Chapter XIV: Book III: I.--New Plans (6)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rebecca, only give me one parting kiss!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X.--THE WHITE LADY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can not believe me!" interrupted she, smiling; "then, unbeliever, I shall convince you. Attend closely to all that I do."

She dropped his arm, and pausing before a rare Manilla flower, praised its beauty and perfume. While doing so, her little hand, accidentally of course, disappeared in the pocket of her ample skirt, and when she drew it forth again this hand was fast closed. She waited until her sister came up with the court ladies, and drew her attention to the beautiful flower and the aviary of charming birds in the rear. She then walked forward, in the blissful consciousness that a long time would supervene ere the Princess could tear herself away from the flower and birds, and that she might now speak to her lover secure from being overheard, since a wide space also separated them from the pair in front.

"What have you there in your hand, Louise?" asked the count, in breathless suspense.

"A little note to Count Adolphus von Schwarzenberg," replied she, smiling, and with swift movement she pressed the little twisted paper into his hand. His countenance lighted up with rapture, and he made a movement as if he would kneel before her, but the Princess restrained him.

"For Heaven's sake, Adolphus, consider that we are not alone," she whispered hurriedly.

"I am alone with you, and if millions encircled us still should I be alone with you in paradise. To me you are the first, the only woman upon earth. I look upon you with the rapture which Adam felt when he first perceived at his side his God-sent, heavenly wife. You have led me back to a paradise of innocence and peace, have changed me into an Adam who the first time sees and loves a woman. Oh, my beloved, you have made me blessed indeed! This little strip of paper that you pressed into my hand, as if by an enchanter's spell, has penetrated my whole being with heavenly fire. I _must_ see it, I _must_ with my own eyes, with my own heart, read the words which you have indited to me."

"I will repeat to you the contents of the note," said she, smiling. "Here they are: 'On Tuesday evening at ten o'clock the little side door next the cathedral will not be locked, only closed. Through this enter a vestibule, to the right of which stands a door. Open this and mount the flight of stairs beyond. Arrived at the top, go down the little passage to the left until you reach a door at the end. It will be open.'"

"Tuesday evening?" whispered he, with enraptured looks; "and--"

Three loud cannon shots drowned his words. They announced the opening of the exhibition of fireworks, and Princess Sophie Hedwig now came rapidly forward, followed by the whole assembly, all pressing eagerly toward the great hall, whose windows commanded a view of the fireworks. The rockets flew, and artificial suns wheeled and turned in fiery circles. Even the Elector forsook his card playing, and, supported by Count Schwarzenberg, walked to the window to behold the costly spectacle. Without, the densely packed throng of men shouted aloud with delight at each new star which shot upward.

The Electoral Prince Frederick William still lay within his solitary chamber, moaning and sighing upon his couch. Regularly every quarter of an hour Dietrich had thrown away a spoonful of medicine, and given the Prince a spoonful of warm milk. But his pains had not been diminished thereby, though the Electoral Prince was evidently himself, and clearly conscious of his situation. Several times he had addressed a few affectionate words to Dietrich, seeking to comfort the faithful old man, who in his agony of mind wept and prayed, and then tenderly pressed his beloved master's hand to his lips, and besought him to get well and live.

"If it depends on me, Dietrich," said the Electoral Prince slowly, moistening his parched lips with his tongue--"if it depends on me, I surely shall not die. Life is still dear to me, although it has brought me much of bitterness and grief. On that very account, though, I hope that the future will indemnify me. It is a sorrowful thought to me to die and sink into the grave so young, so unknown. Could I prevent it, I surely should. But this hellish fire in my veins burns on and on, and is consuming my life. Give me something to drink; milk at least lessens my pangs in some degree."

Thus passed hour after hour, and midnight drew near. Count Schwarzenberg's festival was not yet over, the Electoral family had not yet returned, and silence unbroken reigned throughout the castle. With slow, measured tread went the sentinels to and fro before the palace and through the inner corridors. At times the loud shouts of the populace penetrated in faint echoes even to the castle, and flew like spirit whispers through the broad vestibule fronting the Electoral Prince's suite of rooms. The soldier on guard there heard them with a shudder, and all the stories of ghosts and specters told about the Electoral palace awoke to his remembrance. He cast a disturbed glance around, and, holding his breath, listened with loudly beating heart to the soft sounds and murmurs vibrating through the hall. Suddenly he quite distinctly seemed to hear soft, gliding steps approaching him from the other side of the vestibule. His blood stood still with horror, he stared into the dusky hall. The little oil lamps which hung on both sides of the door leading into the Electoral Prince's apartments shed abroad only a glimmering, uncertain light, and left the background enveloped in gloom and obscurity.

All at once the soldier started: he thought he saw a white figure emerge from the darkness. Yes--his eyes saw her, his ears heard her steps!

Yes, it was no illusion! Ever nearer, ever larger loomed the white figure. It was wholly enveloped in a veil and robe of white, and only two large, sparkling black eyes looked forth from the veil. The soldier fell upon his knees, dropped his weapon, and, folding his hands, muttered with chattering teeth: "The White Lady! God Almighty be gracious to us! The White Lady!"

He dared not look up; he only murmured in anguish of spirit the prayers by which spirits were exorcised; but he felt that the dreaded phantom came ever nearer and nearer--that he could not exorcise the Lady in White! Now she was close to him, her white garment grazed his bowed head, and the soldier shuddered and shrank within himself. It was as if he heard a door creak and turn softly on its hinges, then all was still.

The soldier ventured to lift up his head a little--the hall was empty, the Lady in White had vanished! But she had been there; he had distinctly seen her; she had entered the Electoral Prince's apartments; the soldier had plainly heard that!

Now an inexpressible horror, that was stronger than all discipline and sense of duty, seized him. He rushed out of the hall, tore open the door opening upon the broad corridor, on both sides of which lay the apartments of their Electoral Highnesses. With a loud scream he called out to the sentinel on guard there: "The White Lady! the White Lady!"

This one, too, shrieked as loudly as if the apparition itself stood before him--the Lady in White, known and dreaded of all! And both soldiers, panicstricken, ran down the corridor to tell the news to the other sentinels, and throw them all into the same state of dread and consternation.

The Electoral Prince Frederick William lay upon his bed with open eyes. For the past half hour the pains which raged within had somewhat slackened in intensity, and allowed him more repose. This season of repose had overcome old Dietrich, and, like the disciples on Mount Olivet, he had fallen "asleep for sorrow." The Prince was awake and found himself in that overwrought condition in which the high-strung, quivering nerves lend wonderful clearness and acuteness to the spirit, and in which the soul with wide-seeing vision takes in the whole past, the whole future. He saw his past rise up before him, with all its struggles, its privations, its inexpressible joys and their painful renunciation. And then, across all these sufferings, and the pain of the present, he looked into the future, whose shining ideal stood before him in vivid clearness, beckoning and calling to him. He saw fame, he saw honor; he heard the din of battle, he saw a wild chaos, and from this chaos emerged a something, a tangible shape; it grew large, it assumed form and substance, it was a country--his country--that he himself had created, drawn forth from chaos. And now he saw a happy, contented people, saw glad multitudes throng about him and shout: "Long live our Electoral Prince, Frederick William! Long live our deliverer, our father!" That ideal, which had lain so long in the secret depths of his soul, in fact ever since he had known thought; that ideal to which he had already dedicated himself, when he had stood as a boy by the corpse of his great-uncle Gustavus Adolphus; that ideal was now truth and reality before his inward vision. He was a Prince wreathed in glory; he was beloved by his strong and happy subjects!

"I can not die," he exclaimed, in a loud, strong voice; "I need not die!"

"No, you need not die," said a sonorous voice; and a white form hovered near, and two great, black eyes glowed upon him. Frederick William tried to rise, but could not, for his limbs were paralyzed, and he felt as if chained to his couch by iron fetters.

"Who are you?" he asked softly. "What do you want here? They say that he to whom you appear is doomed to death; and yet you come to tell me that I need not die?"

"We are all doomed to die," replied the white figure; "but the hour of your death has not come yet. I am not come merely to tell you so, but to save you."

"To save me? You know, then, that I am in danger?"

"Yes! In danger of your life! Count Schwarzenberg has poisoned you. Are you not consumed by inward fires? Is not your head heavy and giddy?"

"I see plainly that you know what I suffer--you know the poison which was given me."

"I know the poison, but I also know its cure. I know its antidote, and have brought it to you. I would save you."

"You would save me?" asked the Electoral Prince. "Am I not dying fast enough for you? Have I not yet swallowed enough of the deadly fluid that you would give me more as a remedy? The invention is somewhat flimsy! I shall not drink!"

"Unhappy Prince, you would not live, then?" asked she, in distress. "Hear me, Frederick William. If you delay, you are lost beyond all hope of cure. Nobody knows the remedy for your sufferings but myself, and nobody can save you if I do not! Oh, think not that I would merit your thanks and rewards! I have come hither at the peril of my own life, and each minute increases my own danger as well as yours. The soldiers have fled before my apparition. If a braver one should come to look closer at the White Lady, I am lost, and you with me, for then I could not administer to you the antidote."

"Tell me who you are, that I may see whether I may trust you."

"Who am I?" asked she. "I am a poor, mortal woman, who possesses nothing upon earth but a heart, which loves nothing but a poor, much-to-be-pitied man, whom not his own will but destiny has made a criminal. His child and I were threatened with death, and to save us he committed a crime. Electoral Prince, Count Schwarzenberg has poisoned you by means of Gabriel Nietzel. I come to save you. Not for your own sake. What are you to me?--why should I disturb myself about you? I love Gabriel Nietzel, and I would not have his soul burdened by a crime that would break his heart. My Gabriel has a tender heart; he was not made to be a criminal. Therefore would I absolve him from that curse, for I love Gabriel, and would not have him be a murderer. Do you believe me now? Will you try my palliative now?"

The Electoral Prince lay there silent and motionless, and his large, wide-open eyes gazed searchingly and inquiringly up at the white figure, as if they would penetrate the veil and read her features.

Rebecca had a consciousness of this, and let the white veil fall from her head. "Look in my face," she said, "and read from that whether I speak the truth."

"Gabriel Nietzel, too, came to warn me," murmured the Prince, quivering with pain, "and afterward it was he who poisoned me. From him come these fearful tortures which are burning now like the flames of hell."

"Gracious sir, oh, my dear sir!" cried Dietrich now, coming up to the bed and kneeling beside it, "I beseech you, take nothing from her. I have heard all, and I tell you it is Schwarzenberg who sends this Jewess to you. Trust her not, my beloved Prince, take none of her hellish mixtures!"

"Trust me," said Rebecca quietly. "If life is dear to you, if you hope in the future, if you would take vengeance upon the man who is your real murderer, whose mere tool my poor husband was, then accept the remedy which I bring you!"

"Yes," cried the Electoral Prince, with countenance lighting up, "yes, I will take it! Give me your remedy. Hush, Dietrich, hush! I will take it!"

"Praised be Jehovah! he will take it!" said she joyfully, drawing forth from her bosom a little flask. "Before I give you the medicine, I have something to say to you, Frederick William. As soon as you have taken it, you will fall into a deep sleep, almost resembling death. If you are disturbed in this, the efficacy of my cordial will be destroyed."

"Dietrich," said the Prince composedly, "you will take care that no one disturbs my slumbers. I command you so to do!"

"I shall obey, most gracious sir," murmured Dietrich.

"When you awake after six hours," continued Rebecca, "you will experience a feeling of ineffable comfort. Be not deluded by this, and attempt to leave your couch. Rest is necessary for you, and you are then only on the road to health. That you may be perfectly cured I must come again to-morrow night, and once more administer the cordial. Mind that to-morrow night, as at present, you be alone. No one must be with you but old Dietrich. He is a trusty, affectionate servant, and I hope to God will tell no one what he has seen and heard here, for I would be lost if he should do so."

"I swear, in the presence of Almighty God, that I will keep silence," said Dietrich solemnly.

"And now, enough of words!" cried she. "See, Dietrich, the pains begin anew, and his features twitch convulsively. We must procure him relief."

She took a glass from the table and emptied into it half of the brown liquid contained in her little flask. Then she bent over the Prince and held the glass to his lips.

"Drink this," she said, with solemnity, "and may the Lord our God bless the potion to you!"

The Prince drank in long draughts, emptying the glass to the last drop. Then he uttered one shriek, and sank back senseless on the pillow.

"If you have murdered him," cried Dietrich, shaking his fist with menacing gesture--"if you have murdered him, be sure that I shall find you out and hand you over to the hang-man."

She slowly turned and once more drew the long white veil over her face. "To-morrow night I shall come again," she said. "Attend well to him, Dietrich, and see that he swallows nothing but what you give him yourself."

Then she opened the door and stepped out. The corridor was still empty and tenantless; the sentinels had not yet ventured to return to their posts. They had all collected below in the guardroom, which was situated in the rear of the castle toward the Spree, and, pale with agitation and horror, were talking in whispers of the awful event. All at once it seemed to them as if a white shadow glided past outside the windows, as if two great, sparkling eyes looked in upon them. They jumped up, rushed out of the room, and out of the castle, shrieking out to the town, "The White Lady! the White Lady!"

A couple of inquisitive men coming from Schwarzenberg's palace heard the shriek of terror and screamed it to others, and like a tempest of wind it rolled on, dragged everything into its eddying circle of awe and fright, rushed howling through the night and penetrated into the brilliantly lighted palace of Count Schwarzenberg, even into the ball-room, where the tired couples were whirling in the last dance.

"The White Lady! the White Lady has appeared in the castle!"

The words ran through the halls. The dancing ceased, and the music paused in the midst of a piece begun, for the Elector himself had risen from his game of cards, and the Electress had called the Princesses from among the dancers.

"The White Lady has been seen in the castle!"

These fearful words, brought to him by his wife, frightened the Elector out of his comfortable mood, and dissipated the cheering effects of the wine. The White Lady threatened him with death! The thought filled his whole soul, and made him all at once sober and serious.

"The Lady in White has appeared in the castle," sighed the Electress, "and my son Frederick William is sick. I must go to him--I must go to my son!"

The equipage rolled off to the castle. The Elector leaned back gloomily in the corner, thinking to himself: "If I only knew whether she wore white or black gloves! Perhaps she only means to warn me, perhaps there is yet time to escape the mischief! The air of Berlin is very bad, and I vex myself too much here. As we drove up to the castle when we came from Königsberg, one of our carriage horses stumbled and fell. That was an ill omen, and we should have heeded it and turned about immediately. Perhaps there may yet be time to flee from the threatened evil, if we go back to Königsberg! If I only knew what kind of gloves the White Lady wore!"

"Just tell me what sort of a tale this is about the White Lady?" asked Count Schwarzenberg of his Chamberlain von Lehndorf, after his guests had taken their leave.

"Your excellency, one of the sentinels on duty at the castle to-day came rushing into the palace, and shrieked out wildly and madly: 'The White Lady! I have seen the White Lady! I must speak to the Elector! I have seen the White Lady!' I assure your excellency, it was actually terrific to witness the poor man's fright. He was pale as death, with tottering knees and trembling in every limb. I myself felt a cold shudder creep over me, although usually I am neither timid nor superstitious. But it is such a singular coincidence, that the White Lady should appear on the very day when the Electoral Prince was taken so suddenly ill."

"Yes, it is a singular coincidence," said Schwarzenberg, shrugging his shoulders, "and I should like to know the connecting link. Well, I hope to fathom the mystery, and then the ghost story will resolve itself into a ridiculous reality. Early to-morrow morning I shall have all the soldiers called up, who were on duty at the castle to-night, and question them myself. The castellan's wife, too, must be summoned. She is an honest woman of bold and sober wits, and from her I shall be best able to learn what is the meaning of this masquerade. Good-night, Lehndorf, sleep off your fright, you sentimental man, over whom a childish shudder still creeps, whenever he hears a nursery maid's tale! I really envy you your implicit faith, you credulous man! One thing more, though: what news have we from the Electoral Prince?"

"Most gracious sir, according to the latest accounts, the Electoral Prince was enjoying a little rest, having fallen into a profound sleep."

"Very fine!" said the count, entering his cabinet. "Good-night, Lehndorf!"

XI.--THE PURSUIT.

The next morning Count Schwarzenberg interrogated all the sentinels who had been on guard at the castle on the preceding night. They unanimously affirmed that they had been awake and watchful when they had seen the White Lady. The sentinel before the Electoral Prince's apartments had seen her enter those rooms, even distinctly heard the door creak as it closed behind her. Collectively the sentinels asseverated that afterward they had seen the White Lady pass before the guardhouse windows, and that she had even looked in upon them with her great black eyes. Even to-day they shuddered and trembled at the bare remembrance of the frightful apparition, and swore that they would rather die than see that horrible woman again. Then, when the soldiers had withdrawn, came the castellan's wife, who had been summoned by Chamberlain von Lehndorf.

"And what say you to the goblin of last night?" asked Count Schwarzenberg, noticing the castellan's wife with a condescending nod.

"Most noble sir," replied the old woman solemnly, "I say that a member of the Electoral family will die."

"What? _you_, the prudent, wise, intelligent Mrs. Culwin--you, too, believe this ridiculous story?"

"Most revered sir, I believe in it because I know the White Lady, and have seen her often before."

"Oh, indeed," smiled the count; "you count the White Lady among your acquaintances; you have seen her often before? Just tell me a little about her, my dear dame! When did you first see the specter?"

"Almost twenty years ago, if it please your honor. I had just been a year in Berlin. Your honor knows I came here from Venice in the capacity of maid to your lady of blessed memory, and had committed the folly of giving up the countess's good service in order to marry Culwin, the young castellan."

"And why do you call that a folly?" asked Count Schwarzenberg, laughing. "I have always believed that you lived in happy wedlock with your good man."

"That may be so, your excellency, but for all that, a lady's maid, who can live independently always commits a folly in submitting to a husband's rule. And I could support myself, for your excellency paid me such a handsome salary, and I was in such favor with your blessed lady. Often, before I stupidly left her to get married, she would call me, and we would talk together of our beautiful home, our beloved Venice. Ah! your excellency, we have often wept together, and longed ardently to behold once more the city of the sea. Whoever comes from there never recovers from homesickness and wherever he goes, and however far he may be removed, his heart still clings to Venice. That the gracious countess often remarked to me, weeping bitterly, which did her good, and--"

"You were to tell me when you first saw the White Lady," interrupted Count Schwarzenberg, for he felt uncomfortable at being reminded of his wife, knowing as he did that she had spent but few happy days at his side.

"That is true, and I beg your excellency's pardon," replied Mrs. Culwin. Well, then, I saw the White Lady for the first time in the year 1619. I had sat up late at night, for it was a few days before the Christmas festival, and, in accordance with German customs, I wished to make a Christmas present for my husband, but had not finished the piece of embroidery I destined for that purpose. As I sat thus and sewed, I felt as it were a cold breath of air on my cheek, as if some one rapidly moved past me. I looked up startled, and there stood before me a tall, womanly figure, clad in white, looking at me from under her veil with dark, flashing eyes; and then she strode toward the door, but ere she went out she lifted her arms toward heaven, and folded her hands, which were covered with black gloves, fervently together. So she stood for awhile, and then vanished without my seeing the door open or shut. So long as the specter was there I had sat stiff and motionless, as if rooted to the spot; my heart seemed to stand still; I tried to scream, but could not. When she was gone, though, I shrieked fearfully, and my husband hastened to me, to find me in convulsions, and for hours I screamed and wept. My husband, indeed, tried to talk me out of it, and made me promise to speak of the occurrence to no one. But my silence was of no consequence, for the next day it was known to all the inmates of the palace that the White Lady had appeared, for very many had seen her. The old Elector John Sigismund had such a dread of the White Lady, and feared so much that she would appear to him, that he left the castle that very day, and went to the residence of his Chamberlain Freitag. There, however, he died in the course of two days, just two days before Christmas.[25] The White Lady was therefore right, with her deep mourning and black gloves.[26] It was not the head of the family who died, for the old Elector had abdicated, and Elector George William was even then reigning Sovereign."

"Truly, that sounds quite awful," cried Count Schwarzenberg; "and since you saw the apparition with your own eyes, I can not dispute it. You said, though, I think, that you had often seen it?"

"Twice more, gracious sir. The second time was in the year 1625. There again, one night, in the center of my room stood the White Lady, and again lifted up her arms toward heaven before departing, and again she wore black gloves. And the next day died the brother of our Elector, the Margrave Joachim Sigismund."[27]

"And the third time?"

"For the third time I saw the White Lady ten years ago, therefore in 1628. This time she also wore black gloves, and a black veil besides. She again strode through my room, but neither wept nor wrung her hands. She had also appeared to the Elector himself, and addressed a few Latin words to him, which in German my husband said ran thus: 'Justice comes to the living and the dead.'"[28]

"I remember this last story very well myself," said Count Schwarzenberg, with a peculiar smile. "His Electoral Grace was very much shocked by the apparition, and its appearance was supposed to announce years of terrible war, for no one in the Electoral family died. Now tell me, Mrs. Culwin, at what time did the White Lady appear yesterday, and how was she dressed?"

"Your excellency, I can not say exactly, for I did not see her yesterday. The soldiers however, and watchmen, too, affirm that she was dressed entirely in white, which betokens the death of a person of high rank."

"You did not see the White Lady yesterday, then? I think she always passes through your room, Mrs. Culwin?"

"She took another route this time, and something quite unusual happened: she even appeared outside of the castle, for the soldiers maintain that she passed before their windows, and the watchman, who was just making his round, swears that he also saw a white figure glide past the wall. It seems that this time the White Lady came from the Spree side. She did not enter the great corridor at all, but repaired immediately to the Prince's apartments. The sentinel says she went in, and that he distinctly heard the door creak and shut as she passed through."

"Formerly no opening or shutting of doors was to be heard, was there?" asked the count.

"No, your excellency, I never heard anything of the kind, and it always seemed to me as if the door opened not at all, and as if the White Lady vanished like mist."

"And she only visited the Prince's apartments? Do you know who was there?"

"Nobody but the Electoral Prince and his valet, I hear. _I_ myself was not at home when the event occurred. Your excellency's stewardess had invited me to assist her in preparing yesterday's feast, and I only returned in haste as soon as it was rumored that the White Lady was abroad in the castle."

"But you have surely seen and questioned the Prince's valet?"

"He is the only man in the castle who can not be approached with good or evil words, your excellency, and who brooks not being questioned. Of course, I tried questioning him about the White Lady, but his only answer was that he had seen nothing, and did not believe in ghost stories. He only knew that his dear young Prince was sick, and he troubled himself about nothing else."

"He is still sick then, the Electoral Prince?" asked Count Schwarzenberg with indifference. "Has he not slept off his intoxication yet?"

"Most gracious sir, I do not believe that it was intoxication, else surely the Prince would be well to-day! But he is not at all better, and the Electress, who visited her son early this morning, broke forth into loud weeping when she saw him, for he must look just like a corpse."

"Did he recognize the Electress? Did he speak to her?"

"He knows nobody, he does not open his eyes, but lies there stiff and stark like a dead man, and if he did not sometimes fetch a breath, you would believe that he were already dead. This the little Princess herself told me, as I accidentally met her in the passage, when she returned from visiting her brother. But the doctor says this sleep is the beneficial result of his treatment, and that when the Electoral Prince awakes he will be quite restored to health. He has ordered that no one else be admitted to see the Prince, and Dietrich watches over him like a Cerberus."

"And he does well in that, Mrs. Culwin. I thank you for your information, and if anything new should happen I beg of you to come to me forthwith. Tell me one thing more: Do you believe that the specter will come again to-night? Is it the custom of the White Lady to show herself oftener than once?"

"My husband maintains that if she appears, as at this time, all in white, she will come again three nights consecutively. So it was when the Elector Sigismund died. I saw her only once, and she wore black gloves, but the next evening my husband saw her on the other side of the castle dressed all in white, and on the third evening the Elector died."

"It would be interesting if the White Lady should come again to-night. I should like to know if it is the case, and--Well, farewell, Mrs. Culwin, and if you learn anything new, share it with me. Perhaps I shall come over to the castle myself to-night."

He held out his hand to the old woman, and, as he pressed hers, he let a well-filled purse slip into it. He cut off her expressions of gratitude by a short nod of the head, and waved her toward the door. The castellan's wife withdrew, and, absorbed in deep thought, Count Schwarzenberg remained alone in his cabinet. With hands folded behind his back, he walked for a long while to and fro. His pace was ever steady, ever composed; his countenance seemed quite cheerful, quite tranquil, and yet his soul was stirred by passion and a storm was raging in his breast.