me, he has his reason, he knows what he sees and says, so you see it is not wine that--But he says that he suffers fearfully, and I believe it indeed; for what burns his vitals is--I must go for the physician, Dr. White; he must try every means; he must know what ails the Prince--what they have done to him; and he must apply remedies. Stay here, Sir Chamberlain; I will run for Dr. White."

And old Dietrich hastily started to leave the couch, but the Prince's hand was laid upon his arm, and held him fast.

"Stay, Dietrich, stay! You, dear Götz, go you, I beg, for Dr. White and fetch him here; he must come immediately, for I am really sick. I suffer. Make haste, dear Götz. You are younger, brisker than my good old Dietrich; therefore I choose you."

The chamberlain pressed a kiss upon the Prince's burning, trembling hand.

"Dearest sir, as swiftly as a man's anxious heart can move his feet I shall hasten to the doctor and bring him here!"

The chamberlain flew on tiptoe from the apartment, and all was still. Nothing was heard but the low moans and sighs of the Prince, who lay there with pallid features and shaking limbs, while over him bent weeping his faithful old servant.

After a while the Prince raised himself a little, slowly opened his eyes, and cast a sad, sweeping glance around the room.

"Dietrich, are we alone?" he asked, in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice.

"Quite alone, gracious sir."

"Then hear what I have to say to you. Incline your ear close to me, for you alone must hear me. When the physician comes, take good care not to repeat to him what you said just now to the chamberlain. He and all the world must think that it is actually nothing but wine which has made me sick. He will prescribe medicine for me. Have it prepared forthwith. You alone must stay with me. Tell them I have ordered it, and Götz must return to the banquet and tell them it was nothing but wine. Dietrich, do not give me the medicine, but throw it away. There is only one kind of physic for me--milk, only milk, that is my cordial. Give me milk, Dietrich, milk directly, for the pains are coming on again, so dreadfully, oh, so dreadfully! But do not tell anybody. Nobody must know what I suffer! It burns like fire! Milk, Dietrich, milk!"

IX.--LOVE'S SACRIFICE.

As if borne on the wings of the wind, Gabriel Nietzel had flown through the streets to his own abode. It lay in a quiet, retired quarter of the town, and, as he turned into the street and looked up to the house, he saw leaning far out of one of the windows a woman, who, her face shaded by her hand, was gazing down into the street. He recognized the form, although he could not see her countenance, and uttered a loud cry of joy. This cry of joy found an echo in the window above, and the form vanished. Gabriel Nietzel rushed into the house and up the steps. On the top step stood a woman with outstretched arms, and again Gabriel uttered a cry of joy and pressed his wife firmly to his breast, as firmly as if he would never let her leave the spot, as if his love would keep and hold her there forever. He bore her through the open door into their chamber, bore her to the cradle standing in the center of the room, and then sank with her on his knees.

They looked at one another, and then at the child, which lay there quietly with wide-open eyes, in sweet contentment.

"My child! my child!" cried Gabriel; and it was as if now for the first time he saw his boy, as if he had but just been sent him by Heaven, and for a moment, in the blissful consciousness of being a father, he forgot all--yes, _all_. He snatched up the child and hugged and kissed it, lost in rapture and delight. But all at once there came over him the memory of those pale, quivering features, the dimmed eyes, and drooping form. A shudder ran through his whole frame; with a shriek of horror he let the child fall back in its cradle, and clasped both hands before his face.

Rebecca tore back his hands, and her large black eyes gazed searchingly into his countenance. She now for the first time saw how pale he was, and how disturbed his mien. She now for the first time saw that he avoided her look, and that his breast heaved convulsively.

"Gabriel," she said, with firm, impressive voice--"Gabriel, something is the matter with you! Something has happened to you--something shocking, dreadful!"

"Nothing!" he cried, hastily leaping up--"nothing! But we must begone! We are to stay here no longer. We must away immediately--this very hour!"

"I know it," replied Rebecca quietly, her eyes fixed immovably upon her beloved--"I know it, Gabriel, and I have prepared everything, as Count Schwarzenberg himself directed. I have been in Berlin ever since this morning, but feared to come here until you had gone to the banquet. I have made all needful arrangements. I have hired a vehicle, which is waiting for us outside the Willow-bank Gate. The count says we are to go on foot; that no one in the city must see you set out, and give intelligence with regard to your movements. Since you have been gone I have packed up all our effects in boxes, and our kind, faithful friend Samuel Cohen will send them after us to Venice. What is indispensable for present use I have packed up in yonder trunk, which we must take with us. All is ready, Gabriel, and we can go. Only one thing I know not, have you money enough for our journey?"

"Money enough!" repeated Gabriel, with a hoarse, mocking laugh. "I have more money in my pocket than I ever had in my whole life put together. I have so much money that we can buy a house in Venice, on the Ghetto; and we shall, too, and I will live there with you, and will become a Jew, and take another name, for my own name horrifies me. I will not, can not hear it again!"

"Why not?" asked she earnestly. "It is a fine name--the name of a painter, an artist. Why would you never again hear your own name, Gabriel Nietzel?"

"Because it is notorious, infamous!" groaned he--"because it is the name of a--"

"Well, why do you hesitate, Gabriel?" asked Rebecca in anguish of soul, while she laid both her hands upon his shoulders, and gazed upon him with wistful glances. He would have avoided her eyes, but could not; his looks must sink deep into those glittering, black eyes. Deep they looked, deep as the sea, and he thought to himself that a secret could be buried there, and rest secure in the bottom of her heart.

"Gabriel Nietzel," asked Rebecca, in a voice at once threatening and tender--"Gabriel Nietzel, what have you done? What lies heavy upon your soul?"

"Nothing, my Rebecca, nothing! Ask no questions! We must begone! Make haste, dearest, take the child, and come; for if we do not hurry, we are lost!"

She slowly shook her noble, graceful head and stirred not from her place.

She kept Gabriel in his with her hands, which she pressed more firmly upon his shoulders.

"Gabriel, my dear, precious Gabriel, what have you done? Tell me. I demand to know it as my right. When we were married on the Lido, in the solemn stillness of the night, when we joined hands, and both swore in the presence of your and my God that we would ever love one another, and that death alone should part us, when you said, 'I take you to be my wife,' and I said, 'I take you to be my husband,' then we likewise swore that we would live truly and confidentially with one another, and have no secrets from each other. Gabriel, fulfill now your oath. I demand it of you, by the memory of that hour, by my love for you, by our child. Gabriel, what have you done?"

"I can not tell it, and you may not hear it, Rebecca. For, once uttered, that word will be a two-edged sword, and plunge us both in misery and shame!"

"Shame! There is no shame for the Jewess! Misery! Tell me a form of misery which I have not suffered and endured from childhood up! My mother was stabbed in Venice by a nobleman because she would not break her faith with my father and desert him. My father was known as a sorcerer and vender of poisons. The noblemen used secretly to resort by night to our wretched house upon the Ghetto, and paid him great sums for his drugs, but if he showed himself upon the streets by day, the populace hooted and cast stones after him. And when they saw me, they hissed and mocked, bestowing opprobrious epithets upon me, and even went out of the way to avoid the contamination of my touch, for I was the daughter of a poisoner, a secret bravo--I was a Jewess! But when I was grown, then the young noblemen came to my father, not merely for the sake of his drugs and medicines, but also--hush! Not a breath of it! You were my deliverer--my savior! You rescued me from all distress; you were to me as the Messiah, in whom my people have hoped for a thousand years. I followed you, and I shall go with you my whole life long--go with you to the scaffold, if needs be. I know it, Gabriel, I read it in your countenance; you have committed a crime!"

"A crime! A fearful crime!" said he, shuddering. "Turn your head away, Rebecca, I am not worthy that you should look upon me!"

"I do look upon you, Gabriel, I condemn you not. I am thinking of what we said to one another in the count's picture gallery. I called to you to rescue me at any price. I told you that if I could purchase deliverance thereby, I was ready to commit a crime. That to be with you again I would abjure the faith of my fathers, although I knew I should die of penitence after the perpetration of such a crime."

"And I replied to you, Rebecca, that I, too, was ready to perpetrate a crime for the sake of rescuing you and calling you my own again, and that I would not die of penitence."

"And yet you do repent, Gabriel, you shudder at yourself for you have done it, you have committed a crime. I will have my share in it, half of it belongs to me. In the sight of God, I am your wife, and you have sworn to share everything with me. Then divide with me, Gabriel; I claim my right. Share with me your crime, or I shall think that you love me no more, and then I shall go away, and you will never see me more."

"I do love you, Rebecca--I do love you! For your sake I have become a criminal, a murderer! I have purchased you at the price of my soul! Lay your ear close to my mouth, and I will tell you my dreadful secret: Rebecca, I am a murderer, a cursed murderer! I have committed a murder, which will cry out to Heaven against me as long as I live; for him whom I have murdered had never done me harm, but only good, and he confided in me, and trusted to my faith. Rebecca, I am cursed, and my name will be a byword in the mouths of men while books of history last. Rebecca, I have poisoned the Electoral Prince Frederick William!"

She uttered a piercing shriek, and fell back, as if struck by a thunderbolt.

"The Electoral Prince Frederick William! Not Count Schwarzenberg! The noble youth; not that detested evildoer, not him, who has deserved death a thousandfold?"

"He had not merely my life in his power, but yours and our child's. It would have profited me nothing to murder him; we should only all three have been irretrievably lost. I was forced to obey his orders--to perform the horrible deed--in order to save you and myself."

Rebecca pressed both hands tightly across her brow, and stared long at vacancy. "He must be saved!" she said. Then, after a pause, in a tone of firm determination, "Yes, he must be saved!"

"What could we do to save him?" sighed Gabriel hopelessly. "Nothing! You know your father's drugs are subtle, and never fail in their effects!"

"You administered to him some of the medicine which my father presented you with?" asked she, with a wondrous gleam of light in her black eyes.

"Yes, I gave him some. You know when we took leave of your father he handed me three boxes as a keepsake, saying that they were the only dowry he could give me with you, but that many a prince would pay us immense sums for them, if we should sell them to him for his dear relations; for in these boxes were the deadliest poisons, leaving behind not a trace of their existence. The contents of one box causes instantaneous death, and he therefore called it 'the apoplexy powder.' The contents of the second box killed more slowly, and prolonged the patient's life ten or twelve days; therefore he called it 'the inflammatory powder.' The third powder, however, because it works slowest of all, he called 'the consumptive powder.'"

"And of which powder did you give to the Electoral Prince?" asked Rebecca breathlessly.

"Of the inflammatory powder, for it was least dangerous to us."

"Did the Prince drink the whole potion poured out for him?"

"No, he only drank half, and when he tried to hand it to his father, who asked for it, the glass fell from his trembling hands, and its contents were spilled upon the table."

"Therefore the Prince only took half a powder?"

"Only half. But still he must die, for your father told me one pinch would produce death; and I gave him two, that the count might see its effects."

Rebecca did not reply. She had sunk upon her knees and folded her hands. Her lips moved as if in silent prayer.

"What think you?" asked Gabriel Nietzel, after a pause. "Why do you not speak to me? Do you despise me, because I have confessed my crime to you? Do you turn away from the poisoner, the murderer?"

"No," said she, suddenly drawing herself up erect. "No, I do not despise you, but I love you, and because I love you I will not that you should be a criminal. Had you poisoned the count, then I should have said, 'You have accomplished a good work. God has killed him by your hand; you are nothing more than the executioner, who has inflicted merited death upon the wicked, and has rid the world of him. Lift up your head and be joyful, for you were a tool in God's hand!' But you have poisoned a noble, good man, the son of your benefactress, and his death would cry out against you, and our child would be punished for the crime of his father. 'For I am a God of vengeance,' says the Lord, 'and I will visit the sins of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation.' I love you, Gabriel, and no sin or crime could separate me from you; for have you not taken to your heart the daughter of a criminal, and sinned for her sake? But our child shall not suffer for what his parents have done. The God of our fathers shall not take vengeance on our child, the sun and happiness shall shine upon him; for we, Gabriel, we have known night and misfortune, and tasted all the bitterness of life. Gabriel, our child must be free from stain of guilt or crime, and therefore must the Electoral Prince be saved."

"Say how can it be done, show me a way to save him!"

"I know the way, and I will take it. I would save you and the child from bloodguiltiness and sin. Swear to me, Gabriel, that you will do what I shall require of you. Think of that hour upon the Lido when I gave myself to you. Think of the hour when this child was born, and I laid it in your arms and said: 'Take it. It is a gift of my love. Take the child with whom God has blessed us, and pronounced us pure!' And you swore to me with tears that you would be a faithful father to our child all his life, and shield him as far as in you lay from all the pains of earth. By the memory of that oath I now require you, Gabriel Nietzel, to lay your hand upon my child's head, and solemnly swear to me, by God, by our child, and by your love for me, to do exactly what I shall now demand of you."

With reverential, timid admiration Gabriel Nietzel looked into Rebecca's countenance, which was beaming with energy and beauty. He could not turn away his glance from her, for it seemed as if his inmost soul was held spellbound by her large, flaming eyes, resting fixedly upon him. Ever looking at Rebecca, he laid his hand upon the head of the child that lay slumbering in the cradle, and said in a distinct, solemn voice: "I swear by God, by our child, and by my love for you, Rebecca, that I shall do exactly what you will require of me."

She nodded her head as proudly and gravely as if she had been a queen, who had just received the homage of her vassal.

"Listen then, Gabriel," she said. "You take the trunk, I take the child, and let us be going, for the wagon is waiting for us outside the Willow-bank Gate, as you know. Do not speak to me by the way, for I have still much to plan and ponder. Time does not stand still, and every moment increases the Prince's peril. If help does not reach him to-night, then is he lost beyond hope of recovery. Come!"

Already a question was trembling on Gabriel Nietzel's lips. He wished to ask, "Can he by any possibility be saved?" But she had said, "Do not speak to me," and, obedient to his oath, he remained dumb, took up the trunk, and followed Rebecca, who had tenderly lifted the child from its crib and had just gone out of the door. Swiftly they passed side by side through the streets, which were still deserted, for all loungers and street idlers were still tarrying in Broad Street or on the castle square. Many a time Gabriel cast a look of questioning entreaty upon Rebecca, but she saw it not; she seemed to see nothing whatever, for her eyes were gazing afar off; like a somnambulist, she strode along, and even when the baby in her arms began to cry she took no notice of it, nor sought to comfort it with tender, soothing words. At last they had passed the gate behind the willow bank, and found themselves without the city. There stood the wagon waiting for them, covered with a tilt of gray canvas. The Jewish boy who sat on the back seat under the canvas awning had fallen asleep, resting his head against the great wooden arch to which the cover was secured. The two lean little horses were greedily eating of the oats in the dirty bags around their necks. Not a creature was to be seen. The wretched conveyance had excited no attention whatever, and caused not a single passer-by to pause.

Rebecca stepped up to the wagon and gently laid the child in the straw with which the vehicle was filled. Then, with a silent wave of the hand, she ordered Gabriel to set down the trunk he was carrying. He did so, and Rebecca took a key out of her pocket, knelt down before the trunk, and sought hither and thither among its contents. First she took from the bottom of the trunk a packet with five seals, and, as she hastily stuck it in her bosom, her eye was uplifted to heaven with a glance of glowing gratitude. Then she took out a white dress and a long white veil, carefully concealing these things under the great black mantle which enveloped her figure. Finally, she locked the trunk and handed the key to Gabriel.

"Place the trunk gently in the wagon, so as not to wake the child," she said. Gabriel silently obeyed, and then, standing on the footboard of the wagon, reached down his hand to her, as if he would ask her to follow.

She shook her head quickly. "Come, Gabriel," said she, "come, let us step across and talk under yon tree. The child sleeps and David Cohen sleeps, too. Nobody hears us. Come."

With hasty steps they crossed over to the great linden tree which stood at the side of the road. The birds sang and hopped about amid its dense foliage, and the hot sunbeams drew forth the most delicious fragrance from the blossoms with which each branch was laden. But the pair who walked up and down under the tree heeded neither the singing of the birds nor the perfume of the flowers. They were alone with one another and the sad, gloomy thoughts with which both their souls were filled.

"Gabriel," said Rebecca, recovering breath, "I will go to free you from the stain of blood, for if it remain it would not merely poison the Electoral Prince but your whole life. My father gave you only the half of my dowry, as he called it. The other half he retained and gave me. After he had presented you with the poison, and I was alone with him in his chamber, he held out to me the sacred volume, and required me to take three oaths, by the memory of my murdered mother and by the hatred and revenge which we had sworn to the whole world upon her beloved body. First, I must swear that I would never abjure the faith of my fathers and become a Christian. Secondly, I must swear that I would rear the child that God would give me in our own religion, and never while I lived consent to its being made a Christian. Thirdly, I must swear to preserve the sealed packet he intrusted to me as my greatest treasure, my most precious possession, and only to tell you of it in case of the most extreme danger and necessity; that I was only to make use of the contents to purchase wealth or happiness. 'I have given death into your dear Gabriel's hand,' he said, 'into your hand, my daughter, I give life, and surely that is something much more rare and precious. He has the poisons; I give you the antidotes. They are worth tons of gold; they are my most precious treasure, and twenty years have I labored ere I discovered them. When I succeeded, I thanked God for this glorious discovery, and then thrice I swore upon the sacred volume, with my face turned to the East and with loud voice, that never should a Christian obtain these priceless antidotes through me, that never would I impart knowledge of them to a Christian. I will keep my oath, and divulge the holy secret only to you, my Rebecca. Guard it in your bosom under three sacred seals, and only in the most perilous hour of your life break the seal, which I herewith lay upon your lips. But never may you transfer this precious treasure to other hands; no Christian may ever touch it. Would you save life, then you must do it yourself, and only from your own hands may the one smitten with death receive life.'

"Those were the words spoken by my father, when he handed me the sealed packet. Then he instructed me how to apply the contents, and what I would have to do in order to render ineffective the three poisons given you. 'Only,' said he to me,' the antidote must be administered before four-and-twenty hours have elapsed since the poison was swallowed, and then, still twenty-four hours later, the antidote must be used for the second time.' Gabriel, my best-beloved, now is the most perilous hour of my life, and I have loosened the seal which my father pressed upon my lips. I have the antidote for the inflammatory powder."

"Ah, Rebecca, and you will give it to me?" asked Gabriel, seizing both her hands and looking into her lovely face with beaming eyes.

She slowly and solemnly shook her head. "You are a Christian," she said. "I have sworn to my father that no Christian should touch the precious treasure, that no hands but my own should apply the remedy he intrusted to me. Gabriel, out of love for me you gave the Prince into the jaws of death. Out of love for you I shall restore him to life."

"Rebecca!" he cried, "how will you do it--how can you accomplish it? Only from your hands the Prince is to receive life? That means, you will yourself apply the remedy? You will go to him? You would return to the city, venture into the castle? Know you not that Schwarzenberg has his spies everywhere; that every lackey in the castle is bribed by him and in his interests; that he knows what happens there night and day? Do you not know that, Rebecca? Did you not yourself often tell me so, when you visited the castellan's wife, who loved you, because she, too, was a Venetian, and could speak her native language with you. Did she not tell you in confidence that Count Schwarzenberg was her real lord and master, and that she herself every morning repeated to the count's secretary all that came under her observation in the castle? And now would you venture into that castle, that den of lions!"

"Did not Daniel venture into the lion's den, and the wild beasts touched him not?" cried she. "Why should I fear, since my work is holy and pure as Daniel's was?"

"I shall not suffer it. I shall cling to you and hold you back."

"Gabriel Nietzel, bethink you of the oath you swore upon our child's head. You will do what I require of you! This you swore. Will you break your oath?"

"No, Rebecca," he said mournfully. "Command--I shall obey."

"I shall return to the city," continued Rebecca. "Old Benjamin Cohen will hospitably entertain me and provide me with a safe hiding place. By night I shall go to the castle, and make sure that no one will detain me, no one will recognize me, and that Count Schwarzenberg's spies shall not report that Rebecca Nietzel was in the castle and in the Prince's room. The dress which I shall assume will be a certain protection; trust to me and ask no questions. I know every door and inlet to the castle, for the castellan's wife often showed me through the palace, and stairs and corridors, secret doors and passages are all familiar to me. I know a little door on the Spree side, which is never locked, because nobody knows of its existence, or would regard it, for it only leads to a little niche; and that a secret door is concealed within this niche, not even the castellan's wife herself knows. I discovered it one day, when I had lost my way in the castle, and was wandering in distress through the corridors. I said nothing about my discovery, and now I shall profit by it to gain safe access and to go out again. The next day I shall spend in concealment at Benjamin Cohen's, and at night I shall go again to the palace, for the dose must be repeated. Twice in the course of forty-eight hours must it be administered, if life is to vanquish death. When I leave the castle the second night, my work will be done, for crime will be taken away from our heads, and our child will not have to suffer for the sins of its parents. Then, my Gabriel, then we shall return to my beautiful home, then shall we be free and happy! Think of that, my beloved, and let us patiently bear what must be borne."

"I will think of that, Rebecca. But tell me, what shall I do?--how shall I pass the long, dreary days of our separation? Do not be cruel. Let me return to the city with you. Benjamin Cohen will furnish a safe retreat for me and the child, as well as for yourself. I swear to you that I will keep myself concealed in the cellar, under the roof, anywhere you will, only let me go with you!"

"It can not be. The child's life must not be endangered, nor yours either, that I may maintain the courage needful for action. Consider your oath, and do what I require. Now get into the wagon without delay. David is a good driver, and perfectly devoted to us. Travel day and night until you reach Brandenburg. There dwells a brother of Benjamin, little David Cohen's uncle. At his house remain in retirement until I join you, and, O Gabriel! then we shall set out together."

"Rebecca, I can not, indeed I can not leave you!"

"You must, for your crime must be expiated. Think, Gabriel, a long life of happiness lies before us. Let us courageously pass through the last cloud of evil, for beyond is day, beyond is the sun, beyond is Italy, the land of love and art! Now let us part, dearest. Farewell, till we meet again in joy!"

"Can you, Rebecca, can you so suddenly leave me and be parted from me?"

"I never leave you, for my soul is ever with you. No leave-takings, Gabriel; they make us weak, and sternly I must go to meet stern fate. Give me your hand. Farewell! Above lives a God for all men. He will protect me."

"Rebecca, only give me one parting kiss!"

"I shall kiss you when atonement has been made--nor until then shall I kiss our child again! Know this, Gabriel, that my love for you is eternal, it will abide even unto the end of the world! Now, let us part. Hark! the child cries. He calls for his father. Go to him, Gabriel, and tell our child that his mother loves you both more than her own life! Go!"

He tried once more to seize her hand and embrace her. She waved him back, and with an imperious movement pointed to the wagon.

"Remember your oath, Gabriel; you must do what I require of you," she said firmly.

"But just tell me one thing, Rebecca," implored he humbly. "When shall we meet again?"

"In four or five days, Gabriel. Stay quietly at Brandenburg, and wait for me there eight days. If by that time I have not come to you at Brandenburg, consider it as a sign that I have chosen some other route, to escape the anger and pursuit of Count Schwarzenberg, and that I have forborne to communicate with you lest I should be betrayed. Then travel with the child to Venice, making all possible speed. I shall join you on the way; but if I can not, then we shall meet again in safety at my father's house in Venice."

"Rebecca, it is impossible; I can not--"

"Hush!" interrupted she; "the child cries still, and David Cohen, too, is now awake."

She quickly stepped toward the vehicle and nodded to the little coachman, who was sleepily rubbing his eyes.

"Here we are, David," she said. "Now prove yourself a brave boy and do honor to your father's spirit. Drive boldly, but take care not to meet with accidents, and make for Brandenburg without delay."

"I promised dad, God bless him, that I would not know rest or repose, hunger or sleep, until we reached Brandenburg!" cried the boy, cracking his whip. "Get in, I will drive you to Brandenburg."

"Get in, Gabriel," said Rebecca to Nietzel, who stood at the wagon door, looking at her with wistful, melancholy air. She shook her head as a negative answer to the dumb questioning of his eyes, and only repeated, "Get in, Gabriel!"

He jumped into the wagon, but, as he did so, leaned forward and stretched out his hands to her.

"Forward, David, forward!" commanded Rebecca. David whipped up his horses, and set off at full gallop.

"Be quick, David, for I must begone!"

David Cohen gave the little horses a sharp blow across their heads, causing them to bound forward in wild impatience. Rebecca gazed after them, breathless, with staring eyes. When the vehicle had disappeared from sight she pressed both hands before her eyes, and a sob and a groan escaped her breast. Soon, however, she resumed her self-control.

"If I weep I am lost," she said, lifting up her head. "I have a difficult task to perform, and tears make one faint-hearted and cowardly. I shall not weep, at least not now. When my work of expiation is accomplished, when it has succeeded, then I shall weep. And they will be tears of joy! Jehovah! Almighty! stand by me, that I may weep such tears to-morrow night! And now to work! to work!"

She turned, and with quiet, firm steps proceeded to the city.

X.--THE WHITE LADY.

Dietrich had faithfully obeyed the Electoral Prince's orders. The physician in ordinary, Dr. White, had come, felt the sick man's pulse, and smiled upon being told that the Prince had been taken sick at Count Schwarzenberg's banquet.

"We know all about such sicknesses," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "His highness the Elector suffered from such attacks in earlier days, but he has inured himself against them now."

"But his grace seems to be really sick," remarked the chamberlain. "Only see, doctor, how pale he is! Cold sweat is standing on his brow, and he moans pitiably."

"Yes, yes, he undoubtedly has pain," said the physician gravely. "Such instances occur after a rich feast, where they eat many things together, and drink besides. I shall prescribe a composing draught for his grace, which must be administered regularly every fifteen minutes."

And the physician repaired to the Prince's cabinet adjoining his sleeping room, to write his prescription. Chamberlain von Götz gazed gloomily upon the sick man, who just at this moment uttered a loud scream, and with outstretched arms and clinched hands tossed restlessly about. Old Dietrich bent over him and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

"He is really very sick," murmured the chamberlain. "There is nothing for it but to stay here. He must not be left alone."

"No, Herr von Götz," said Dietrich, his old face looking perfectly tranquil and composed--"no; the Prince ordered me to desire you to return immediately to the party, and not to tarry longer here. My young master condescendingly owned to me himself that it was actually the strong Hungarian wine which had occasioned his sickness, and therefore his highness wishes the Chamberlain von Götz to return forthwith to the party, that his gracious mother may not be made uneasy, and imagine that her son is seriously sick. The Electoral Prince's orders are that you say to his mother that perhaps he may return himself to the entertainment this evening, and that she must not allow herself to be at all anxious, for he will certainly be well again to-morrow."

"That is a fine errand," exclaimed the chamberlain, "and the Electress will be much comforted by such a message. But, nevertheless, I can not possibly leave the Electoral Prince alone for the whole evening."

"He is not alone, for I am with him," replied Dietrich, shaking his head. "I, too, am a man, Chamberlain von Götze, and such my gracious young master esteems me, for he gave express orders that I alone should stay with him, and that nobody else should be admitted until early to-morrow morning. His grace would sleep soundly he said, and rest was the best medicine for him."

"But he must take the medicine that the doctor prescribes for him," said the chamberlain earnestly. "You must insist that the Electoral Prince take his medicine regularly."

"Dismiss all anxiety, Herr von Götz," replied Dietrich solemnly; "I shall see to it that the Prince regularly takes the medicine he needs."

"Here is the prescription!" called out the doctor, entering the chamber and holding out a long strip of paper. "Hurry with it to the apothecary, for I fear its preparation may occasion some little delay, since it is a nice and particular recipe, and consists of fourteen component parts. But it will surely work a cure and afford his highness relief. I shall come again this evening and see how my exalted patient is getting on."

And the medical gentleman left the room, followed by the Chamberlain von Götz.

"You think then, doctor," asked the latter outside in the passage, "that the Electoral Prince is not seriously sick?"

"Have you ever had the sickness which follows too free indulgence in wine, Sir Chamberlain?" asked the doctor gravely. "If so, you know exactly how the Electoral Prince feels."

"Badly enough," laughed Herr von Götz. "I have certainly had my own frightful experiences of that sickness. You think then, doctor, I may without impropriety return to Count Schwarzenberg's feast?"

"Without any impropriety whatever, Sir Chamberlain. What the Prince chiefly needs is sleep and my medicine. When he has swallowed even a few spoonfuls he will feel much soothed and relieved."

The two gentlemen left the castle together, and Dietrich remained alone with the Prince. He had first hastened with the long prescription to the Electoral apothecary, and ordered that it should be left as soon as prepared in the antechamber of the Prince's rooms. Then he had fetched a pitcher of milk from his own chamber, and, kindling a fire in the Prince's sleeping apartment, warmed the milk. Now he approached with the steaming draught the couch of the Prince, who lay sighing and moaning, with closed eyes and tightly compressed lips, paying no heed to Dietrich's entreaties. Finally, after a long pause, he opened his eyes and fixed them with a vacant expression upon the weeping and trembling old man.

"Dietrich, I believe I am dying," he gasped. "But do not tell anybody. No one must know what I suffer, else _he_, too, would come to me, and I wish to see his hated face no more."

"Most gracious Prince, I beseech you, drink. Here is milk!"

"Give it to me, give it to me, Dietrich! Perhaps there is yet hope."

He emptied the cup, and again sank back. Dietrich knelt by his couch and murmured prayers, imploring God to be with the Electoral Prince and to save him from death. Hour after hour sped away. Evening drew near, the shades of night closed in, and still all was quiet and noiseless within the castle precincts. Count Schwarzenberg's feast proceeded undisturbed. It was truly a feast of enchantment, and even the Electress was carried away by it. Twice had she dispatched footmen to inquire after her son's health, and each time old Dietrich had sent word that the Prince had fallen into a sweet sleep, and that the doctor's medicine seemed to agree with him wonderfully well. Of this medicine Dietrich threw aside a spoonful every fifteen minutes, and instead of it gave the Prince his own prescription--warm milk. But still there was no alleviation of his sufferings, and even the violent vomiting, which twice ensued, had not diminished the Prince's pain.

In Count Schwarzenberg's palace now resounded strains of the most inspiriting dance music, and from the banqueting hall the company dispersed into the two ballrooms and the adjoining apartments. In the Electoral garden preparations were being made for fireworks, which were to be displayed as soon as the night was sufficiently dark. This was the reason why, on the approach of twilight, the sight-loving multitude came streaming hither again from all directions. The Elector had seated himself at the card table, and the Electress took a walk through the conservatory and the magnificent hothouses situated in the rear of the palace, access to which was had through the great reception hall. From the Elector, who was eagerly interested in his game, Count Schwarzenberg obtained permission to accompany the Electress. The whole company, with the exception of the gentlemen busied in card playing, followed them. Like a glittering, gigantic serpent, sparkling in all the colors of the rainbow, wound the long, unbroken procession through the hothouses. They admired the exquisite taste by which these long rooms had been transformed into gardens and shrubberies; enjoyed the rare, deliciously scented flowers which peeped forth here and there amid thickets of myrtle and orange tree; amused themselves with the birds of variegated plumage, suspended from the boughs in wire cages of most delicate workmanship. Each Ah! of delight that sounded from the lips of the Electress found its repeated echo in the long line of gentlemen and ladies following her; and these loud exclamations of delight and rapture were so many acts of homage and flattery offered at the shrine of Count Schwarzenberg, the great and mighty possessor of all these glories.

There were in that brilliant assemblage only two individuals who paid little attention to the beautiful birds and flowers about them, who did not chime in with the eulogies and conversation of the company. These two were Princess Charlotte Louise and Count John Adolphus Schwarzenberg. They followed immediately behind the Electress. The young count had offered the Princess his arm, which with a slight blush she had accepted. The Electress, who preceded them, was wholly absorbed in conversation with Count Adam Schwarzenberg, who by his witty, fascinating powers of address succeeded in enchaining her attention. The Princess Sophie Hedwig came behind her sister with two ladies of the court, chatting and laughing, looking hither and thither at birds and flowers, and, by her frequent pauses of admiration before some rare plant or chatting parrot, more than once detaining the whole company, so that there was an empty space between the first two couples and those following.

"I could fall at the feet of the Princess and kiss her hands in fervent gratitude," whispered Count Adolphus, when again the procession tarried behind them.

"Why so?" asked Charlotte Louise, smiling. "What has my sister done to merit such gratitude?"

"What? Why, she has granted me a blessed moment, in which I can tell you that I love you, boundlessly love you. Ah! why can I not speak this word aloud, that like a flash of lightning it may flame through this hall? That would be a fire which should unfold all blossoms and ripen all fruits. I love you, Charlotte Louise! I could kneel down here and repeat in strains of perpetual adoration to you, my mistress, my goddess, I love you, I am yours; but, alas! you--"

"Well," asked she with a beaming glance--"well, why do you not complete your sentence?"

"You are not mine," sighed he. "Were you so, then you would not answer the words which gush forth hot and ardent from my heart in such strange, cold fashion; then would you listen to my supplications, and grant me a moment's interview."

"Did I not tell you, Adolphus," whispered she, "that you were to meet old Trude on the castle square to-morrow morning early? She will be the bearer of a message for you."

"You said so; but I tell you, if you loved me you would not need time for reflection, but even yesterday, as soon as you heard of my arrival, your heart would have suggested the importance of our meeting in private, and devised some scheme whereby this might be accomplished without making use of old Trude's intervention so late as to-morrow morning."

Princess Charlotte Louise laughed and blushed at the same time. "Perhaps I am not so cold and indifferent as you think, Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg," she said, with a charming expression of bashfulness and coquetry. "Perhaps I had already reflected that a conference would be desirable, were it only for the purpose of scolding you for your impulsive manners. Perhaps, too, I already know a place where we can see each other without old Trude's help."

"If you speak earnestly, then am I the happiest of men. But I can not believe you, can not believe that my proud, cold-hearted Princess actually--"

"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."

The Prince left his own apartments, and hurried down a private staircase and through dark passages to the door designated. It was only on latch, but a key was in the lock. Quickly he locked the door, and then stood listening intently. It struck ten o'clock, and as the last stroke vibrated in his ear a hand was laid upon the door latch outside, and a manly voice whispered: "Trude, open! It is I. The one whom you expect! Open, quick!"

"Were it hell," murmured the Prince softly to himself, "yes, were it hell, I would open the door. But there is no admittance to paradise for you. Knock on, knock on! The gates of the Electoral mansion are not undone for you. Knock on; the castle of the Elector of Brandenburg is locked against you, and you must stand without, you Counts of Schwarzenberg, for you shall not thrust me out of the palace of my fathers! I shall be Elector of Brandenburg in spite of you, and then, Count Schwarzenberg, Stadtholder in the Mark, then be on your guard! I shall remember, Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg, that your finger rapped at this door, threatening to bring shame and disgrace upon this house! And then, perhaps, I may open a door for you, and allow you to enter, but it will not be for a lover's rendezvous, and the door which admits you will not so easily grant you an escape. Now I suffer and endure, but a time of reckoning will come! Schwarzenbergs, beware of me!"

For a long while yet the Electoral Prince stood within the door, and for a long while yet, at intervals, the knocking on the outside was repeated. Then all was still. Frederick William returned to his own apartments.

Early next morning took place the departure of the Electoral family for Prussia. It was to be wholly without formality, and consequently no one had been notified. The Elector had only caused the two Counts Schwarzenberg to be summoned after the carriages were ready, and when they came in haste they found the Electoral family just on the point of entering their several equipages.

"I meant to set out secretly," said George William, stretching out both hands to the Stadtholder, "in order to spare myself the pain of bidding you farewell, Adam. But now I find that my heart is stronger than my will, and I must embrace you once more before I go!"

While the Elector embraced his favorite and received from him assurances of perpetual fidelity, Count Adolphus Schwarzenberg approached the Princess Charlotte Louise, who stood silent and apart in a window recess, looking out upon the street with pallid countenance and eyes reddened by weeping.

"Louise," he whispered softly, "Louise, you--"

But before he could utter another word, Princess Hedwig stood beside him, addressing him with amiable speech, and the Electoral Prince approached his sister and offered her his arm to conduct her to the carriage. She walked along, leaning on her brother's arm, without once lifting her eyes from the ground, deeply humiliated by the thought that her lover had caused her to wait for him in vain. A quarter of an hour later the two clumsy vehicles containing the Electoral family rolled out of the castle gate and struck into the road leading to Königsberg. The White Lady had driven away the Elector George William, and he was nevermore to behold the palace of his fathers.

The White Lady had saved Prince Frederick William, and as he now drove through the gates of Berlin in that clumsy old coach he said to himself, with joyful anticipation: "I shall see you again, Berlin! I shall see you again, dear town of my fathers! I shall come back, and, please God, not humbly and enslaved as I go away to-day, but as a Prince, who is lord within his own domains, with God in his heart, a clear sky overhead, and no Schwarzenbergs upon the horizon!"

Wearily and panting for breath the poor horses dragged the heavy carriage through the sands of the Mark, but within sat the Electoral Prince--within sat Cæsar and his fortunes.