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diff --git a/old/8383-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/8383-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d394716 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8383-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,4029 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Monsieur Maurice, by Amelia B. Edwards + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Monsieur Maurice, by Amelia B. Edwards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Monsieur Maurice + +Author: Amelia B. Edwards + + +Release Date: June, 2005 [EBook #8383] +This file was first posted on July 5, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONSIEUR MAURICE *** + + + + +Text file produced by Suzanne Shell, Christopher Lund and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + MONSIEUR MAURICE + </h1> + <h2> + By + </h2> + <h2> + AMELIA B. EDWARDS + </h2> + <h3> + 1873 + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> 6 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> 8 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> 9 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> 10 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> 11 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> 12 </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 1 + </h2> + <p> + The events I am about to relate took place more than fifty years ago. I am + a white-haired old woman now, and I was then a little girl scarce ten + years of age; but those times, and the places and people associated with + them, seem, in truth, to lie nearer my memory than the times and people of + to-day. Trivial incidents which, if they had happened yesterday, would be + forgotten, come back upon me sometimes with all the vivid detail of a + photograph; and words unheeded many a year ago start out, like the + handwriting on the wall, in sudden characters of fire. + </p> + <p> + But this is no new experience. As age creeps on, we all have the same tale + to tell. The days of our youth are those we remember best and most fondly, + and even the sorrows of that bygone time become pleasures in the + retrospect. Of my own solitary childhood I retain the keenest + recollection, as the following pages will show. + </p> + <p> + My father's name was Bernhard—Johann Ludwig Bernhard; and he was a + native of Coblentz on the Rhine. Having grown grey in the Prussian + service, fought his way slowly and laboriously from the ranks upward, been + seven times wounded and twice promoted on the field, he was made colonel + of his regiment in 1814, when the Allies entered Paris. In 1819, being no + longer fit for active service, he retired on a pension, and was appointed + King's steward of the Château of Augustenburg at Brühl—a sort of + military curatorship to which few duties and certain contingent emoluments + were attached. Of these last, a suite of rooms in the Château, a couple of + acres of private garden, and the revenue accruing from a small local + impost, formed the most important part. It was towards the latter half of + this year (1819) that, having now for the first time in his life a settled + home in which to receive me, my father fetched me from Nuremberg where I + was living with my aunt, Martha Baur, and took me to reside with him at + Brühl. + </p> + <p> + Now my aunt, Martha Baur, was an exemplary person in her way; a rigid + Lutheran, a strict disciplinarian, and the widow of a wealthy + wool-stapler. She lived in a gloomy old house near the Frauen-Kirche, + where she received no society, and led a life as varied and lively on the + whole as that of a Trappist. Every Wednesday afternoon we paid a visit to + the grave of her “blessed man” in the Protestant cemetery outside the + walls, and on Sundays we went three times to church. These were the only + breaks in the long monotony of our daily life. On market-days we never + went out of doors at all; and when the great annual fair-time came round, + we drew down all the front blinds and inhabited the rooms at the back. + </p> + <p> + As for the pleasures of childhood, I cannot say that I knew many of them + in those old Nuremberg days. Still I was not unhappy, nor even very dull. + It may be that, knowing nothing pleasanter, I was not even conscious of + the dreariness of the atmosphere I breathed. There was, at all events, a + big old-fashioned garden full of vegetables and cottage-flowers, at the + back of the house, in which I almost lived in Spring and Summer-time, and + from which I managed to extract a great deal of enjoyment; while for + companions and playmates I had old Karl, my aunt's gardener, a + pigeon-house full of pigeons, three staid elderly cats, and a tortoise. In + the way of education I fared scantily enough, learning just as little as + it pleased my aunt to teach me, and having that little presented to me + under its driest and most unattractive aspect. + </p> + <p> + Such was my life till I went away with my father in the Autumn of 1819. I + was then between nine and ten years of age—having lost my mother in + earliest infancy, and lived with aunt Martha Baur ever since I could + remember. + </p> + <p> + The change from Nuremberg to Brühl was for me like the transition from + Purgatory to Paradise. I enjoyed for the first time all the delights of + liberty. I had no lessons to learn; no stern aunt to obey; but, which was + infinitely pleasanter, a kind-hearted Rhenish Mädchen, with a silver arrow + in her hair, to wait upon me; and an indulgent father whose only orders + were that I should be allowed to have my own way in everything. + </p> + <p> + And my way was to revel in the air and the sunshine; to roam about the + park and pleasure-grounds; to watch the soldiers at drill, and hear the + band play every day, and wander at will about the deserted + state-apartments of the great empty Château. + </p> + <p> + Looking back upon it from this distance of time, I should pronounce the + Electoral Residenz at Brühl to be a miracle of bad taste; but not + Aladdin's palace if planted amid the gardens of Armida could then have + seemed lovelier in my eyes. The building, a heavy many-windowed pile in + the worst style of the worst Renaissance period, stood, and still stands, + in a fat, flat country about ten miles from Cologne, to which city it + bears much the same relation that Hampton Court bears to London, or + Versailles to Paris. Stucco and whitewash had been lavished upon it inside + and out, and pallid scagliola did duty everywhere for marble. A grand + staircase supported by agonised colossi, grinning and writhing in vain + efforts to look as if they didn't mind the weight, led from the great hall + to the state apartments; and in these rooms the bad taste of the building + may be said to have culminated. Here were mirrors framed in meaningless + arabesques, cornices painted to represent bas-reliefs, consoles and + pilasters of mock marble, and long generations of Electors in the + tawdriest style of portraiture, all at full length, all in their robes of + office, and all too evidently by one and the same hand. To me, however, + they were all majestic and beautiful. I believed in themselves, their + wigs, their armour, their ermine, their high-heeled shoes and their + stereotyped smirk, from the earliest to the latest. + </p> + <p> + But the gardens and grounds were my chief delight, as indeed they were the + main attraction of the place, making it the focus of a holiday resort for + the townsfolk of Cologne and Bonn, and a point of interest for travellers. + First came a great gravelled terrace upon which the ground-floor windows + opened—a terrace where the sun shone more fiercely than elsewhere, + and orange-trees in tubs bore golden fruit, and great green, yellow, and + striped pumpkins, alternating with beds of brilliant white and scarlet + geraniums, lay lazily sprawling in the sunshine as if they enjoyed it. + Beyond this terrace came vast flats of rich green sward laid out in formal + walks, flower-beds and fountains; and beyond these again stretched some + two or three miles of finely wooded park, pierced by long avenues that + radiated from a common centre and framed in exquisite little far-off views + of Falkenlust and the blue hills of the Vorgebirge. + </p> + <p> + We were lodged at the back, where the private gardens and offices abutted + on the village. Our own rooms looked upon our own garden, and upon the + church and Franciscan convent beyond. In the warm dusk, when all was + still, and my father used to sit smoking his meerschaum by the open + window, we could hear the low pealing of the chapel-organ, and the monks + chanting their evening litanies. + </p> + <p> + A happy time—a pleasant, peaceful place! Ah me! how long ago! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 2 + </h2> + <p> + A whole delightful Summer and Autumn went by thus, and my new home seemed + more charming with every change of season. First came the gathering of the + golden harvest; then the joyous vintage-time, when the wine-press creaked + all day in every open cellar along the village street, and long files of + country carts came down from the hills in the dusk evenings, laden with + baskets and barrels full of white and purple grapes. And then the long + avenues and all the woods of Brühl put on their Autumn robes of crimson, + and flame-colour, and golden brown; and the berries reddened in the + hedges; and the Autumn burned itself away like a gorgeous sunset; and + November came in grey and cold, like the night-time of the year. + </p> + <p> + I was so happy, however, that I enjoyed even the dull November. I loved + the bare avenues carpeted with dead and rustling leaves—the solitary + gardens—the long, silent afternoons and evenings when the big logs + crackled on the hearth, and my father smoked his pipe in the chimney + corner. We had no such wood-fires at Aunt Martha Baur's in those dreary + old Nuremberg days, now almost forgotten; but then, to be sure, Aunt + Martha Baur, who was a sparing woman and looked after every groschen, had + to pay for her own logs, whereas ours were cut from the Crown Woods, and + cost not a pfennig. + </p> + <p> + It was, as well as I can remember, just about this time, when the days + were almost at their briefest, that my father received an official + communication from Berlin desiring him to make ready a couple of rooms for + the immediate reception of a state-prisoner, for whose safe-keeping he + would be held responsible till further notice. The letter—(I have it + in my desk now)—was folded square, sealed with five seals, and + signed in the King's name by the Minister of War; and it was brought, as I + well remember, by a mounted orderly from Cologne. + </p> + <p> + So a couple of empty rooms were chosen on the second story, just over one + of the State apartments at the end of the east wing; and my father, who + was by no means well pleased with his office, set to work to ransack the + Château for furniture. + </p> + <p> + “Since it is the King's pleasure to make a gaoler of me,” said he, “I'll + try to give my poor devil of a prisoner all the comforts I can. Come with + me, my little Gretchen, and let's see what chairs and tables we can find + up in the garrets.” + </p> + <p> + Now I had been longing to explore the top rooms ever since I came to live + at Brühl—those top rooms under the roof, of which the shutters were + always closed, and the doors always locked, and where not even the + housemaids were admitted oftener than twice a year. So at this welcome + invitation I sprang up, joyfully enough, and ran before my father all the + way. But when he unlocked the first door, and all beyond was dark, and the + air that met us on the threshold had a faint and dead odour, like the + atmosphere of a tomb, I shrank back trembling, and dared not venture in. + Nor did my courage altogether come back when the shutters were thrown + open, and the wintry sunlight streamed in upon dusty floors, and cobwebbed + ceilings, and piles of mysterious objects covered in a ghostly way with + large white sheets, looking like heaps of slain upon a funeral pyre. + </p> + <p> + The slain, however, turned out to be the very things of which we were in + search; old-fashioned furniture in all kinds of incongruous styles, and of + all epochs—Louis Quatorze cabinets in cracked tortoise-shell and + blackened buhl—antique carved chairs emblazoned elaborately with + coats of arms, as old as the time of Albert Dürer—slender-legged + tables in battered marqueterie—time-pieces in lack-lustre ormolu, + still pointing to the hour at which they had stopped, who could tell how + many years ago? bundles of moth-eaten tapestries and faded silken hangings—exquisite + oval mirrors framed in chipped wreaths of delicate Dresden china—mouldering + old portraits of dead-and-gone court beauties in powder and patches, + warriors in wigs, and prelates in point-lace—whole suites of + furniture in old stamped leather and worm-eaten Utrecht velvet; broken + toilette services in pink and blue Sèvres; screens, wardrobes, cornices—in + short, all kinds of luxurious lumber going fast to dust, like those who + once upon a time enjoyed and owned it. + </p> + <p> + And now, going from room to room, we chose a chair here, a table there, + and so on, till we had enough to furnish a bedroom and sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “He must have a writing-table,” said my father, thoughtfully, “and a + book-case.” + </p> + <p> + Saying which, he stopped in front of a ricketty-looking gilded cabinet + with empty red-velvet shelves, and tapped it with his cane. + </p> + <p> + “But supposing he has no books!” suggested I, with the precocious wisdom + of nine years of age. + </p> + <p> + “Then we must beg some, or borrow some, my little Mädchen,” replied my + father, gravely; “for books are the main solace of the captive, and he who + hath them not lies in a twofold prison.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall have my picture-book of Hartz legends!” said I, in a sudden + impulse of compassion. Whereupon my father took me up in his arms, kissed + me on both cheeks, and bade me choose some knicknacks for the prisoner's + sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “For though we have gotten together all the necessaries for comfort, we + have taken nothing for adornment,” said he, “and 'twere pity the prison + were duller than it need be. Choose thou a pretty face or two from among + these old pictures, my little Gretchen, and an ornament for his + mantelshelf. Young as thou art, thou hast the woman's wit in thee.” + </p> + <p> + So I picked out a couple of Sèvres candlesticks; a painted Chinese screen, + all pagodas and parrots; two portraits of patched and powdered beauties in + the Watteau style; and a queer old clock surmounted by a gilt Cupid in a + chariot drawn by doves. If these failed to make him happy, thought I, he + must indeed be hard to please. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon, the things having been well dusted, and the rooms + thoroughly cleaned, we set to work to arrange the furniture, and so + quickly was this done that before we sat down to supper the place was + ready for occupation, even to the logs upon the hearth and the oil-lamp + upon the table. + </p> + <p> + All night my dreams were of the prisoner. I was seeking him in the gloom + of the upper rooms, or amid the dusky mazes of the leafless plantations—always + seeing him afar off, never overtaking him, and trying in vain to catch a + glimpse of his features. But his face was always turned from me. + </p> + <p> + My first words on waking, were to ask if he had yet come. All day long I + was waiting, and watching, and listening for him, starting up at every + sound, and continually running to the window. Would he be young and + handsome? Or would he be old, and white-haired, and world-forgotten, like + some of those Bastille prisoners I had heard my father speak of? Would his + chains rattle when he walked about? I asked myself these questions, and + answered them as my childish imagination prompted, a hundred times a day; + and still he came not. + </p> + <p> + So another twenty-four hours went by, and my impatience was almost + beginning to wear itself out, when at last, about five o'clock in the + afternoon of the third day, it being already quite dark, there came a + sudden clanging of the gates, followed by a rattle of wheels in the + courtyard, and a hurrying to and fro of feet upon the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Then, listening with a beating heart, but seeing nothing, I knew that he + was come. + </p> + <p> + I had to sleep that night with my curiosity ungratified; for my father had + hurried away at the first sounds from without, nor came back till long + after I had been carried off to bed by my Rhenish handmaiden. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 3 + </h2> + <p> + He was neither old nor white-haired. He was, as well as I, in my childish + way could judge, about thirty-five years of age, pale, slight, dark-eyed, + delicate-looking. His chains did not rattle as he walked, for the simple + reason that, being a prisoner on parole, he suffered no kind of restraint, + but was as free as myself of the Château and grounds. He wore his hair + long, tied behind with a narrow black ribbon, and very slightly powdered; + and he dressed always in deep mourning—black, all black, from head + to foot, even to his shoe-buckles. He was a Frenchman, and he went by the + name of Monsieur Maurice. + </p> + <p> + I cannot tell how I knew that this was only his Christian name; but so it + was, and I knew him by no other, neither did my father. I have, indeed, + evidence among our private papers to show that neither by those in + authority at Berlin, nor by the prisoner himself, was he at any time + informed either of the family name of Monsieur Maurice, or of the nature + of the offence, whether military or political, for which that gentleman + was consigned to his keeping at Brühl. + </p> + <p> + “Of one thing at least I am certain,” said my father, holding out his pipe + for me to fill it. “He is a soldier.” + </p> + <p> + It was just after dinner, the second day following our prisoner's arrival, + and I was sitting on my father's knee before the fire, as was our pleasant + custom of an afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “I see it in his eye,” my father went on to say. “I see it in his walk. I + see it in the way he arranges his papers on the table. Everything in + order. Everything put away into the smallest possible compass. All this + bespeaketh the camp.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe he is a soldier, for all that,” said I, thoughtfully. “He + is too gentle.” + </p> + <p> + “The bravest soldiers, my little Gretchen, are ofttimes the gentlest,” + replied my father. “The great French hero, Bayard, and the great English + hero, Sir Philip Sidney, about whom thou wert reading 'tother day, were + both as tender and gentle as women.” + </p> + <p> + “But he neither smokes, nor swears, nor talks loud,” said I, persisting in + my opinion. + </p> + <p> + My father smiled, and pinched my ear. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, little one,” said he, “Monsieur Maurice is not like thy father—a + rough German Dragoon risen from the ranks. He is a gentleman, and a + Frenchman; and he hath all the polish of what the Frenchman calls the <i>vieille + école</i>. And there again he puzzles me with his court-manners and his + powdered hair! He's no Bonapartist, I'll be sworn—yet if he be o' + the King's side, what doth he here, with the usurper at Saint Helena, and + Louis the Eighteenth come to his own again?” + </p> + <p> + “But he <i>is</i> a Bonapartist, father,” said I, “for he carries the + Emperor's portrait on his snuff-box.” + </p> + <p> + My father laid down his pipe, and drew a long breath expressive of + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “He showed thee his snuff-box!” exclaimed he. + </p> + <p> + “Ay—and told me it was the Emperor's own gift.” + </p> + <p> + “Thunder and Mars! And when was this, my little Gretchen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday morning, on the terrace. And he asked my name; and told me I + should go up some day to his room and see his sketches; and he kissed me + when he said good-bye; and—and I like Monsieur Maurice very much, + father, and I'm sure it's very wicked of the King to keep him here in + prison!” + </p> + <p> + My father looked at me, shook his head, and twirled his long grey + moustache. + </p> + <p> + “Bonapartist or Legitimist, again I say what doth he here?” muttered he + presently, more to himself than to me. “If Legitimist, why not with his + King? If Bonapartist—then he is his King's prisoner; not ours. It + passeth my comprehension how we should hold him at Brühl.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him run away, father dear, and don't run after him!” whispered I, + putting my arms coaxingly about his neck. + </p> + <p> + “But 'tis some cursed mess of politics at bottom, depend on't!” continued + my father, still talking to himself. “Ah, you don't know what politics + are, my little Gretchen!—so much the better for you!” + </p> + <p> + “I do know what politics are,” replied I, with great dignity. “They are + the <i>chef-d'oeuvre</i> of Satan. I heard you say so the other day.” + </p> + <p> + My father burst into a Titanic roar of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Said I so?” shouted he. “Thunder and Mars! I did not remember that I had + ever said anything half so epigrammatic!” + </p> + <p> + Now from this it will be seen that the prisoner and I were already + acquainted. We had, indeed, taken to each other from the first, and our + mutual liking ripened so rapidly that before a week was gone by we had + become the fastest friends in the world. + </p> + <p> + Our first meeting, as I have already said, took place upon the terrace. + Our second, which befell on the afternoon of the same day when my father + and I had held the conversation just recorded, happened on the stairs. + Monsieur Maurice was coming up with his hat on; I was running down. He + stopped, and held out both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bonjour, petite</i>,” he said, smiling. “Whither away so fast?” + </p> + <p> + The hoar frost was clinging to his coat, where he had brushed against the + trees in his walk, and he looked pale and tired. + </p> + <p> + “I am going home,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Home? Did you not tell me you lived in the Château?” + </p> + <p> + “So I do, Monsieur; but at the other side, up the other staircase. This is + the side of the state-apartments.” + </p> + <p> + Then, seeing in his face a look half of surprise, half of curiosity, I + added:— + </p> + <p> + “I often go there in the afternoon, when it is too cold, or too late for + out-of-doors. They are such beautiful rooms, and full of such beautiful + pictures! Would you like to see them?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, petite,” he said, “I am too cold now, and too tired; but you + shall show them to me some other day. Meanwhile, suppose you come up and + pay me that promised visit?” + </p> + <p> + I assented joyfully, and slipping my hand into his with the ready + confidence of childhood, turned back at once and went with him to his + rooms on the second floor. + </p> + <p> + Here, finding the fire in the salon nearly out, we went down upon our + knees and blew the embers with our breath, and laughed so merrily over our + work that by the time the new logs had caught, I was as much at home as if + I had known Monsieur Maurice all my life. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tiens</i>!” he said, taking me presently upon his knee and brushing + the specks of white ash from my clothes and hair, “what a little + Cinderella I have made of my guest! This must not happen again, Gretchen. + Did you not tell me yesterday that your name was Gretchen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but Gretchen, you know, is not my real name,” said I, “my real name + is Marguerite. Gretchen is only my pet name.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will always be Gretchen for me,” said Monsieur Maurice, with the + sweetest smile in the world. + </p> + <p> + There were books upon the table; there was a thing like a telescope on a + brass stand in the window; there was a guitar lying on the couch. The + fire, too, was burning brightly now, and the room altogether wore a + cheerful air of habitation. + </p> + <p> + “It looks more like a lady's boudoir than a prison,” said Monsieur + Maurice, reading my thoughts. “I wonder whose rooms they were before I + came here!” + </p> + <p> + “They were nobody's rooms,” said I. “They were quite empty.” + </p> + <p> + And then I told him where we had found the furniture, and how the + ornamental part thereof had been of my choosing. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know who the ladies are,” I said, referring to the portraits. “I + only chose them for their pretty faces.” + </p> + <p> + “Their lovers probably did the same, petite, a hundred years ago,” replied + Monsieur Maurice. “And the clock—did you choose that also?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but the clock doesn't go.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. I would that time might stand still also—till I + am free! till I am free!” + </p> + <p> + The tears rushed to my eyes. It was the tone more than the words that + touched my heart. He stooped and kissed me on the forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Come to the window, little one,” said he, “and I will show you something + very beautiful. Do you know what this is?” + </p> + <p> + “A telescope!” + </p> + <p> + “No; a solar microscope. Now look down into this tube, and tell me what + you see. A piece of Persian carpet? No—a butterfly's wing magnified + hundreds and hundreds of times. And this which looks like an aigrette of + jewels? Will you believe that it is just the tiny plume which waves on the + head of every little gnat that buzzes round you on a Summer's evening?” + </p> + <p> + I uttered exclamation after exclamation of delight. Every fresh object + seemed more wonderful and beautiful than the last, and I felt as if I + could go on looking down that magic tube for ever. Meanwhile Monsieur + Maurice, whose good-nature was at least as inexhaustible as my curiosity, + went on changing the slides till we had gone through a whole boxfull. + </p> + <p> + By this time it was getting rapidly dusk, and I could see no longer. + </p> + <p> + “You will show me some more another day?” said I, giving up reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “That I will, petite, I have at least a dozen more boxes full of slides.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and you said I should see your sketches, Monsieur Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + “All in good time, little Gretchen,” he said, smiling. “All in good time. + See—those are the sketches, in yonder folio; that mahogany case + under the couch contains a collection of gems in glass and paste; those + red books in the bookcase are full of pictures. You shall see them all by + degrees; but only by degrees. For if I did not keep something back to + tempt my little guest, she would not care to visit the solitary prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + I felt myself colour crimson. + </p> + <p> + “But—but indeed I would care to come, Monsieur Maurice, if you had + nothing at all to show me,” I said, half hurt, half angry. + </p> + <p> + He gave me a strange look that I could not understand, and stroked my hair + caressingly. + </p> + <p> + “Come often, then, little one,” he said. “Come very often; and when we are + tired of pictures and microscopes, we will sit upon the floor, and tell + sad stories of the deaths of kings.” + </p> + <p> + Then, seeing my look puzzled, he laughed and added:— + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a great English poet says that, Gretchen, in one of his plays.” + </p> + <p> + Here a shrill trumpet-call in the court-yard, followed by the prolonged + roll of many drums, warned me that evening parade was called, and that as + soon as it was over my father would be home and looking for me. So I + started up, and put out my hand to say good-bye. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice took it between both his own. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like parting from you so soon, little Mädchen,” he said. “Will + you come again to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Every day, if you like!” I replied eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Then every day it shall be; and—let me see—you shall improve + my bad German, and I will teach you French.” + </p> + <p> + I could have clapped my hands for joy. I was longing to learn French, and + I knew how much it would also please my father; so I thanked Monsieur + Maurice again and again, and ran home with a light heart to tell of all + the wonders I had seen. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 4 + </h2> + <p> + From this time forth, I saw him always once, and sometimes twice a day—in + the afternoons, when he regularly gave me the promised French lesson; and + occasionally in the mornings, provided the weather was neither too cold + nor too damp for him to join me in the grounds. For Monsieur Maurice was + not strong. He could not with impunity face snow, and rain, and our keen + Rhenish north-east winds; and it was only when the wintry sun shone out at + noon and the air came tempered from the south, that he dared venture from + his own fire-side. When, however, there shone a sunny day, with what + delight I used to summon him for a walk, take him to my favourite points + of view, and show him the woodland nooks that had been my chosen haunts in + summer! Then, too, the unwonted colour would come back to his pale cheek, + and the smile to his lips, and while the ramble and the sunshine lasted he + would be all jest and gaiety, pelting me with dead leaves, chasing me in + and out of the plantations, and telling me strange stories, half pathetic, + half grotesque, of Dryads, and Fauns, and Satyrs—of Bacchus, and + Pan, and Polyphemus—of nymphs who became trees, and shepherds who + were transformed to fountains, and all kinds of beautiful wild myths of + antique Greece—far more beautiful and far more wild than all the + tales of gnomes and witches in my book of Hartz legends. + </p> + <p> + At other times, when the weather was cold or rainy, he would take down his + “Musée Napoléon,” a noble work in eight or ten volumes, and show me + engravings after pictures by great masters in the Louvre, explaining them + to me as we went along, painting in words the glow and glory of the absent + colour, and steeping my childish imagination in golden dreams of Raphael + and Titian, and Paulo Veronese. + </p> + <p> + And sometimes, too, as the dusk came on and the firelight brightened in + the gathering gloom, he would take up his guitar, and to the accompaniment + of a few slight chords sing me a quaint old French chanson of the feudal + times; or an Arab chant picked up in the tent or the Nile boat; or a + Spanish ballad, half love-song, half litany, learned from the lips of a + muleteer on the Pyrenean border. + </p> + <p> + For Monsieur Maurice, whatever his present adversities, had travelled far + and wide at some foregone period of his life—in Syria, and Persia; + in northernmost Tartary and the Siberian steppes; in Egypt and the Nubian + desert, and among the perilous wilds of central Arabia. He spoke and wrote + with facility some ten or twelve languages. He drew admirably, and had a + profound knowledge of the Italian schools of art; and his memory was a + rich storehouse of adventure and anecdote, legend and song. + </p> + <p> + I am an old woman now, and Monsieur Maurice must have passed away many a + year ago upon his last long journey; but even at this distance of time, my + eyes are dimmed with tears when I remember how he used to unlock that + storehouse for my pleasure, and ransack his memory for stories either of + his own personal perils by flood and field, or of the hairbreadth 'scapes + of earlier travellers. For it was his amusement to amuse me; his happiness + to make me happy. And I in return loved him with all my childish heart. + Nay, with something deeper and more romantic than a childish love—say + rather with that kind of passionate hero-worship which is an attribute + more of youth than of childhood, and, like the quality of mercy, blesseth + him that gives even more than him that takes. + </p> + <p> + “What dreadful places you have travelled in, Monsieur Maurice!” I + exclaimed one day. “What dangers you have seen!” + </p> + <p> + He had been showing me a little sketchbook full of Eastern jottings, and + had just explained how a certain boat therein depicted had upset with him + on a part of the Upper Nile so swarming with alligators that he had to + swim for his life, and even so, barely scrambled up the slimy bank in + time. + </p> + <p> + “He who travels far courts many kinds of death,” replied Monsieur Maurice; + “but he escapes that which is worst—death from ennui.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose they had dragged you back, when you were half way up the bank!” + said I, shuddering. + </p> + <p> + And as I spoke, I felt myself turn pale; for I could see the brown + monsters crowding to shore, and the red glitter of their cruel eyes and + the hot breath steaming from their open jaws. + </p> + <p> + “Then they would have eaten me up as easily as you might swallow an + oyster,” laughed Monsieur Maurice. “Nay, my child, why that serious face? + I should have escaped a world of trouble, and been missed by no one—except + poor Ali.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was Ali?” I asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Ali was my Nubian servant—my only friend, then; as you, little + Gretchen, are my only friend, now,” replied Monsieur Maurice, sadly. “Aye, + my only little friend in the wide world—and I think a true one.” + </p> + <p> + I did not know what to say; but I nestled closer to his side; and pressed + my cheek up fondly against his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me more about him, Monsieur Maurice,” I whispered. “I am so glad he + loved you dearly.” + </p> + <p> + “He loved me very dearly,” said Monsieur Maurice, “so dearly that he gave + his life for me.” + </p> + <p> + “But is Ali dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay—Ali is dead. Nay, his story is brief enough, petite. I bought + him in the slave market at Cairo—a poor, sickly, soulless lad, half + stupid from ill-treatment. I gave him good food, good clothes, and + liberty. I taught him to read. I made him my own servant; and his soul and + his strength came back to him as if by a miracle. He became stalwart and + intelligent, and so faithful that he was ten times more my slave than if I + had held him to his bondage. I took him with me through all my Eastern + pilgrimage. He was my body-guard; my cook; my dragoman; everything. He + slept on a mat at the foot of my bed every night, like a dog. So he lived + with me for nearly four years—till I lost him.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. + </p> + <p> + I did not dare to ask, “what more?” but waited breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “The rest is soon told,” he said presently; but in an altered voice. “It + happened in Ceylon. Our way lay along a bridle-path overhanging a steep + gorge on the one hand and skirting the jungle on the other. Do you know + what the jungle is, little Gretchen? Fancy an untrodden wilderness where + huge trees, matted together by trailing creepers of gigantic size, shut + out the sun and make a green roof of inextricable shade—where the + very grass grows taller than the tallest man—where apes chatter, and + parrots scream, and deadly reptiles swarm; and where nature has run wild + since ever the world began. Well, so we went—I on my horse; Ali at + my bridle; two porters following with food and baggage; the precipice + below; the forest above; the morning sun just risen over all. On a sudden, + Ali held his breath and listened. His practised ear had caught a sound + that mine could not detect. He seized my rein—forced my horse back + upon his haunches—drew his hunting knife, and ran forward to + reconnoitre. The turn of the road hid him for a moment from my sight. The + next instant, I had sprung from the saddle, pistol in hand, and run after + him to share the sport or the danger. My little Gretchen—he was + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” I echoed. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice shook his head, and turned his face away. + </p> + <p> + “I heard a crashing and crackling of the underwood,” he said; “a faint + moan dying on the sultry air. I saw a space of dusty road trampled over + with prints of an enormous paw—a tiny trail of blood—a shred + of silken fringe—and nothing more. He was gone.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” I asked presently, in an awestruck whisper. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice, instead of answering my question, opened the sketch-book + at a page full of little outlines of animals and birds, and laid his + finger silently on the figure of a sleeping tiger. + </p> + <p> + I shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pauvre petite</i>!” he said, shutting up the book, “it is too terrible + a story. I ought not to have told it to you. Try to forget it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no!” I said. “I shall never forget it, Monsieur Maurice. Poor Ali! + Have you still the piece of fringe you found lying in the road?” + </p> + <p> + He unlocked his desk and touched a secret spring; whereupon a small drawer + flew out from a recess just under the lock. + </p> + <p> + “Here it is,” he said, taking out a piece of folded paper. + </p> + <p> + It contained the thing he had described—a scrap of fringe composed + of crimson and yellow twist, about two inches in length. + </p> + <p> + “And those other things?” I said, peering into the secret drawer with a + child's inquisitiveness. “Have they a history, too?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice hesitated—took them out—sighed—and + said, somewhat reluctantly:— + </p> + <p> + “You may see them, little Gretchen, if you will. Yes; they, too, have + their history—but let it be. We have had enough sad stories for + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Those other things, as I had called them, were a withered rose in a little + cardboard box, and a miniature of a lady in a purple morocco case. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 5 + </h2> + <p> + It so happened that the Winter this year was unusually severe, not only at + Brühl and the parts about Cologne, but throughout all the Rhine country. + Heavy snows fell at Christmas and lay unmelted for weeks upon the ground. + Long forgotten sleighs were dragged out from their hiding places and put + upon the road, not only for the transport of goods, but for the conveyance + of passengers. The ponds in every direction and all the smaller streams + were fast frozen. Great masses of dirty ice, too, came floating down the + Rhine, and there were rumours of the great river being quite frozen over + somewhere up in Switzerland, many hundred miles nearer its source. + </p> + <p> + For myself, I enjoyed it all—the bitter cold, the short days, the + rapid exercise, the blazing fires within, and the glittering snow without. + I made snow-men and snow-castles to my heart's content. I learned to skate + with my father on the frozen ponds. I was never weary of admiring the + wintry landscape—the wide plains sheeted with silver; the purple + mountains peeping through brown vistas of bare forest; the nearer trees + standing out in featherlike tracery against the blue-green sky. To me it + was all beautiful; even more beautiful than in the radiant summertime. + </p> + <p> + Not so, however, was it with Monsieur Maurice. Racked by a severe cough + and unable to leave the house for weeks together, he suffered intensely + all the winter through. He suffered in body, and he suffered also in mind. + I could see that he was very sad, and that there were times when the + burden of life was almost more than he knew how to bear. He had brought + with him, as I have shown, certain things wherewith to alleviate the + weariness of captivity—books, music, drawing materials, and the + like; but I soon discovered that the books were his only solace, and that + he never took up pencil or guitar, unless for my amusement. + </p> + <p> + He wrote a great deal, however, and so consumed many a weary hour of the + twenty-four. He used a thick yellowish paper cut quite square, and wrote a + very small, neat, upright hand, as clear and legible as print. Every time + I found him at his desk and saw those closely covered pages multiplying + under his hand, I used to wonder what he could have to write about, and + for whose eyes that elaborate manuscript was intended. + </p> + <p> + “How cold you are, Monsieur Maurice!” I used to say. “You are as cold as + my snow-man in the court-yard! Won't you come out to-day for + half-an-hour?” + </p> + <p> + And his hands, in truth, were always ice-like, even though the hearth was + heaped with blazing logs. + </p> + <p> + “Not to-day, petite,” he would reply. “It is too bleak for me—and + besides, you see, I am writing.” + </p> + <p> + It was his invariable reply. He was always writing—or if not + writing, reading; or brooding listlessly over the fire. And so he grew + paler every day. + </p> + <p> + “But the writing can wait, Monsieur Maurice,” I urged one morning, “and + you can't always be reading the same old books over and over again!” + </p> + <p> + “Some books never grow old, little Gretchen,” he replied. “This, for + instance, is quite new; and yet it was written by one Horatius Flaccus + somewhere about eighteen hundred years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “But the sun is really shining this morning, Monsieur Maurice!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Comment</i>!” he said, smiling. “Do you think to persuade me that + yonder is the sun—the great, golden, glorious, bountiful sun? No, + no, my child! Where I come from, we have the only true sun, and believe in + no other!” + </p> + <p> + “But you come from France, don't you, Monsieur Maurice?” I asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “From the South of France, petite—from the France of palms, and + orange-groves, and olives; where the myrtle flowers at Christmas, and the + roses bloom all the year round!” + </p> + <p> + “But that must be where Paradise was, Monsieur Maurice!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Ay; it was Paradise once—for me,” he said, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Thus, after a moment's pause, he went on:— + </p> + <p> + “The house in which I was born stands on a low cliff above the sea. It is + an old, old house, with all kinds of quaint little turrets, and gable + ends, and picturesque nooks and corners about it—such as one sees in + most French Châteaux of that period; and it lies back somewhat, with a + great rambling garden stretching out between it and the edge of the cliff. + Three <i>berceaux</i> of orange-trees lead straight away from the paved + terrace on which the salon windows open, to another terrace overhanging + the beach and the sea. The cliff is overgrown from top to bottom with + shrubs and wild flowers, and a flight of steps cut in the living rock + leads down to a little cove and a strip of yellow sand a hundred feet + below. Ah, petite, I fancy I can see myself scrambling up and down those + steps—a child younger than yourself; watching the sun go down into + that purple sea; counting the sails in the offing at early morn; and + building castles with that yellow sand, just as you build castles out + yonder with the snow!” + </p> + <p> + I clasped my hands and listened breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Monsieur Maurice,” I said, “I did not think there was such a + beautiful place in the world! It sounds like a fairy tale.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled, sighed, and—being seated at his desk with the pen in his + hand—took up a blank sheet of paper, and began sketching the Château + and the cliff. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me more about it, Monsieur Maurice,” I pleaded coaxingly. + </p> + <p> + “What more can I tell you, little one? See—this window in the turret + to the left was my bed-room window, and here, just below, was my study, + where as a boy I prepared my lessons for my tutor. That large Gothic + window under the gable was the window of the library.” + </p> + <p> + “And is it all just like that still?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he said dreamily. “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + He was now putting in the rocks, and the rough steps leading down to the + beach. + </p> + <p> + “Had you any little brothers and sisters, Monsieur Maurice?” I asked next; + for my interest and curiosity were unbounded. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “None,” he said, “none whatever. I was an only child; and I am the last of + my name.” + </p> + <p> + I longed to question him further, but did not dare to do so. + </p> + <p> + “You will go back there some day, Monsieur Maurice,” I said hesitatingly, + “when—when—” + </p> + <p> + “When I am free, little Gretchen? Ah! who can tell? Besides the old place + is no longer mine. They have taken it from me, and given it to a + stranger.” + </p> + <p> + “Taken it from you, Monsieur Maurice!” I exclaimed indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Ay; but—who knows? We see strange changes. Where a king reigns + to-day, an emperor, or a mob, may rule to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke more to himself than to me, but I had some dim understanding, + nevertheless, of what he meant. + </p> + <p> + He had by this time drawn the cliff, and the strip of sand, and the waste + of sea beyond; and now he was blotting in some boats and figures—figures + of men wading through the surf and dragging the boats in shore; and other + figures making for the steps. Last of all, close under the cliff, in + advance of all the rest, he drew a tiny man standing alone—a tiny + man scarce an eighth of an inch in height, struck out with three or four + touches of the pen, and yet so full of character that one knew at a glance + he was the leader of the others. I saw the outstretched arm in act of + command—I recognised the well-known cocked hat—the general + outline of a figure already familiar to me in a hundred prints, and I + exclaimed, almost involuntarily:— + </p> + <p> + “Bonaparte!” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice started; shot a quick, half apprehensive glance at me; + crumpled the drawing up in his hand, and flung it into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Monsieur Maurice!” I cried, “what have you done?” + </p> + <p> + “It was a mere scrawl,” he said impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “No, no—it was beautiful. I would have given anything for it!” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice laughed, and patted me on the cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, petite, nonsense!” he said. “It was only fit for the fire. I + will make you a better drawing, if you remind me of it, to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + When I told this to my father—and I used to prattle to him a good + deal about Monsieur Maurice at supper, in those days—he tugged at + his moustache, and shook his head, and looked very grave indeed. + </p> + <p> + “The South of France!” he muttered, “the South of France! <i>Sacré coeur + d'une bombe</i>! Why, the usurper, when he came from Elba, landed on that + coast somewhere near Cannes!” + </p> + <p> + “And went to Monsieur Maurice's house, father!” I cried, “and that is why + the King of France has taken Monsieur Maurice's house away from him, and + given it to a stranger! I am sure that's it! I see it all now!” + </p> + <p> + But my father only shook his head again, and looked still more grave. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no,” he said, “neither all—nor half—nor a quarter! + There's more behind. I don't understand it—I don't understand it. + Thunder and Mars! Why don't we hand him over to the French Government? + That's what puzzles me.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 6 + </h2> + <p> + The severity of the Winter had, I think, in some degree abated, and the + snowdrops were already above ground, when again a mounted orderly rode in + from Cologne, bringing another official letter for the Governor of Brühl. + </p> + <p> + Now my father's duties as Governor of Brühl were very light—so light + that he had not found it necessary to set apart any special room, or + bureau, for the transaction of such business as might be connected + therewith. When, therefore, letters had to be written or accounts made up, + he wrote those letters and made up those accounts at a certain large + writing-table, fitted with drawers, pigeon-holes, and a shelf for + account-books, that stood in a corner of our sitting-room. Here also, if + any persons had to be received, he received them. To this day, whenever I + go back in imagination to those bygone times, I seem to see my father + sitting at that writing-table nibbling the end of his pen, and one of the + sergeants off guard perched on the edge of a chair close against the door, + with his hat on his knees, waiting for orders. + </p> + <p> + There being, as I have said, no especial room set apart for business + purposes, the orderly was shown straight to our own room, and there + delivered his despatch. It was about a quarter past one. We had dined, and + my father had just brought out his pipe. The door leading into our little + dining-room was, indeed, standing wide open, and the dishes were still + upon the table. + </p> + <p> + My father took the despatch, turned it over, broke the seals one by one + (there were five of them, as before), and read it slowly through. As he + read, a dark cloud seemed to settle on his brow. + </p> + <p> + Then he looked up frowning—seemed about to speak—checked + himself—and read the despatch over again. + </p> + <p> + “From whose hands did you receive this?” he said abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “From General Berndorf, Excellency,” stammered the orderly, carrying his + hand to his cap. + </p> + <p> + “Is his Excellency the Baron von Bulow at Cologne?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not heard so, Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “Then this despatch came direct from Berlin, and has been forwarded from + Cologne?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “How did it come from Berlin? By mail, or by special messenger?” + </p> + <p> + “By special messenger, Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + Now General Berndorf was the officer in command of the garrison at + Cologne, and the Baron von Bulow, as I well knew, was His Majesty's + Minister of War at Berlin. + </p> + <p> + Having received these answers, my father stood silent, as if revolving + some difficult matter in his thoughts. Then, his mind being made up, he + turned again to the orderly and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Dine—feed your horse—and come back in an hour for the + answer.” + </p> + <p> + Thankful to be dismissed, the man saluted and vanished. My father had a + rapid, stern way of speaking to subordinates, that had in general the + effect of making them glad to get out of his presence as quickly as + possible. + </p> + <p> + Then he read the despatch for the third time; turned to his writing-table; + dropped into his chair; and prepared to write. + </p> + <p> + But the task, apparently, was not easy. Watching him from the fireside + corner where I was sitting on a low stool with an open story-book upon my + lap, I saw him begin and tear up three separate attempts. The fourth, + however, seemed to be more successful. Once written, he read it over, + copied it carefully, called to me for a light, sealed his letter, and + addressed it to “His Excellency the Baron von Bulow.” + </p> + <p> + This done, he enclosed it under cover to “General Berndorf, Cologne”; and + had just sealed the outer cover when the orderly came back. My father gave + it to him with scarcely a word, and two minutes after, we heard him + clattering out of the courtyard at a hand-gallop. + </p> + <p> + Then my father came back to his chair by the fireside, lit his pipe, and + sat thinking silently. I looked up in his face, but felt, somehow, that I + must not speak to him; for the cloud was still there, and his thoughts + were far away. Presently his pipe went out; but he held it still, + unconscious and absorbed. In all the months we had been living at Brühl I + had never seen him look so troubled. + </p> + <p> + So he sat, and so he looked for a long time—for perhaps the greater + part of an hour—during which I could think of nothing but the + despatch, and Monsieur Maurice, and the Minister of War; for that it all + had to do with Monsieur Maurice I never doubted for an instant. + </p> + <p> + By just such another despatch, sealed and sent in precisely the same way, + and from the same person, his coming hither had been heralded. How, then, + should not this one concern him? And in what way would he be affected by + it? Seeing that dark look in my father's face, I knew not what to think or + what to fear. + </p> + <p> + At length, after what had seemed to me an interval of interminable + silence, the time-piece in the corner struck half-past three—the + hour at which Monsieur Maurice was accustomed to give me the daily French + lesson; so I got up quietly and stole towards the door, knowing that I was + expected upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Gretchen?” said my father, sharply. + </p> + <p> + It was the first time he had opened his lips since the orderly had + clattered out of the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + “I am going up to Monsieur Maurice,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + My father shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not to-day, my child,” he said, “not to-day. I have business with + Monsieur Maurice this afternoon. Stay here till I come back.” + </p> + <p> + And with this he got up, took his hat and went quickly out of the room. + </p> + <p> + So I waited and waited—as it seemed to me for hours. The waning + day-light faded and became dusk; the dusk thickened into dark; the fire + burned red and dull; and still I crouched there in the chimney-corner. I + had no heart to read, work, or fan the logs into a blaze. I just watched + the clock, and waited. When the room became so dark that I could see the + hands no longer, I counted the strokes of the pendulum, and told the + quarters off upon my fingers. + </p> + <p> + When at length my father came back, it was past five o'clock, and dark as + midnight. + </p> + <p> + “Quick, quick, little Gretchen,” he said, pulling off his hat and gloves, + and unbuckling his sword. “A glass of kirsch, and more logs on the fire! I + am cold through and through, and wet into the bargain.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, father, have you not been with Monsieur Maurice?” I said, + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course; but that was an hour ago, and more. I have been over to + Kierberg since then, in the rain.” + </p> + <p> + He had left Monsieur Maurice an hour ago—a whole, wretched, dismal + hour, during which I might have been so happy! + </p> + <p> + “You told me to stay here till you came back,” I said, scarce able to keep + down the tears that started to my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my little Mädchen?” + </p> + <p> + “And—and I might have gone up to Monsieur Maurice, after all?” + </p> + <p> + My father looked at me gravely—poured out a second glass of kirsch—drew + his chair to the front of the fire, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “I don't know about that, Gretchen.” + </p> + <p> + I had felt all along that there was something wrong, and now I was certain + of it. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, father?” I said, my heart beating so that I could + scarcely speak. “What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “May the devil make broth of my bones, if I know!” said my father, tugging + savagely at his moustache. + </p> + <p> + “But there is something!” + </p> + <p> + He nodded, grimly. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Maurice, it seems, is not to have so much liberty,” he said, + after a moment. “He is not to walk in the grounds oftener than twice a + week; and then only with a soldier at his heels. And he is not to go + beyond half a mile from the Château in any direction. And he is to hold no + communication whatever with any person, or persons, either in-doors or + out-of-doors, except such as are in direct charge of his rooms or his + person. And—and heaven knows what other confounded regulations + besides! I wish the Baron von Bulow had been in Spitzbergen before he put + it into the King's head to send him here at all!” + </p> + <p> + “But—but he is not to be locked up?” I faltered, almost in a + whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no—not exactly that; but I am to post a sentry in the + corridor, outside his door.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the King is afraid that Monsieur Maurice will run away!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I suppose so,” groaned my father. + </p> + <p> + I sat silent for a moment, and then burst into a flood of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Monsieur Maurice!” I cried. “He has coughed so all the Winter; and + he was longing for the Spring! We were to have gathered primroses in the + woods when the warm days came back again—and—and—and I + suppose the King doesn't mean that I am not to speak to him any more!” + </p> + <p> + My sobs choked me, and I could say no more. + </p> + <p> + My father took me on his knee, and tried to comfort me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't cry, my little Gretchen,” he said tenderly; “don't cry! Tears can + help neither the prisoner nor thee.” + </p> + <p> + “But I may go to him all the same, father?” I pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “By my sword, I don't know,” stammered my father. “If it were a breach of + orders ... and yet for a baby like thee ... thou'rt no more than a mouse + about the room, after all!” + </p> + <p> + “I have read of a poor prisoner who broke his heart because the gaoler + killed a spider he loved,” said I, through my tears. + </p> + <p> + My father's features relaxed into a smile. + </p> + <p> + “But do you flatter yourself that Monsieur Maurice loves my little Mädchen + as much as that poor prisoner loved his spider?” he said, taking me by the + ear. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he does—and a hundred thousand times better!” I + exclaimed, not without a touch of indignation. + </p> + <p> + My father laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “Thunder and Mars!” said he, “is the case so serious? Then Monsieur + Maurice, I suppose, must be allowed sometimes to see his little pet + spider.” + </p> + <p> + He took me up himself next morning to the prisoner's room, and then for + the first time I found a sentry in occupation of the corridor. He grounded + his musket and saluted as we passed. + </p> + <p> + “I bring you a visitor, Monsieur Maurice,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + He was leaning over the fire in a moody attitude when we went in, with his + arms on the chimney-piece, but turned at the first sound of my father's + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Bernhard,” he said, with a look of glad surprise, “this is kind, + I—I had scarcely dared to hope”.... + </p> + <p> + He said no more, but took me by both hands, and kissed me on the forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I trust I'm not doing wrong,” said my father gruffly. “I hope it's not a + breach of orders.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it is not,” replied Monsieur Maurice, still holding my hands. + “Were your instructions twice as strict, they could not be supposed to + apply to this little maiden.” + </p> + <p> + “They are strict enough, Monsieur Maurice,” said my father, drily. + </p> + <p> + A faint flush rose to the prisoner's cheek. + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” he said. “And they are as unnecessary as they are strict. I + had given you my parole, Colonel Bernhard.” + </p> + <p> + My father pulled at his moustache, and looked uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you would have kept it, Monsieur Maurice,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice bowed. + </p> + <p> + “I wish it, however, to be distinctly understood,” he said, “that I + withdrew that parole from the moment when a sentry was stationed at my + door.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally—naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “And, for my papers”.... + </p> + <p> + “I wish to heaven they had said nothing about them!” interrupted my + father, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. 'Tis a petty tyranny; but it cannot be helped. Since, however, + you are instructed to seize them, here they are. They contain neither + political nor private matter—as you will see.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall see nothing of the kind, Monsieur Maurice,” said my father. “I + would not read a line of them for a marshal's bâton. The King must make a + gaoler of me, if it so pleases him; but not a spy. I shall seal up the + papers and send them to Berlin.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shall never see my manuscript again!” said Monsieur Maurice, with a + sigh. “Well—it was my first attempt at authorship—perhaps, my + last—and there is an end to it!” + </p> + <p> + My father ground some new and tremendous oath between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “I hate to take it, Monsieur Maurice,” he said. “'Tis an odious office.” + </p> + <p> + “The office alone is yours, Colonel Bernhard,” said the prisoner, with all + a Frenchman's grace. “The odium rests with those who impose it on you.” + </p> + <p> + Hereupon they exchanged formal salutations; and my father, having warned + me not to be late for our mid-day meal, put the papers in his pocket, and + left me to take my daily French lesson. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 7 + </h2> + <p> + The Winter lingered long, but the Spring came at last in a burst of + sunshine. The grey mists were rent away, as if by magic. The cold hues + vanished from the landscape. The earth became all freshness; the air all + warmth; the sky all light. The hedgerows caught a tint of tender green. + The crocuses came up in a single night. The woods which till now had + remained bare and brown, flushed suddenly, as if the coming Summer were + imprisoned in their glowing buds. The birds began to try their little + voices here and there. Never once, in all the years that have gone by + since then, have I seen so startling a transition. It was as if the Prince + in the dear old fairy tale had just kissed the Sleeping Beauty, and all + that enchanted world had sprung into life at the meeting of their lips. + </p> + <p> + But the Spring, with its sudden beauty and brightness, seems to have no + charm for Monsieur Maurice. He has permission to walk in the grounds twice + a week—with a sentry at his heels; but of that permission he sternly + refuses to take advantage. It was not wonderful that he preferred his + fireside and his books, while the sleet, and snow, and bitter east winds + lasted; but it seems too cruel that he should stay there now, cutting + himself off from all the warmth and sweetness of the opening season. In + vain I come to him with my hands full of dewy crocuses. In vain I hang + about him, pleading for just a turn or two on the terrace where the + sunshine falls hottest. He shakes his head, and is immoveable. + </p> + <p> + “No, petite,” he says. “Not to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just what you said yesterday, Monsieur Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is just what I shall say to-morrow, Gretchen, if you ask me + again.” + </p> + <p> + “But you won't stay in for ever, Monsieur Maurice!” + </p> + <p> + “Nay—'for ever' is a big word, little Gretchen.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe you know how brightly the sun is shining!” I say + coaxingly. “Just come to the window, and see.” + </p> + <p> + Unwillingly enough, he lets himself be dragged across the room—unwillingly + he looks out upon the glittering slopes and budding avenues beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes—I see it,” he replies with an impatient sigh; “but the + shadow of that fellow in the corridor would hide the brightest sun that + ever shone! I am not a galley-slave, that I should walk about with a + garde-chiourme behind me.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Monsieur Maurice?” I ask, startled by his unusual + vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I go free, petite—or not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—then you will fall ill!” I falter, amid fast-gathering tears. + </p> + <p> + “No, no—not I, Gretchen. What can have put that idea into your wise + little head?” + </p> + <p> + “It was papa, Monsieur Maurice ... he said you were”.... + </p> + <p> + Then, thinking suddenly how pale and wasted he had become of late, I + hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “He said I was—What?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't like to tell!” + </p> + <p> + “But if I insist on being told? Come, Gretchen, I must know what Colonel + Bernhard said.” + </p> + <p> + “He said it was wrong to stay in like this week after week, and month + after month. He—he said you were killing yourself by inches, + Monsieur Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice laughed a short bitter laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Killing myself!” he repeated. “Well, I hope not; for weary as I am of it, + I would sooner go on bearing the burden of life than do my enemies the + favour of dying out of their way.” + </p> + <p> + The words, the look, the accent made me tremble. I never forgot them. + </p> + <p> + How could I forget that Monsieur Maurice had enemies—enemies who + longed for his death? + </p> + <p> + So the first blush of early Spring went by; and the crocuses lived their + little life and passed away, and the primroses came in their turn, + yellowing every shady nook in the scented woods; and the larches put on + their crimson tassels, and the laburnum its mantle of golden fringe, and + the almond-tree burst into a leafless bloom of pink—and still + Monsieur Maurice, adhering to his resolve, refused to stir one step beyond + the threshold of his rooms. + </p> + <p> + Sad and monotonous now to the last degree, his life dragged heavily on. He + wrote no more. He read, or seemed to read, nearly the whole day through; + but I often observed that his eyes ceased travelling along the lines, and + that sometimes, for an hour and more together, he never turned a page. + </p> + <p> + “My little Gretchen,” he said to me one day, “you are too much in these + close rooms with me, and too little in the open air and sunshine.” + </p> + <p> + “I had rather be here, Monsieur Maurice,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “But it is not good for you. You are losing all your roses.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it is good for me to be out when you are always indoors,” I + said, simply. “I don't care to run about, and—and I don't enjoy it.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me—opened his lips as if about to speak—then + checked himself; walked to the window; and looked out silently. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, as soon as I made my appearance, he said:— + </p> + <p> + “The French lesson can wait awhile, petite. Shall we go out for a walk + instead?” + </p> + <p> + I clapped my hands for joy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Monsieur Maurice!” I cried, “are you in earnest?” + </p> + <p> + For in truth it seemed almost too good to be true. But Monsieur Maurice + was in earnest, and we went—closely followed by the sentry. + </p> + <p> + It was a beautiful, sunny April day. We went down the terraces and slopes; + and in and out of the flower-beds, now gaudy with Spring flowers; and on + to the great central point whence the three avenues diverged. Here we + rested on a bench under a lime-tree, not far from the huge stone basin + where the fountain played every Sunday throughout the Summer, and the + sleepy water-lilies rocked to and fro in the sunshine. + </p> + <p> + All was very quiet. A gardener went by now and then, with his wheelbarrow, + or a gamekeeper followed by his dogs; a blackbird whistled low in the + bushes; a cow-bell tinkled in the far distance; the wood-pigeons murmured + softly in the plantations. Other passers-by, other sounds there were none—save + when a noisy party of flaxen-haired, bare-footed children came whooping + and racing along, but turned suddenly shy and silent at sight of Monsieur + Maurice sitting under the lime-tree. + </p> + <p> + The sentry, meanwhile, took up his position against the pedestal of a + mutilated statue close by, and leaned upon his musket. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice was at first very silent. Once or twice he closed his + eyes, as if listening to the gentle sounds upon the air—once or + twice he cast an uneasy glance in the direction of the sentry; but for a + long time he scarcely moved or spoke. + </p> + <p> + At length, as if following up a train of previous thought, he said + suddenly:— + </p> + <p> + “There is no liberty. There are comparative degrees of captivity, and + comparative degrees of slavery; but of liberty, our social system knows + nothing but the name. That sentry, if you asked him, would tell you that + he is free. He pities me, perhaps, for being a prisoner. Yet he is even + less free than myself. He is the slave of discipline. He must walk, hold + up his head, wear his hair, dress, eat, and sleep according to the will of + his superiors. If he disobeys, he is flogged. If he runs away, he is shot. + At the present moment, he dares not lose sight of me for his life. I have + done him no wrong; yet if I try to escape, it is his duty to shoot me. + What is there in my captivity to equal the slavery of his condition? I + cannot, it is true, go where I please; but, at least, I am not obliged to + walk up and down a certain corridor, or in front of a certain sentry-box, + for so many hours a day; and no power on earth could compel me to kill an + innocent man who had never harmed me in his life.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant I had the whole scene before my eyes—Monsieur Maurice + flying—pursued—shot down—brought back to die! + </p> + <p> + “But—but you won't try to run away, Monsieur Maurice!” I cried, + terrified at the picture my own fancy had drawn. + </p> + <p> + He darted a scrutinising glance at me, and said, after a moment's + hesitation:— + </p> + <p> + “If I intended to do so, petite, I should hardly tell Colonel Bernhard's + little daughter beforehand. Besides, why should I care now for liberty? + What should I do with it? Have I not lost all that made it worth + possessing—the Hero I worshipped, the Cause I honoured, the home I + loved, the woman I adored? What better place for me than a prison ... + unless the grave?” + </p> + <p> + He roused himself. He had been thinking aloud, unconscious of my presence; + but seeing my startled eyes fixed full upon his face, he smiled, and said + with a sudden change of voice and manner:— + </p> + <p> + “Go pluck me that namesake of yours over yonder—the big white + Marguerite on the edge of the grass plat. Thanks, petite. Now I'll be + sworn you guess what I am going to do with it! No? Well, I am going to + question these little sibylline leaves, and make the Marguerite tell me + whether I am destined to a prison all the days of my life. What! you never + heard of the old flower sortilége? Why, Gretchen, I thought every little + German maiden learned it in the cradle with her mother tongue!” + </p> + <p> + “But how can the Marguerite answer you, Monsieur Maurice?” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “You shall see—but I must tell you first that the flower is not used + to pronounce upon such serious matters. She is the oracle of village lads + and lasses—not of grave prisoners like myself.” + </p> + <p> + And with this, half sadly, half playfully, he began stripping the leaves + off one by one, and repeating over and over again:— + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, sweet Marguerite, shall I be free? Soon—in time—perhaps—never! + Soon—in time—perhaps—never! Soon—in time—perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + It was the last leaf. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” he said, tossing away the stalk with an impatient laugh. “You + could have given me as good an answer as that, little Gretchen. Let us go + in.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 8 + </h2> + <p> + It was about a week after this when I was startled out of my deepest + midnight sleep by a rush of many feet, and a fierce and sudden knocking at + my father's bed-room door—the door opposite my own. + </p> + <p> + I sat up, trembling. A bright blaze gleamed along the threshold, and high + above the clamour of tongues outside, I recognised my father's voice, + quick, sharp, imperative. Then a door was opened and banged. Then came the + rush of feet again—then silence. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange, wild hubbub; and it had all come, and gone, and was over + in less than a minute. But what was it? + </p> + <p> + Seeing that fiery line along the threshold, I had thought for a moment + that the Château was on fire; but the light vanished with those who + brought it, and all was darkness again. + </p> + <p> + “Bertha!” I cried tremulously. “Bertha!” + </p> + <p> + Now Bertha was my Rhenish hand-maiden, and she slept in a closet opening + off my room; but Bertha was as deaf to my voice as one of the Seven + Sleepers. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a shrill trumpet-call rang out in the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + I sprang out of bed, flew to Bertha, and shook her with all my strength + till she woke. + </p> + <p> + “Bertha! Bertha!” I cried. “Wake up—strike a light—dress me + quickly! I must know what is the matter!” + </p> + <p> + In vain Bertha yawns, rubs her eyes, protests that I have had a bad dream, + and that nothing is the matter. Get up she must; dress herself and me in + the twinkling of an eye; and go upon whatsoever dance I choose to lead + her. + </p> + <p> + My father is gone, and his door stands wide open. We turn to the stairs, + and a cold wind rushes up in our faces. We go down, and find the side-door + that leads to the courtyard unfastened and ajar. There is not a soul in + the courtyard. There is not the faintest glimmer of light from the + guard-house windows. The sentry who walks perpetually to and fro in front + of the gate is not at his post; and the gate is wide open! + </p> + <p> + Even Bertha sees by this time that something strange is afoot, and stares + at me with a face of foolish wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Ach, Herr Gott!” she cries, clapping her hands together, “what's that?” + </p> + <p> + It is very faint, very distant; but quite audible in the dead silence of + the night. In an instant I know what it is that has happened! + </p> + <p> + “It is the report of a musket!” I exclaim, seizing her by the hand, and + dragging her across the courtyard. “Quick! quick! Oh, Monsieur Maurice! + Monsieur Maurice!” + </p> + <p> + The night is very dark. There is no moon, and the stars, glimmering + through a veil of haze, give little light. But we run as recklessly as if + it were bright day, past the barracks, past the parade-ground, and round + to the great gates on the garden side of the Château. These, however, are + closed, and the sentry, standing watchful and motionless, with his musket + made ready, refuses to let us through. + </p> + <p> + In vain I remind him that I am privileged, and that none of these gates + are ever closed against me. The man is inexorable. + </p> + <p> + “No, Fräulein Gretchen,” he says, “I dare not. This is not a fit hour for + you to be out. Pray go home.” + </p> + <p> + “But Gaspar, good Gaspar,” I plead, clinging to the gate with both hands, + “tell me if he has escaped! Hark; oh, hark! there it is again!” + </p> + <p> + And another, and another shot rings through the still night-air. + </p> + <p> + The sentry almost stamps with impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Go home, dear little Fräulein! Go home at once,” he says. “There is + danger abroad to-night. I cannot leave my post, or I would take you home + myself.... Holy Saint Christopher! they are coming this way! Go—go—what + would his Excellency the Governor say, if he found you here?” + </p> + <p> + I see quick gleams of wandering lights among the trees—I hear a + distant shout! Then, seized by a sudden panic, I turn and fly, with Bertha + at my heels—fly back the way I came, never pausing till I find + myself once more at the courtyard gate. Here—breathless, trembling, + panting—I stop to listen and look back. All is silent;—as + silent as before. + </p> + <p> + “But, liebe Gretchen,” says Bertha, as breathless as myself, “what is to + do to-night?” + </p> + <p> + There is a coming murmur on the air. There is a red glow reflected on the + barrack windows ... they are coming! I turn suddenly cold and giddy. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Bertha!” I whisper, “we must not stay here. Papa will be angry! Let + us go up to the corridor window.” + </p> + <p> + So we go back into the house, upstairs the way we came, and station + ourselves at the corridor window, which looks into the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the glow broadens; slowly the sound resolves itself into an + irregular tramp of many feet and a murmur of many voices. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly the courtyard is filled with soldiers and lighted torches, + and ... and I clasp my hands over my eyes in an agony of terror, lest the + picture I drew a few days since should be coming true. + </p> + <p> + “What do you see, Bertha?” I falter. “Do you—do you see Monsieur + Maurice?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I see Gottlieb Kolb, and Corporal Fritz, and ... yes—here + is Monsieur Maurice between two soldiers, and his Excellency the Colonel + walking beside them!” + </p> + <p> + I looked up, and my heart gave a leap of gladness. He was not dead—he + was not even wounded! He had been pursued and captured; but at least he + was safe! + </p> + <p> + They stopped just under the corridor window. The torchlight fell full upon + their faces. Monsieur Maurice looked pale and composed; perhaps just a + shade haughtier than usual. My father had his drawn sword in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Corporal Fritz,” he said, turning to a soldier near him, “conduct the + prisoner to his room, and post two sentries at his door, and one under his + windows.” Then turning to Monsieur Maurice, “I thank God, Sir,” he said + gravely, “that you have not paid for your imprudence with your life. I + have the honour to wish you good night.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice ceremoniously took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Colonel Bernhard,” he said. “I beg you, however, to remember + that I had withdrawn my parole.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember it, Monsieur Maurice,” replied my father, drawing himself up, + and returning the salutation. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice then crossed the courtyard with his guards, and entered + the Château by the door leading to the state apartments. My father, after + standing for a moment as if lost in thought, turned away and went over to + the guard-house. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers then dispersed, or gathered into little knots of twos and + threes, and talked in low voices of the events of the night. + </p> + <p> + “Accomplices!” said one, just close against the window where Bertha and I + still lingered. “Liebe Mutter! I'll take my oath he had one! Why, it was I + who first caught sight of the prisoner gliding through the trees—I + saw him as plainly as I see you now—I covered him with my musket—I + wouldn't have given a copper pfennig for his life, when paff! at the very + moment I pulled the trigger, out steps a fellow from behind my shoulder, + knocks up my musket, and disappears like a flash of lightning—Heaven + only knows where, for I never laid eyes on him again!” + </p> + <p> + “What was he like?” asks another soldier, incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Like? How should I know? It was as dark as pitch. I just caught a glimpse + of him in the flash of the powder—an ugly, brown-looking devil he + seemed! but he was gone in a breath, and I had no time to look for him.” + </p> + <p> + The soldiers round about burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Hold, Karl!” says one, slapping him boisterously on the shoulder. “You + are a good shot, but you missed aim for once. No need to conjure up a + brown devil to account for that, old comrade!” + </p> + <p> + Karl, finding his story discredited, retorted angrily; and a quarrel was + fast brewing, when the sergeant on guard came up and ordered the men to + their several quarters. + </p> + <p> + “Holy Saint Bridget!” said Bertha, shivering, “how cold it is! and there, + I declare, is the Convent clock striking half after one! Liebe Gretchen, + you really must go to bed—what would your father say?” + </p> + <p> + So we both crept back to bed. Bertha was asleep again almost before she + had laid her head upon her pillow; but I lay awake till dawn of day. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 9 + </h2> + <p> + It was in my father's disposition to be both strict and indulgent—that + is to say, as a father he was all tenderness, and as a soldier all + discipline. His men both loved and feared him; but I, who never had cause + to fear him in my life, loved him with all my heart, and never thought of + him except as the fondest of parents. Chiefly, perhaps, for my sake, he + had up to this time been extremely indulgent in all that regarded Monsieur + Maurice. Now, however, he conceived that it was his duty to be indulgent + no longer. He was responsible for the person of Monsieur Maurice, and + Monsieur Maurice had attempted to escape; from this moment, therefore, + Monsieur Maurice must be guarded, hedged in, isolated, like any other + prisoner under similar circumstances—at all events until further + instructions should arrive from Berlin. So my father, as it was his duty + to do, wrote straightway to the Minister of War, doubled all previous + precautions, and forbade me to go near the prisoner's rooms on any pretext + whatever. + </p> + <p> + I neither coaxed nor pleaded. I had an instinctive feeling that the thing + was inevitable, and that I had nothing to do but to suffer and obey. And I + did suffer bitterly. Day after day, I hung about the terraces under his + windows, watching for the glimpse that hardly ever came. Night after night + I sobbed till I was tired, and fell asleep with his name upon my lips. It + was a childish grief; but not therefore the less poignant. It was a + childish love, too; necessarily transient and irrational, as such childish + passions are; but not therefore the less real. The dull web of my later + life has not been without its one golden thread of romance (alas! how long + since tarnished!), but not even that dream has left a deeper scar upon my + memory than did the hero-worship of my first youth. It was something more + than love; it was adoration. To be with him was measureless content—to + be banished from him was something akin to despair. + </p> + <p> + So Monsieur Maurice and his little Gretchen were parted. No more happy + French lessons—no more walks—no more stories told by the + firelight in the gloaming! All was over; all was blank. But for how long? + Surely not for ever! + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the king will think fit to hand him over to some other gaoler,” + said my father one day; “and, by Heaven! I'd thank him more heartily for + that boon than for the order of the Red Eagle!” + </p> + <p> + My heart sank at the thought. Many and many a time had I pictured to + myself what it would be if he were set at liberty, and with what mingled + joy and grief I should bid him good-bye; but it had never occurred to me + as a possibility that he might be transferred to another prison-house. + </p> + <p> + Thus a week—ten days—a fortnight went by, and still there came + nothing from Berlin. I began to hope at last that nothing would come, and + that matters would settle down in time, and be as they were before. But of + such vain hopes I was speedily and roughly disabused; and in this wise. + </p> + <p> + It was a gloomy afternoon—one of those dun-coloured afternoons that + seem all the more dismal for coming in the midst of Spring. I had been out + of the way somewhere (wandering to and fro, I believe, like a dreary + little ghost, among the grim galleries of the state apartments), and was + going home at dusk to be in readiness for my father, who always came in + after the afternoon parade. Coming up the passage out of which our rooms + opened, I heard voices—my father's and another. Concluding that he + had Corporal Fritz with him, I went in unhesitatingly. To my surprise, I + found the lamp lighted, and a strange officer sitting face to face with my + father at the table. + </p> + <p> + The stranger was in the act of speaking; my father listening, with a + grave, intent look upon his face. + </p> + <p> + ... “and if he had been shot, Colonel Bernhard, the State would have been + well rid of a troublesome burden.” + </p> + <p> + My father saw me in the doorway, put up his hand with a warning gesture, + and said hastily:— + </p> + <p> + “You here, Gretchen! Go into the dining-room, my child, till I send for + you.” + </p> + <p> + The dining-room, as I have said elsewhere, opened out of the sitting-room + which also served for my father's bureau. I had therefore to cross the + room, and so caught a full view of the stranger's face. He was a sallow, + dark man, with iron grey hair cut close to his head, a hard mouth, a cold + grey eye, and a deep furrow between his brows. He wore a blue military + frock buttoned to the chin; and a plain cocked hat lay beside his gloves + upon the table. + </p> + <p> + I went into the dining-room and closed the door. It was half-door, + half-window, the upper panels being made of ground glass, so as to let in + a borrowed light; for the little room was at all times somewhat of the + darkest. Such as it was, this borrowed light was now all I had; for the + dining-room fire had gone out hours ago, and though there were candles on + the chimney-piece, I had no means of lighting them. So I groped my way to + the first chair I could find, and waited my father's summons. + </p> + <p> + “And if he had been shot, Colonel Bernhard, the State would have been well + rid of a troublesome burden.” + </p> + <p> + It was all I had heard; but it was enough to set me thinking. “If he had + been shot”.... If who had been shot? My fears answered that question but + too readily. Who, then, was this new-comer? Was he from Berlin? And if + from Berlin, what orders did he bring? A vague terror of coming evil fell + upon me. I trembled—I held my breath. I tried to hear what was being + said, but in vain. The voices in the next room went on in a low incessant + murmur; but of that murmur I could not distinguish a word. + </p> + <p> + Then the sounds swelled a little, as if the speakers were becoming more + earnest. And then, forgetting all I had ever heard or been taught about + the heinousness of eavesdropping, I got up very softly and crept close + against the door. + </p> + <p> + “That is to say, you dislike the responsibility, Colonel Bernhard.” + </p> + <p> + These were the first words I heard. + </p> + <p> + “I dislike the office,” said my father, bluntly. “I'd almost as soon be a + hangman as a gaoler.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger here said something that my ear failed to catch. Then my + father spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth, Herr Count, I only wish it would please His + Excellency to transfer him elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger paused a moment, and then said in a low but very distinct + voice:— + </p> + <p> + “Supposing, Colonel Bernhard, that you were yourself transferred—shall + we say to Königsberg? Would you prefer it to Brühl?” + </p> + <p> + “Königsberg!” exclaimed my father in a tone of profound amazement. + </p> + <p> + “The appointment, I believe, is worth six hundred thalers a year more than + Brühl,” said the stranger. + </p> + <p> + “But it has never been offered to me,” said my father, in his simple + straightforward way. “Of course I should prefer it—but what of that? + And what has Königsberg to do with Monsieur Maurice?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, true—Monsieur Maurice! Well, to return then to Monsieur Maurice—how + would it be, do you think, somewhat to relax the present vigilance?” + </p> + <p> + “To relax it?” + </p> + <p> + “To leave a door or a window unguarded now and then, for instance. In + short, to—to provide certain facilities ... you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Facilities?” exclaimed my father, incredulously. “Facilities for escape?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—yes; if you think fit to put it so plainly,” replied the + other, with a short little cough, followed by a snap like the opening and + shutting of a snuff-box. + </p> + <p> + “But—but in the name of the Eleven Thousand Virgins, why wait for + the man to run away? Why not give him his liberty, and get rid of him + pleasantly?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—ahem!—because, you see, Colonel Bernhard, it would + not then be possible to pursue him,” said the stranger, drily. + </p> + <p> + “To pursue him?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so—and to shoot him.” + </p> + <p> + I heard the sound of a chair pushed violently back; and my father's + shadow, vague and menacing, started up with him, and fell across the door. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he shouted, in a terrible voice. “Are you taking me at my word? + Are you offering me the hangman's office?” + </p> + <p> + Then, with a sudden change of tone and manner, he added:— + </p> + <p> + “But—I must have misunderstood you. It is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “We have both altogether misunderstood each other, Colonel Bernhard,” said + the stranger, stiffly. “I had supposed you would be willing to serve the + State, even at the cost of some violence to your prejudices.” + </p> + <p> + “Great God! then you did mean it!” said my father, with a strange horror + in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “I meant—to serve the King. I also hoped to advance the interests of + Colonel Bernhard,” replied the other, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “My sword is the King's—my blood is the King's, to the last drop,” + said my father in great agitation; “but my honour—my honour is my + own!” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, Colonel Bernhard; enough. We will drop the subject.” + </p> + <p> + And again I heard the little dry cough, and the snap of the snuff-box. + </p> + <p> + A long silence followed, my father walking to and fro with a quick, heavy + step; the stranger, apparently, still sitting in his place at the table. + </p> + <p> + “Should you, on reflection, see cause to take a different view of your + duty, Colonel Bernhard,” he said at last, “you have but to say so + before....” + </p> + <p> + “I can never take a different view of it, Herr Count!” interrupted my + father, vehemently. + </p> + <p> + “—before I take my departure in the morning,” continued the other, + with studied composure; “in the meanwhile, be pleased to remember that you + are answerable for the person of your prisoner. Either he must not escape, + or he must not escape with life.” + </p> + <p> + My father's shadow bent its head. + </p> + <p> + “And now, with your permission, I will go to my room.” + </p> + <p> + My father rang the bell, and when Bertha came, bade her light the Count + von Rettel to his chamber. + </p> + <p> + Hearing them leave the room, I opened the door very softly and + hesitatingly, scarce knowing whether to come out or not. I saw my father + standing with his back towards me and his face still turned in the + direction by which they had gone out. I saw him throw up his clenched + hands, and shake them wildly above his head. + </p> + <p> + “And it was for this!—for this!” he said fiercely. “A bribe! God of + Heaven! He offered me Königsberg as a bribe! Oh, that I should have lived + to be treated as an assassin!” + </p> + <p> + His voice broke into hoarse sobs. He dropped into a chair—he covered + his face with his hands. + </p> + <p> + He had forgotten that I was in the next room, and now I dared not remind + him of my presence. His emotion terrified me. It was the first time I had + seen a man shed tears; and this alone, let the man be whom he might, would + have seemed terrible to me at any time. How much more terrible when those + tears were tears of outraged honour, and when the man who shed them was my + father! + </p> + <p> + I trembled from head to foot. I had an instinctive feeling that I ought + not to look upon his agony. I shrank back—closed the door—held + my breath, and waited. + </p> + <p> + Presently the sound of sobbing ceased. Then he sighed heavily twice or + thrice—got up abruptly—threw a couple of logs on the fire, and + left the room. The next moment I heard him unlock the door under the + stairs, and go into the cellar. I seized the opportunity to escape, and + stole up to my own room as rapidly and noiselessly as my trembling knees + would carry me. + </p> + <p> + I had my supper with Bertha that evening, and the Count ate at my father's + table; but I afterwards learned that, though the Governor of Brühl himself + waited ceremoniously upon his guest and served him with his best, he + neither broke bread nor drank wine with him. + </p> + <p> + I saw that unwelcome guest no more. I heard his voice under the window, + and the clatter of his horse's hoofs as he rode away in the early morning; + but that was long enough before Bertha came to call me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 10 + </h2> + <p> + Weeks went by. Spring warmed, and ripened, and blossomed into Summer. + Gardens and terraces were ablaze once more with many-coloured flowers; + fountains played and sparkled in the sunshine; and travellers bound for + Cologne or Bonn put up again at Brühl in the midst of the day's journey, + to bait their horses and see the Château on their way. + </p> + <p> + For in these years just following the Peace of Paris, the Continent was + overrun by travellers, two thirds of whom were English. The diligence—the + great, top-heavy, lumbering diligence of fifty years ago—used then + to come lurching and thundering down the main street five times a week + throughout the Summer season; and as many as three and four travelling + carriages a day would pass through in fine weather. The landlord of the + “Lion d'Or” kept fifty horses in his stables in those days, and drove a + thriving trade. + </p> + <p> + So the Summer came, and brought the stir of outer life into the precincts + of our sleepy Château; but brought no better change in the fortunes of + Monsieur Maurice. Ever since that fatal night, the terms of his + imprisonment had been more rigorous than ever. Till then, he might, if he + would, walk twice a week in the grounds with a soldier at his heels; but + now he was placed in strict confinement in his own two rooms, with one + sentry always pacing the corridor outside his door, and another under his + windows. And across each of those windows might now be seen a couple of + bright new iron bars, thick as a man's wrist, forged and fixed there by + the village blacksmith. + </p> + <p> + I have no words to tell how the sight of those bars revolted me. If + instead of being a little helpless girl, I had been a man like my father, + and a servant of the State, I think they would have made a rebel of me. + </p> + <p> + Worse, however, than iron bars, locked doors, and guarded corridors, was + Hartmann—Herr Ludwig Hartmann, as he was styled in the despatch that + announced his coming—a pale, slight, silent man, with colourless + grey eyes and white eyelashes, who came direct from Berlin about a month + later, to act as Monsieur Maurice's “personal attendant.” Stealthy, + watchful, secret, civil, he established himself in a room adjoining the + prisoner's apartment, and was as much at home in the course of a couple of + hours as if he had been settled there from the first. + </p> + <p> + He brought with him a paper of instructions, and, having on his arrival + submitted these instructions to my father, he at once took up a certain + routine of duties that never varied. He brushed Monsieur Maurice's + clothes, waited upon him at table, attended him in his bed-room, was + always within hearing, always on the alert, and haunted the prisoner like + his shadow. Not even a housemaid could go in to sweep but he was present. + Now the man's perpetual presence was intolerable to Monsieur Maurice. He + had borne all else with patience, but this last tyranny was more than he + could endure without murmuring. He appealed to my father; but my father, + though Governor of Brühl, was powerless to help him. Hartmann had + presented his instructions as a minister presents his credentials, and + those instructions emanated from Berlin. So the new-comer, valet, gaoler, + spy as he was, became an established fact, and was detested throughout the + Château—by no one more heartily than myself. + </p> + <p> + I still, however, saw Monsieur Maurice now and then. My father often took + me with him in his rounds, and always when he visited his prisoner. + Sometimes, too, he would leave me for an hour with my friend, and call for + me again on his way back; so that we were not wholly parted even now. But + Hartmann took care never to leave us alone. Before my father's footsteps + were out of hearing, he would be in the room; silent, unobtrusive, + perfectly civil, but watchful as a lynx. We could not talk before him + freely. Nothing was as it used to be. It was better than total + banishments; it was better than never hearing his voice; but the + constraint was hard to bear, and the pain of these meetings was almost + greater than the pleasure. + </p> + <p> + And now, as I approach that part of my narrative which possesses the + deepest interest for myself, I hesitate—hesitate and draw back + before the great mystery in which it is involved. I ask myself what + interpretation the world will put upon facts for which I can vouch; upon + events which I myself witnessed? I cannot prove those events. They + happened over fifty years ago; but they are as vividly present to my + memory as if they had taken place yesterday. I can only relate them in + their order, knowing them to be true, and leaving each reader to judge of + them according to his convictions. + </p> + <p> + It was about the middle of the second week in June. Hartmann had been + about six weeks at Brühl, and all was going on in the usual dull routine, + when that routine was suddenly broken by the arrival of three mounted + dragoons—an officer and two privates—whose errand, whatever it + might be, had the effect of throwing the whole establishment into sudden + and unwonted confusion. + </p> + <p> + I was out in the grounds when they arrived, and came back at midday to + find no dinner on the table, no cook in the kitchen; but a full-dress + parade going on in the courtyard, and all the interior of the Château in a + state of wild commotion. Here were peasants bringing in wood, gardeners + laden with vegetables and flowers, women running to and fro with baskets + full of linen, and all to the accompaniment of such a hammering, + bell-ringing, and clattering of tongues as I had never heard before. + </p> + <p> + I stood bewildered, not knowing what to do, or where to go. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter? What has happened? What are you doing?” I asked, + first of one and then of another; but they were all too busy to answer. + </p> + <p> + “Ach, lieber Gott!” said one, “I've no time for talking!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me, little Fräulein,” said another. “I have eight windows to + clean up yonder, and only one pair of hands to do them with!” + </p> + <p> + “If you want to know what is to do,” said a third impatiently, “you had + better come and see.” + </p> + <p> + The head-gardener's son came by with two pots of magnificent geraniums, + one under each arm. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going with those flowers, Wilhelm?” I asked, running after + him. + </p> + <p> + “They are for the state salon, Fräulein Gretchen,” he replied, and hurried + on. + </p> + <p> + For the state salon! I ran round to the side of the grand entrance. There + were soldiers putting up banners in the hall; others helping to carry + furniture up stairs; carpenters with ladders; women with brooms and + brushes; and Corporal Fritz bustling hither and thither, giving orders, + and seeing after everything. + </p> + <p> + “But Corporal Fritz!” I exclaimed, “what are all these people about?” + </p> + <p> + “We are preparing the state apartments, dear little Fräulein,” replied + Corporal Fritz, rubbing his hands with an air of great enjoyment. + </p> + <p> + “But why? For whom?” + </p> + <p> + “For whom? Why, for the King, to be sure”; and Corporal Fritz clapped his + hand to the side of his hat like a loyal soldier. “Don't you know, dear + little Fräulein, that His Majesty sleeps here to-night, on his way to + Ehrenbreitstein?” + </p> + <p> + This was news indeed! I ran up stairs—I was all excitement—I + got in everybody's way—I tormented everybody with questions. I saw + the table being laid in the grand salon where the King was to sup, and the + bedstead being put up in the little salon where he was to sleep, and the + ante-room being prepared for his officers. All was being made ready as + rapidly, and decorated as tastefully, as the scanty resources of the + Château would permit. I recognised much of the furniture from the attics + above, and this, faded though it was, being helped out with flowers, + flags, and greenery, made the great echoing rooms look gay and habitable. + </p> + <p> + By and by, my father came round to see how the work was going on, and + finding me in the midst of it, took me by the hand and led me away. + </p> + <p> + “You are not wanted here, my little Gretchen,” he said; “and, indeed, all + the world is so busy to-day that I scarcely know what to do with thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Take me to Monsieur Maurice!” I said, coaxingly. + </p> + <p> + “Ay—so I will,” said my father; “with him, at all events, you will + be out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + So he took me round to Monsieur Maurice's rooms, and told me as we went + along that the King had only given him six hours' notice, and that in + order to furnish his Majesty's bed and his Majesty's supper, he had bought + up all the poultry and eggs, and borrowed well-nigh all the silver, glass, + and linen in the town. + </p> + <p> + By this time we were almost at Monsieur Maurice's door. A sudden thought + flashed upon me. I pulled him back, out of the sentry's hearing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father!” I cried eagerly, “will you not ask the King to let Monsieur + Maurice free?” + </p> + <p> + My father shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” he said, “I must not do that, my little Mädchen. And look you—not + a word that the King is coming here to-night. It would only make the + prisoner restless, and could avail nothing. Promise me to be silent.” + </p> + <p> + So I promised, and he left me at the door without going in. + </p> + <p> + I spent all the afternoon with Monsieur Maurice. He divided his luncheon + with me; he gave me a French lesson, he told me stories. I had not had + such a happy day for months. Hartmann, it is true, was constantly in and + out of the room, but even Hartmann was less in the way than usual. He + seemed absent and preoccupied, and was therefore not so watchful as at + other times. In the meanwhile I could still hear, though faintly, the + noises in the rooms below; but all became quiet about five o'clock in the + evening, and Monsieur Maurice, who had been told they were only cleaning + the state apartments, asked no questions. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the afternoon waned, and the sun bent westward, and still no one + came to fetch me away. My father knew where I was; Bertha was probably too + busy to think about me; and I was only too glad to stay as long as + Monsieur Maurice was willing to keep me. By and by, about half-past six + o'clock, the sky became overclouded, and we heard a low muttering of very + distant thunder. At seven, it rained heavily. + </p> + <p> + Now it was Monsieur Maurice's custom to dine late, and ours to dine early; + but then, as his luncheon hour corresponded with our dinner-hour, and his + dinner fell only a little later than our supper, it came to much the same + thing, and did not therefore seem strange. So it happened that just as the + storm came up, Hartmann began to prepare the table. Then, in the midst of + the rain and the wind, my quick ear caught a sound of drums and bugles, + and I knew the King was come. Monsieur Maurice evidently heard nothing; + but I could see by Hartmann's face (he was laying the cloth and making a + noise with the glasses) that he knew all, and was listening. + </p> + <p> + After this I heard no more. The wind raved; the rain pattered; the gloom + thickened; and at half-past seven, when the soup was brought to table, it + was so dark that Monsieur Maurice called for lights. He would not, + however, allow the curtains to be drawn. He liked, he said, to sit and + watch the storm. + </p> + <p> + A cover was laid for me at his right hand; but my supper hour was past, + and what with the storm without, the heaviness in the air, and the + excitement of the day, I was no longer hungry. So, having eaten a little + soup and sipped some wine from Monsieur Maurice's glass, I went and curled + myself up in an easy chair close to the window, and watched the driving + mists as they swept across the park, and the tossing of the treetops + against the sky. + </p> + <p> + It was a wild evening, lit by lurid gleams and openings in the clouds; and + it seemed all the wilder by contrast with the quiet room and the dim + radiance of the wax lights on the table. There was a soft halo round each + little flame, and a dreamy haze in the atmosphere, from the midst of which + Monsieur Maurice's pale face stood out against the shadowy background, + like a head in a Dutch painting. + </p> + <p> + We were both very silent; partly because Hartmann was waiting, and partly, + perhaps, because we had been talking all the afternoon. Monsieur Maurice + ate slowly, and there were long intervals between the courses, during + which he leaned his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, looking + across towards the window and the storm. Hartmann, meanwhile, seemed to be + always listening. I could see that he was holding his breath, and trying + to catch every faint echo from below. + </p> + <p> + It was a long, long dinner, and probably seemed all the longer to me + because I did not partake of it. As for Monsieur Maurice, he tasted some + dishes, and sent more away untouched. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is getting lighter,” he said by and by. “Does it still rain?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied; “it is coming down steadily.” + </p> + <p> + “We must open the window presently,” he said. “I love the fresh smell that + comes with the rain.” + </p> + <p> + Here the conversation dropped again, and Hartmann, having been gone for a + moment, came back with a dish of stewed fruit. + </p> + <p> + Then, for the first time, I observed there was a second attendant in the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not have some raspberries, Gretchen?” said Monsieur Maurice. + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. I was too much startled by the sight of the strange man, + to answer him in words. + </p> + <p> + Who could he be? Where had he come from? He was standing behind Monsieur + Maurice, far back in the gloom, near the door—a small, dark man, + apparently; but so placed with regard to the table and the lights, that it + was impossible to make out his features with distinctness. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice just tasted the raspberries and sent his plate away. + </p> + <p> + “How heavy the air of the room is!” he said. “Give me some Seltzer-water, + and open that farthest window.” + </p> + <p> + Hartmann reversed the order. He opened the window first; and as he did so, + I saw that his hand shook upon the hasp, and that his face was deadly + pale. + </p> + <p> + He then turned to the sideboard and opened a stone bottle that had been + standing there since the beginning of dinner. He filled a tumbler with the + sparkling water. + </p> + <p> + At the moment when he placed this tumbler on the salver—at the + moment when he handed it to Monsieur Maurice—the other man glided + quickly forward. I saw his bright eyes and his brown face in the full + light. I saw <i>two hands</i> put out to take the glass; a brown hand and + a white—his hand, and the hand of Monsieur Maurice. I saw—yes, + before Heaven! as I live to remember and record it, I saw the brown hand + grasp the tumbler and dash it to the ground! + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said Monsieur Maurice, brushing the Seltzer-water impatiently + from his sleeve, “how came you to upset it?” + </p> + <p> + But Hartmann, livid and trembling, stood speechless, staring at the door. + </p> + <p> + “It was the other man!” said I, starting up with a strange kind of + breathless terror upon me. “He threw it on the ground—I saw him do + it—where is he gone? what has become of him?” + </p> + <p> + “The other man! What other man?” said Monsieur Maurice. “My little + Gretchen, you are dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I am not dreaming. There was another man—a brown man! + Hartmann saw him—” + </p> + <p> + “A brown man!” echoed Monsieur Maurice. Then catching sight of Hartmann's + face, he pushed his chair back, looked at him steadily and sternly; and + said, with a sudden change of voice and manner:— + </p> + <p> + “There is something wrong here. What does it mean? You saw a man—both + of you? What was he like?” + </p> + <p> + “A brown man,” I said again. “A brown man with bright eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” said Monsieur Maurice, turning to Hartmann. + </p> + <p> + “I—I thought I saw something,” stammered the attendant, with a + violent effort at composure. “But it was nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice looked at him as if he would look him through; got up, + still looking at him; went to the sideboard, and, still looking at him, + filled another tumbler with Seltzer-water. + </p> + <p> + “Drink that,” he said, very quietly. + </p> + <p> + The man's lips moved, but he uttered never a word. + </p> + <p> + “Drink that,” said Monsieur Maurice for the second time, and more sternly. + </p> + <p> + But Hartmann, instead of drinking it, instead of answering, threw up his + hands in a wild way, and rushed out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice stood for a moment absorbed in thought; then wrote some + words upon a card, and gave the card into my hand. + </p> + <p> + “For thy father, little one,” he said. “Give it to no one but himself, and + give it to him the first moment thou seest him. There's matter of life and + death in it.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 11 + </h2> + <p> + How the King supped, how the King slept, and what he thought of his + Château of Augustenburg which he now saw for the first time, are matters + respecting which I have no information. I only know that I had fallen + asleep on Monsieur Maurice's sofa when Bertha came at ten o'clock that + night to fetch me home; that I was very drowsy and unwilling to be moved; + and that I woke in the morning dreaming of a brown man with bright eyes, + and calling upon Monsieur Maurice to make haste and come before he should + again have time to vanish away. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely morning; bright and fresh, and sunshiny after the night's + storm. My first thought was of Monsieur Maurice, and the card he had + entrusted to my keeping. I had it still. My father was not at home when I + came back last night. He was in attendance on the King, and did not return + till long after I was asleep in my own little bed. This morning, early as + I awoke, he was gone again, on the same duty. + </p> + <p> + I jumped up. I bade Bertha dress me quickly. “I must go to papa,” I said. + “I have a card for him from Monsieur Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, liebe Gretchen,” said Bertha, “he is with the King.” + </p> + <p> + But I told myself that I would find him, and see him, and give the card + into his own hands, though a dozen kings were in the way. I could not read + what was written on the card. I could read print easily and rapidly, but + handwriting not at all. I knew, however, that it was urgent. Had he not + said that it was matter of life or death? + </p> + <p> + I hurried to dress; I hurried to get out. I could not rest, I could not + eat till I had given up the card. As good fortune would have it, the first + person I met was Corporal Fritz. I asked him where I could find my father. + </p> + <p> + “Dear little Fräulein,” said Corporal Fritz, “you cannot see him just yet. + He is with the King.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must see him,” I said. “I must—indeed, I must. Go to him for + me—please go to him, dear, good Corporal Fritz, and tell him his + little Gretchen must speak to him, if only for one moment!” + </p> + <p> + “But dear little Fräulein”.... + </p> + <p> + “Is the King at breakfast?” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “At breakfast! Eh, then, our gallant King hath a soldier's habits. His + Majesty breakfasted at six this morning, and is gone out betimes to visit + his hunting-lodge at Falkenlust.” + </p> + <p> + “And my father?” + </p> + <p> + “His Excellency the Governor is in attendance upon the King.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will go to Falkenlust.” + </p> + <p> + Corporal Fritz shook his head; shrugged his shoulders; took a pinch of + snuff. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a long road to Falkenlust, dear little Fräulein,” said he; “and His + Excellency, methinks, would be better pleased”.... + </p> + <p> + I stayed to hear no more, but ran off at full speed down the terraces, + straight to the Round Point and the fountain, and along the great avenue + that led to Falkenlust. I ran till I was out of breath—then rested—then + ran again, on, and on, and on, till the road lengthened and narrowed + behind me, and the Château of Augustenburg looked almost as small in the + distance at one end as the Falkenlust Lodge at the other. + </p> + <p> + Then all at once, far, far away, I saw a moving group of figures. They + grew larger and more distinct—they were coming towards me! I had run + till I could run no farther. Panting and breathless, I leaned against a + tree, and waited. + </p> + <p> + And now, as they drew nearer, I saw that the group consisted of some eight + or ten officers, two of whom were walking somewhat in advance of the rest. + One of the two wore a plain cocked hat and an undress military frock; the + other was in full uniform, and wore two or three glittering medals on his + breast. This other was my father. I scarcely looked at the first. I never + even asked myself whether he was, or was not the King. I had no eyes, no + thought for any but my father. + </p> + <p> + So I stood, eager and breathless, on the verge of the gravel. So they + every moment drew nearer the spot where I was standing. As they came + close, my father's eyes met mine. He shook his head, and frowned. He + thought I had come there to stare at the King. + </p> + <p> + Nothing daunted, I took two steps forward. I had Monsieur Maurice's card + in my hand. I held it out to him. + </p> + <p> + “Read it,” I said. “It is from Monsieur Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + But he crushed it in his hand without looking at it, and waved me back + authoritatively. + </p> + <p> + “At once!” I cried; “at once!” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman in the blue frock stopped and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Is this your little girl, Colonel Bernhard?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + My father replied by a low bow. + </p> + <p> + The strange gentleman beckoned me to draw nearer. + </p> + <p> + “A golden-haired little Mädchen!” said he. “Come hither, pretty one, and + tell me your name.” + </p> + <p> + I knew then that he was the King. I trembled and blushed. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Gretchen,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “And you have brought a letter for your father?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a letter,” I said. “It is a card. It is from Monsieur Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + “And who is Monsieur Maurice?” asked the King. + </p> + <p> + “So please your Majesty,” said my father, answering the question for me, + “Monsieur Maurice is the prisoner I hold in charge.” + </p> + <p> + The smile went out of the King's face. + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner!” he repeated, inquiringly. “What prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “The state-prisoner whom I received, according to your Majesty's command, + eight months ago—Monsieur Maurice.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Maurice!” echoed the King. + </p> + <p> + “I know the gentleman by no other name, please your Majesty,” said my + father. + </p> + <p> + The King looked grave. + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of Monsieur Maurice,” he said, “I know of no state-prisoner + here.” + </p> + <p> + “The prisoner was consigned to my keeping by your Majesty's Minister of + War,” said my father. + </p> + <p> + “By von Bulow?” + </p> + <p> + My father bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Upon whose authority?” + </p> + <p> + “In your Majesty's name.” + </p> + <p> + The King frowned. + </p> + <p> + “What papers did you receive with your prisoner, Colonel Bernhard?” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “None, your Majesty—except a despatch from your Majesty's Minister + of War, delivered a day or two before the prisoner arrived at Brühl.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he come? and where did he come from?” + </p> + <p> + “He came in a close carriage, your Majesty, attended by two officers who + left Brühl the same night and whose names and persons are unknown to me. I + do not know where he came from. I only know that they had taken the last + relay of horses from Cologne.” + </p> + <p> + “You were not told his offence?” + </p> + <p> + “I was told nothing, your Majesty, except that Monsieur Maurice was an + enemy to the state, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And what?” + </p> + <p> + My father's hand went up to his moustache, as it was wont to do in + perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “I—so please your Majesty, I think there is some foul mystery in it + at bottom,” he said, bluntly. “There hath been that thing proposed to me + that I am ashamed to repeat. I do beseech your Majesty that some + investigation....” + </p> + <p> + His eyes happened for a moment to rest upon the card. He stammered—changed + colour—stopped short in his sentence—took off his hat—laid + the card upon it—and so handed it to the King. + </p> + <p> + His Majesty Frederick William the Third of Prussia was, like most of the + princes of his house, tanned, soldierly, and fresh-complexioned; but + florid as he was, there came a darker flush into his face as he read what + Monsieur Maurice had written. + </p> + <p> + “An attempt upon his life!” he exclaimed. “The thing is not possible.” + </p> + <p> + My father was silent. The king looked at him keenly. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Is</i> it possible, Colonel Bernhard?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I think it may be possible, your Majesty,” replied my father in a low + voice. + </p> + <p> + The King frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Bernhard,” he said, “how can that be? You are responsible for the + safety as well as the person of any prisoner committed to your charge.” + </p> + <p> + “So long as the prisoner is left wholly to my charge I can answer for his + safety with my head, so please your Majesty,” said my father, reddening; + “but not when he is provided with a special attendant over whom I have no + control.” + </p> + <p> + “What special attendant? Where did he come from? Who sent him?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he came from Berlin, your Majesty. He was sent by your + Majesty's Minister of War. His name is Hartmann.” + </p> + <p> + The King stood thinking. His officers had fallen out of earshot, and were + talking together in a little knot some four yards behind. I was still + standing on the spot to which the King had called me. He looked round, and + saw my anxious face. + </p> + <p> + “What, still there, little one?” he said. “You have not heard what we were + saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said; “I heard it.” + </p> + <p> + “The child may have heard, your Majesty,” interposed my father, hastily; + “but she did not understand. Run home, Gretchen. Make thy obeisance to his + Majesty, and run home quickly.” + </p> + <p> + But I had understood every word. I knew that Monsieur Maurice's life had + been in danger. I knew the King was all-powerful. Terrified at my own + boldness—terrified at the thought of my father's anger—trembling—sobbing—scarcely + conscious of what I was saying, I fell at the King's feet, and cried:— + </p> + <p> + “Save him—save him, Sire! Don't let them kill poor Monsieur Maurice! + Forgive him—please forgive him, and let him go home again!” + </p> + <p> + My father seized me by the hand, forced me to rise, and dragged me back + more roughly than he had ever touched me in his life. + </p> + <p> + “I beseech your Majesty's pardon for the child,” he said. “She knows no + better.” + </p> + <p> + But the King smiled, and called me back to him. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” he said, laying his hand upon my head, “do not be vexed with + her. So, little one, you and Monsieur Maurice are friends?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded; for I was still crying, and too frightened at what I had done to + be able to speak. + </p> + <p> + “And you love him dearly?” + </p> + <p> + “Better than anyone—in the world—except Papa,” I faltered, + through my tears. + </p> + <p> + “Not better than your brothers and sisters?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no brothers and sisters,” I replied, my courage coming back again + by degrees. “I have no one but Papa, and Monsieur Maurice, and Aunt Martha + Baur—and I love Monsieur Maurice a thousand, thousand times more + than Aunt Martha Baur!” + </p> + <p> + There came a merry sparkle into the King's eyes, and my father turned his + face away to conceal a smile. + </p> + <p> + “But if Monsieur Maurice was free, he would go away and you would never + see him again. What would you do then?” + </p> + <p> + “I—should be very sorry,” I faltered; “but”.... + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather he went away, and was happy.” + </p> + <p> + The King stooped down and kissed me on the brow. + </p> + <p> + “That, my little Mädchen, is the answer of a true friend,” he said, + gravely and kindly. “If your Monsieur Maurice deserves to go free, he + shall have his liberty. You have our royal word for it. Colonel Bernhard, + we will investigate this matter without the delay of an hour.” + </p> + <p> + Saying thus, he turned from me to my father, and, followed by his + officers, passed on in the direction of the Château. + </p> + <p> + I stood there speechless, his gracious words yet ringing in my ears. He + had left me no time for thanks, if even I could have framed any. But he + had kissed me—he had promised me that Monsieur Maurice should go + free, “if he deserved it!” and who better than I knew how impossible it + was that he should not deserve it? It was all true. It was not a dream. I + had the King's royal word for it. + </p> + <p> + I had the King's royal word for it—and yet I could hardly believe + it! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 12 + </h2> + <p> + I have told my story up to this point from my own personal experience, + relating in their order, quite simply and faithfully, the things I myself + heard and saw. I can do this, however, no longer. Respecting those matters + that happened when I was not present, I can only repeat what was told me + by others; and as regards certain foregone events in the life of Monsieur + Maurice, I have but vague rumour; and still more vague conjecture upon + which to base my conclusions. + </p> + <p> + The King had said that Monsieur Maurice's case should be investigated + without the delay of an hour, and, so far as it could then and there be + done, it was investigated immediately on his return to the Château. He + first examined Baron von Bulow's original despatch, and all my father's + minutes of matters relating to the prisoner, including a statement written + immediately after the departure of a stranger calling himself the Count + von Rettel, and detailing from memory, very circumstantially and fully, + the substance of a certain conversation to which I had been accidentally a + witness, and which I have myself recorded elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + The King, on reading this statement, was observed to be greatly disturbed. + He questioned my father minutely as to the age, complexion, height, and + general appearance of the said Count von Rettel, and with his own hand + noted down my father's replies on the back of my father's manuscript. This + done, His Majesty desired that the man Hartmann should be brought before + him. + </p> + <p> + But Hartmann was nowhere to be found. His room was empty. His bed had not + been slept in. He had disappeared, in short, as completely as if he had + never dwelt within the precincts of the Château. + </p> + <p> + It was found, on more particular inquiry being made, that he had not been + seen since the previous evening. Overwhelmed with terror, and perhaps with + remorse, he had rushed out of Monsieur Maurice's presence, never to + return. It was supposed that he had then immediately gathered together all + that belonged to him, and had taken advantage of the bustle and confusion + consequent on the King's arrival, to leave Brühl in one of the return + carriages or fourgons that had brought the royal party from Cologne. I am + not aware that anything more was ever seen or heard of him; or that any + active search for him was judicially instituted either then, or at any + other time. But he might easily have been pursued, and taken, and dealt + with according to the law, without our being any the wiser at Brühl. + </p> + <p> + Hartmann being gone, the King then sent for the prisoner, and Monsieur + Maurice, for the first time in many weeks, left his own rooms, and was + brought round to the state-apartments. Seeing so many persons about; + seeing also the flowers and flags upon the walls, he seemed surprised, but + said nothing. Being brought into the royal presence, however, he appeared + at once to recognise the King. He bowed profoundly, and a faint flush was + seen to come into his face. He then cast a rapid glance round the room, as + if to see who else was present; bowed also (but less profoundly) to my + father, who was standing behind the King's chair; and waited to be spoken + to. + </p> + <p> + “Vous êtes Français, Monsieur?” said the King, addressing him in French, + of which language my father understood only a few words. + </p> + <p> + “Je suis Français, votre Majesté,” replied Monsieur Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “Comment!” said the King, still in French. “Our person, then, is not + unknown to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have repeatedly enjoyed the honour of being in your Majesty's + presence,” replied Monsieur Maurice, respectfully. + </p> + <p> + Being then asked where, and on what occasion, my father understood him to + say that he had seen his Majesty at Erfurt during the great meeting of the + Sovereigns under Napoleon the First, and again at the Congress of Vienna; + and also that he had, at that time, occupied some important office, such, + perhaps, as military secretary, about the person of the Emperor. The King + then proceeded to question him on matters relating to his imprisonment and + his previous history, to all of which Monsieur Maurice seemed to reply at + some length, and with great earnestness of manner. Of these explanations, + however, my father's imperfect knowledge of the language enabled him to + catch only a few words here and there. + </p> + <p> + Presently, in the midst of a somewhat lengthy statement, Monsieur Maurice + pronounced the name of Baron von Bulow. Hereupon the King checked him by a + gesture; desired all present to withdraw; caused the door to be closed; + and carried on the rest of the examination in private. By and by, after + the lapse of nearly three quarters of an hour, my father was recalled, and + an officer in waiting was despatched to Monsieur Maurice's rooms to fetch + what was left of the bottle of Seltzer-water, which Monsieur Maurice had + himself locked up in the sideboard the night before. + </p> + <p> + The King then asked if there was any scientific man in Brühl capable of + analysing the liquid; to which my father replied that no such person could + be found nearer than Cologne or Bonn. Hereupon a dog was brought in from + the stables, and, having been made to swallow about a quarter of a pint of + the Seltzer-water, was presently taken with convulsions, and died on the + spot. + </p> + <p> + The King then desired that the body of the dog, and all that yet remained + in the bottle should be despatched to the Professor of Chemistry at Bonn, + for immediate examination. + </p> + <p> + This done, he turned to Monsieur Maurice, and said in German, so that all + present might hear and understand:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, so far as we have the present means of judging, you have + suffered an illegal and unjust imprisonment, and a base attempt has been + made upon your life. You appear to be the victim of a foul conspiracy, and + it will be our first care to sift that conspiracy to the bottom. In the + meanwhile, we restore your liberty, requiring only your <i>parole + d'honneur</i>, as a gentleman, a soldier, and a Frenchman, to present + yourself at Berlin, if summoned, at any time required within the next + three months.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice bowed, laid his hand upon his heart, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “I promise it, your Majesty, on my word of honour as a gentleman, a + soldier, and a Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “You are probably in need of present funds,” the King then said; “and if + so, our Secretary shall make you out an order on the Treasury for five + hundred thalers.” + </p> + <p> + “Believing myself to be beggared of all I once possessed, I gratefully + accept your Majesty's bounty,” replied Monsieur Maurice. + </p> + <p> + The King then held out his hand for Monsieur Maurice to kiss, which he did + on bended knee, and so went out from the royal presence, a free man. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, he and I were strolling hand in hand under the trees. + His step was slow, and the hand that held mine had grown sadly thin and + transparent. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sit here awhile, and rest,” he said, as we came to the bench by + the fountain. + </p> + <p> + I reminded him that we had sat and rested in the same spot the very last + time we walked together. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” he replied, with a sigh. “I was stronger then.” + </p> + <p> + “You will get strong again, now that you are free,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—if liberty, like most earthly blessings, has not come too + late.” + </p> + <p> + “Too late for what?” + </p> + <p> + “For enjoyment—for use—for everything. My friends believe me + dead; my place in the life of the world is filled up; my very name is by + this time forgotten. I am as one shipwrecked on the great ocean, and cast + upon a foreign shore.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you—are you going away soon?” I said, almost in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I go to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will—never—come back again?” I faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid!” he said quickly. Then, remembering how that answer would + grieve me, he added; “but I will never forget thee, petite. Never, while I + live.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but if I never see you any more”.... + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice drew my head to his shoulder, and kissed my wet eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Tush! that cannot, shall not be,” he said, caressingly. “Some day, + perhaps, I may win back that old home by the sea of which I have so often + told thee, little one; and then thou shalt come and visit me.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I?” I said, wistfully. “Shall I indeed?” + </p> + <p> + And he said—“Ay, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + But I felt, somehow, that it would never come to pass. + </p> + <p> + After this, we got up and walked on again, very silently; he thinking of + the new life before him; I, of the sorrow of parting. By-and-by, a sudden + recollection flashed upon me. + </p> + <p> + “But, Monsieur Maurice,” I exclaimed, “who was the brown man that stood + behind your chair last night, and what has become of him?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice turned his face away. + </p> + <p> + “My dear little Gretchen,” he said, hastily, “there was no brown man. He + existed in your imagination only.” + </p> + <p> + “But I saw him!” + </p> + <p> + “You fancied you saw him. The room was dark. You were half asleep in the + easy chair—half asleep, and half dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “But Hartmann saw him!” + </p> + <p> + “A wicked man fears his own shadow,” said Monsieur Maurice, gravely. + “Hartmann saw nothing but the reflection of his crime upon the mirror of + his conscience.” + </p> + <p> + I was silenced, but not convinced. Some minutes later, having thought it + over, I returned to the charge. + </p> + <p> + “But, Monsieur Maurice,” I said, “it is not the first time he has been + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? The King?” + </p> + <p> + “No—the brown man.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay,” he said, impatiently, “prithee, no more of the brown man. 'Tis + a folly, and I dislike it.” + </p> + <p> + “But he was here in the park the night you tried to run away,” I said, + persistently. “He saved your life by knocking up the musket that was + pointed at your head!” + </p> + <p> + Pale as he always was, Monsieur Maurice turned paler still at these words + of mine. His very lips whitened. + </p> + <p> + “What is that you say?” he asked, stopping short and laying his hand upon + my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + And then I repeated, word for word, all that I had heard the soldiers + saying that night under the corridor window. When I had done, he took off + his hat and stood for a moment as if in prayer, silent and bare-headed. + </p> + <p> + “If it be so,” he said presently, “if such fidelity can indeed survive the + grave—then not once, but thrice.... Who knows? Who can tell?” + </p> + <p> + He was speaking to himself. I heard the words, and I remembered them; but + I did not understand them till long after. + </p> + <p> + The King left Brühl that same afternoon <i>en route</i> for + Ehrenbreitstein, and Monsieur Maurice went away the next morning in a + post-chaise and pair, bound for Paris. He gave me, for a farewell gift, + his precious microscope and all his boxes of slides, and he parted from me + with many kisses; but there was a smile on his face as he got into the + carriage, and something of triumph in the very wave of his hand as he + drove away. + </p> + <p> + Alas! how could it be otherwise? A prisoner freed, an exile returning to + his country, how should he not be glad to go, even though one little heart + should be left to ache or break in the land of the stranger? + </p> + <p> + I never saw him again; never—never—never. He wrote now and + then to my father, but only for a time; perhaps as many as six letters + during three or four years—and then we heard from him no more. To + these letters he gave us no opportunity of replying, for they contained no + address; and although we had reason to believe that he was a man of family + and title, he never signed himself by any other name than that by which we + had known him. + </p> + <p> + We did hear, however, (I forget now through what channel) of the sudden + disgrace and banishment of His Majesty's Minister of War, the Baron von + Bulow. Respecting the causes of his fall there were many vague and + contradictory rumours. He had starved to death a prisoner of war and + forced his widow into a marriage with himself. He had sold State secrets + to the French. He had been over to Elba in disguise, and had there held + treasonable intercourse with the exiled Emperor, before his return to + France in 1815. He had attempted to murder, or caused to be murdered, the + witnesses of his treachery. He had forged the King's signature. He had + tampered with the King's servants. He had been guilty, in short, of every + crime, social and political, that could be laid to the charge of a fallen + favourite. + </p> + <p> + Knowing what we knew, it was not difficult to disentangle a thread of + truth here and there, or to detect under the most extravagant of these + fictions, a substratum of fact. Among other significant circumstances, my + father, chancing one day to see a portrait of the late minister in a + shop-window at Cologne, discovered that his former visitor, the Count von + Rettel, and the Baron von Bulow were one and the same person. He then + understood why the King had questioned him so minutely with regard to this + man's appearance, and shuddered to think how deadly that enmity must have + been which could bring him in person upon so infamous an errand. + </p> + <p> + And here all ended. The guilty and the innocent vanished alike from the + scene, and we at least, in our remote home on the Rhenish border, heard of + them no more. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Maurice never knew that I had been in any way instrumental in + bringing his case before the King. He took his freedom as the fulfillment + of a right, and dreamed not that his little Gretchen had pleaded for him. + But that he should know it, mattered not at all. He had his liberty, and + was not that enough? + </p> + <p> + Enough for me, for I loved him. Ay, child as I was, I loved him; loved him + deeply and passionately—to my cost—to my loss—to my + sorrow. An old, old wound; but I shall carry the scar to my grave! + </p> + <p> + And the brown man? + </p> + <p> + Hush! a strange feeling of awe and wonder creeps upon me to this day, when + I remember those bright eyes glowing through the dusk, and the swift hand + that seized the poisoned draught and dashed it on the ground. What of that + faithful Ali, who went forward to meet the danger alone, and was snatched + away to die horribly in the jungle? I can but repeat his master's words. I + can but ask myself “Does such fidelity indeed survive the grave? Who + knows? Who can tell?” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Monsieur Maurice, by Amelia B. 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