Chapter XVIII: Book IV: I.--The Youthful Sovereign (3)

"I have preserved it in my head," replied the count, pointing to his forehead. "Important secrets should never be committed to paper, and I say with Charles V, 'If one carries a great secret in his head, he should burn his very nightcap, that it may not betray him.' Truly may it be said of us two that we carry an important secret in our heads. Instead of a nightcap I have burned the cipher key, that it may not one day betray us!"

"But the great secret will one day surprise the world," cried Count Adolphus joyfully; "its trumpet peals will one day startle the whole of Germany. From the palace balcony here in Berlin shall its triumphant flourishes ring forth. The people in the streets will hear them in astonishment, and to me they will sound as the rejoicing songs of the heavenly hosts, and enraptured I shall look up to my father, standing there majestic in the pomp of his princely power. If I may then fall at your feet, all the ambitious dreams and aspirations of my heart will be fulfilled, and all within me will rejoice and shout, 'Health and blessings upon Prince Schwarzenberg, Margrave of Brandenburg!' Farewell now, dear father! I hurry away, the earlier to return to you!"

V.--THE CATASTROPHE.

Their plans matured, and every day approached nearer to completion, while with firm hand Count Adam Schwarzenberg held the reins which guided the great machinery of insurrection. He had sent Colonel Goldacker with his regiment to Mecklenburg to draw out the Swedes, and to provoke them to advance upon the Mark. The Swedes took up the gauntlet thrown down to them, and, while they were opposed to Goldacker in Mecklenburg, other Swedish regiments marched from Lausitz against Berlin. This was exactly what the Stadtholder wished, and once more the devoted Mark saw the flames of war burst forth, in order that Schwarzenberg might have an excuse for summoning Saxon troops to his aid.

To-day these troops had reached Berlin, and the Stadtholder wished to celebrate their arrival by a sumptuous _fête_ in his palace. To this entertainment he had bidden Colonel Goldacker from Mecklenburg; the commandants of Spandow and Berlin, with their officers, were also invited, and already, in the early morning, they were preparing the table in the great hall for the magnificent collation to be served at noon.

Meanwhile lamentation and mourning reigned in the cities of Berlin and Cologne, while life went so merrily in the Schwarzenberg palace. The wild hordes of soldiers made the streets unsafe even in the daytime. Drunken they roved through the city, with the greatest tumult and uproar; they broke into the houses of peaceful citizens to plunder and rob, and wherever anything was refused them, they committed the most wanton acts, laughing and singing over the tortures they inflicted. In vain had the burghers applied to the officers of these ungovernable outlaws and besought them to restrain the soldiery from outrages, to confine them to their quarters, and to punish them for their thefts and robberies. The officers declared that there was no means of enforcing so rigid a discipline, and that in times of war some allowance should be made for soldiers who with their own bodies protected the burghers from their foes.

But the poor, tormented burghers did not want war; they wanted peace! Peace at any price. The States, too, who held their session in Berlin, wanted peace, and to this end had sent out a deputation from their midst to the Elector at Königsberg to implore him to pity their distress and to command the Stadtholder in the Mark to abstain from hostilities against the Swedes.

The same suit the citizens desired to present to the Stadtholder, and to-day, while preparations were in progress for a military entertainment in the Schwarzenberg palace, a solemn deputation of the magistracy and citizenship repaired to the same spot to lay before the Stadtholder their wishes and entreaties. Count Schwarzenberg kept them waiting a long while in his antechamber, and when he finally made his appearance his countenance was proud and haughty, and his eyes shot angry glances upon the poor representatives of the burghers, who stood with deprecating humility before him.

"What would you have of me, sirs?" he cried, in a rough voice. "What have you to say to me?"

"Most gracious sir," replied the burgomaster of Berlin, "we come to entreat the aid and assistance of your excellency in behalf of our afflicted cities. We are exhausted, hungry, plundered, driven to despair. We can no longer bear the frightful burden of war. Have compassion upon our affliction; make peace with the Swede, that he may not advance upon Berlin, that we may not be forced to appeal to foreigners for our defense."

"Make peace!" cried the burghers, stretching out their hands imploringly toward the Stadtholder, their eyes filled with tears. "O sir! we have borne sorrow and wretchedness for so many long, bitter years! Our hearts are crushed and desperate! Our souls are faint! Make peace, that we may see some end to our trials! We have no nourishment, no money, not even a shelter for our heads. The Swedes plundered us; the Imperialists took from us what the Swedes left; and now our own soldiers drive us out of our bare and empty dwellings, make sport of our calamities, mock the burghers, insult our wives and daughters, and quarter themselves in our houses, while we wander homeless about the streets, not even being able to procure shelter in our churches because the cavalry have taken possession of these with their horses, and converted the temples of God into filthy barracks! Make peace, Sir Stadtholder, make peace!"

"I have not power to do so," replied Count Schwarzenberg haughtily, "neither the power nor the will! The Swede is the enemy of our country, and we must resist him with all the means at our command. Cease your howling and shrieking, for it will be but in vain. War is upon us, and we can not as cowards retreat before it. Shame upon you for your pusillanimity and cowardice, since your men are still capable of bearing arms!"

"Sir, our men have no more strength for fighting. Our hands are too weak to hold a weapon."

"Oh, you will be forced to handle them!" cried Schwarzenberg, laughing scornfully. "When your houses are on fire, and you see your wives and children dragged off by soldiers, then these cowards will be turned into valiant warriors, who can at least defend their lives and the honor of their families! I tell you, though, it will come to that. Extremity is before you, and calls for terrible resolutions."[42]

The burghers broke into loud lamentations, a few threw themselves on their knees, others wept and wailed, while the lords of the magistracy approached nearer to the count in order to make confidential representations of the utter hopelessness and despondency of the two unhappy cities of Berlin and Cologne.

Schwarzenberg, however, turned away from these representations with stern composure. "I have not peace but war in hand," he said. "Why do you apply to me now when you think, nevertheless, that you can receive no good save from the Elector himself, who is your guardian angel, while I am the destroying one. Wait and see what news the deputation of the States will bring you from Königsberg. You besought the States in your time of trouble to appeal to the Elector himself. Well, be patient and await their return. However, I can tell you beforehand that they will bring you a refusal, for the Elector wishes war, and has given me orders to that effect. He has confirmed me in all my offices and dignities. He has most condescendingly assured me of his unlimited confidence, and empowered me to act according to my own unbiased judgment, and to guide the reins of government as I shall choose. I hold them tight, and shall not he turned out of my way by your whining and complaining. War is upon us, and should I have to lay Berlin in ashes to avoid giving a shelter and asylum to the Swedes, it shall be done, rather than conclude peace with them, yield to their degrading conditions, and give up Pomerania to them! I therefore advise you to be on good terms with the soldiers, to receive them kindly into your houses, to entertain them well--"

"Sir," interrupted the first burgomaster, with a bitter cry of distress--"sir, we have nothing with which we could entertain them, we--"

"Silence!" called out the Stadtholder, in a thundering voice--"silence! I have heard you out, and it is my turn now to speak, and yours to listen silently. Go and take your measures accordingly, and act as becomes obedient subjects."

He turned upon his heel and with proud bearing re-entered his cabinet, while the burghers sorrowfully slunk away, to spread throughout all Berlin the dreadful news that all their entreaties had been in vain, and that the war was to be prolonged.

"Yes, the war is to be prolonged," repeated Count Schwarzenberg, when he again found himself alone in his cabinet. "We approach the _dénouement_, and if I could only get decisive tidings from my son, I would hurry on a crisis and begin open war. He keeps me waiting for such tidings a very long while," continued the count, dropping into the armchair in front of his writing table. "He has only written once to me from Regensburg, and then he could only inform me that he had commenced operations, and--Ah!" he interrupted himself, as his glance fell upon his table, "there are papers and dispatches, which must have come in my absence. Perhaps there is among them a letter from my son."

He hastily snatched up the letters and examined one after another. No, there was no letter from his son, only official documents from the Elector's cabinet.

He opened the first of these, and a shudder ran through his whole frame as he read. In this paper the Elector commanded the Stadtholder in the Mark to send back to him the blank charters, intrusted to him by the Elector George William on his departure for Königsberg; he must, moreover, render a distinct and exact account of the manner in which he had disposed of the charters no longer in existence. _He_, Schwarzenberg, the mighty Stadtholder in the Mark, the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, the Director of the War Department--_he_, to be called to account as a servant by his master! He was expected to answer for what he had done in the plenitude of his power, and--worse than that--he must suffer that power to be limited! He would do nothing of the sort; he would not give up the blank charters not yet appropriated and send them back to the Elector!

That was to curtail the privileges of his high position, to dethrone him, and, after having been an absolute master, to make him a dependent servant! These blank charters had been the princely prerogative of the Stadtholder, the scepter with which he ruled! These papers, on which nothing was written, but at the lower corner of which stood the Elector's sign manual--these papers had made him absolute monarch of the Mark. In free plenitude of power, with unfettered will, had he filled up the vacant sheets, bestowing by their means honors and benefits, inflicting punishments, imposing taxes, and the Elector's signature had legalized his decrees, and imparted the force of law to his will.[43]

And these blank charters, before which his enemies trembled, which had struck his partisans and friends as a precious attribute of his power--these blank charters he was now called upon to resign!

"I shall not do it," he exclaimed, in a loud, determined voice--"no, I shall not do it! I shall not be such a fool as to lessen my own power. No; the blank charters are mine, I shall know how to hold them fast!"

He threw the rescript aside and seized another letter. Again from the Elector's cabinet--again a command from him to the Stadtholder in the Mark!

He broke open the seal, unfolded the paper with trembling hands, and again shuddered as he read; and a momentary pallor overspread his cheeks. This writing contained the Elector's orders to suspend hostilities, and to refrain from any attack upon the Swedes and the places occupied by them, and most rigidly to confine himself to the defensive until an abiding peace could be concluded with Sweden.[44]

"You assail me, little Elector!" he said, with smothered, threatening voice. "You bring out your reserves against me, and would cause the proud edifice of my power to crumble away stone by stone! You fear lest if the great Colossus falls at once it might crush you, and therefore you would destroy it piecemeal, a little at a time! You shall not succeed, though, little Elector; the Colossus will rear its head on high, and you alone will fall!"

At this moment loud, angry and excited voices made themselves heard from the antechamber, and a lackey tore open the door.

"Your excellency, the Commandants von Rochow, von Kracht, and Colonel von Goldacker request an audience."

But the three gentlemen did not wait for the granting of this audience. With unseemly haste they rushed into the cabinet, unceremoniously thrust out the lackey, and closed the door behind him.

"Most gracious sir, do you know it?" screamed Rochow, the commandant of Spandow.

"Do you know, your excellency, what things are going on?" growled Kracht, the commandant of Berlin.

"Have you learned what bold steps the Elector is taking?" thundered Colonel Goldacker, shaking his fist in a most menacing way.

"I know nothing, gentlemen, have heard nothing! Speak, tell me what has happened!"

"It has happened that the Elector has sent commissioners to all our fortresses!" cried Herr von Rochow. "Two hours ago such a cursed fellow came to me at Spandow, and when he had delivered me his message I left the fool standing there without any answer, threw myself on my horse, and galloped off to confer with your excellency."

"And such a confounded popinjay has been with me, too!" growled Herr von Kracht. "He also imparted to me his Electoral message--command, the fellow called it. I did just like Commandant von Rochow, left him standing while I hurried off to your excellency."

"An Electoral mandate reached me also!" cried Colonel Goldacker, laughing. "I simply showed the jackanapes the door, laughed him to scorn, and am come to get my orders from your excellency!"

"But, gentlemen, with all this I know nothing and can not find out what has happened. Sir Commandant von Rochow, inform me. What is the matter?"

"The matter is, your excellency," said Herr von Rochow, gnashing his teeth, "that a commissioner from the Elector has come to me with his master's orders, to require an oath of allegiance to the Elector from myself and the whole garrison."

"A like order has the Elector's deputy handed to me!" cried the commandant of Berlin; "the fellow wanted to swear me and my men into the Elector's service."

"I, too, must give such an oath to the commissioner!" screamed Goldacker, "and my troops as well. What do you say to that, Sir Stadtholder in the Mark?"

Just now, however, the Stadtholder said nothing. He turned pale and tottered backward, until his hand rested upon a chair into which he sank. His head swam, a sudden dizziness seized him, and he was obliged to put his hand over his eyes, for everything was turning and whirling in a circle around him. In the vehemence of their own excitement the three gentlemen hardly observed this, and the count, with the energy of his strong will, speedily recovered his composure and presence of mind.

"Your excellency!" cried Commandant von Kracht, "do you not agree with us? Do you not find the Elector intolerably assuming?"

"I was silent because I was reflecting, gentlemen," said the count, drawing a deep breath. "This appearance of the commissioner empowered to administer to you your oaths of office is a challenge, thrown down to me by the Elector, for I am Director of the War Department, and to me alone should that duty have been committed of again binding the troops in the Mark to him by oath. He insults me, and thereby insults the Emperor, for you all know that the Emperor is your commander in chief, and that you dare never break the oath to the Emperor, which I took from you after the conclusion of the peace of Prague. You swore to do your duty for Emperor and Elector, and for this reason, on the recent accession of the present Elector, I only required the colonels to give me their hands in token of their obligations already assumed, for an oath is an oath, and you can not swear to serve one to-day and another to-morrow."

"We can not and will not, either," shouted Colonel Goldacker furiously. "I have given my word to the Emperor. I remain true to the Emperor, and the Emperor will protect us against the insolence of the little Elector."

"Yes, the Emperor will protect us," cried Colonel von Rochow. "I shall take no new oath, for I have sworn to the Emperor, and not until the Emperor has released me from the oath, and I have made a new agreement with the Elector, can I swear to him. Until that time the oath which I have taken to the Emperor remains binding." [45]

"I, too, have sworn to serve the Emperor, and shall abide by my oath," said the commandant of Berlin, as if weighing each word. "No one has a right to command here but the Emperor and the Stadtholder in the Mark, whom the Elector himself appointed. What that vagabond of a commissioner says is nothing to the purpose--it signifies nothing to us."

"No, it signifies nothing to us," repeated the other gentlemen. "From you alone, Sir Stadtholder, can we receive orders, for you are Director of the Council of War, the representative of the Emperor and Elector. To you alone we belong. Give us your orders; we are here to receive them!"

"Gentlemen," said the Stadtholder, pointing with his finger to a sealed packet, lying on the writing table before him--"gentlemen, you interrupted me by your entrance in the perusal of important dispatches, which had just arrived for me from the Elector's cabinet. See, there lies an unopened writing with the Electoral seal. Allow me to read it, for it contains the Elector's commands, which may harmonize with those of his accredited commissioner, or at least enter into particulars with regard to them."

The three officers bowed and reverentially retreated a few steps; but their eyes rested with intense interest upon the count, who now broke the seal and unfolded the paper. A deep silence followed. The piercing glances of the three warriors rested on the count's countenance, which maintained steadfastly its grave, serious expression. But now a scornful laugh burst from him, 'and for a moment an expression of wild joy illuminated his features. He rose, and with the paper in his hand approached the soldiers. "Gentlemen," he said quietly, "I have a piece of news to communicate to you, which I fear will incommode you and your men a little, and is not calculated to heighten the love of the military for their chief. The Elector commands me, until further notice, to put the troops upon summer allowance, and the payment now in arrears is regarded as coming under the same regulation. I beg you will inform your troops of this."

"That is shameful! That is contemptible! That will put the soldiers in a perfect fury!" screamed the three officers together.

"I do not mean to tell my men!" exclaimed Herr von Rochow--"no, I shall not tell them, for the fellows would be frantic, and in their desperation might commit shameful acts!"

"I shall tell my men on the spot!" grumbled Herr von Kracht. "I shall tell them on purpose to make them desperate, to make them rave! As far as I am concerned, they are welcome to vent their spleen upon all Berlin, upon the whole region round about. Let them go around, plundering and laying the country under contribution; they are justified in doing so, for the fellows can not subsist in winter on summer allowance, and therefore must rob and plunder."

"I shall tell my soldiers directly, too," shouted Herr von Goldacker. "Not but that it will give rise to a pretty tale of murder, a devilish scandal. There will result a military out-break, and the burghers of Berlin and Cologne may look to themselves; but the Elector has so willed it--the Elector excites us as well as our subordinates to open insurrection. Let him work his will now; it will only convince him that we are not to be ruled by scraps of paper and decrees scribbled by feather-headed clerks, and that he is not the irresistible lord, to whose piping we dance. The little Elector shall be made to know that the Emperor alone is our supreme officer, to him we have sworn fealty, and to him we cling despite the Elector and all his deputies. I am going on the spot to give my commissioner his dismissal--to tell him that I shall not swear, and then to carry to my soldiers the news of their having been put upon summer allowance!"

"I will go with you," cried Herr von Kracht. "I will also put my commissioner out of the door, and convey the glad tidings to the garrison of Berlin."

"And I," said Herr von Rochow, "will forthwith dispatch a courier to Spandow, to tell my lieutenant that he must send the commissioner out of the fort, and tell the garrison that they are put on summer allowance. It will stir up a fine hub-bub, I am sure of that."

"I, too, believe that the end will not be perfect peace," said the Stadtholder, smiling. "Let the Elector learn that governing is not such an easy matter as he supposes, but that a man may know a good deal, and yet be an unskillful ruler. Go then, gentlemen, issue your orders, but forget not that in an hour our entertainment begins, and that we must not allow our feast to be disturbed by such little follies of the new _regime_."

"No, we will not allow ourselves to be disturbed!" cried Herr von Rochow. "In one hour expect us here again, and you shall see, most gracious sir, that we have brought with us our cheerfulness, our fine appetites, and our thirst."

"Yes, yes, your excellency, guard well your keys and bottles; we shall take the field against them."

"Do so, gentlemen," said the count. "But go now, to return the sooner."

He nodded kindly to the officers and followed them with his eyes until the door closed behind them. Then the composure of his features, the smile on his lip, vanished, and his whole being seemed to express agitation and bitterness of wrath.

"He will insist upon war," he said fiercely. "He smiles upon and strokes me with one hand, while with the other he stabs me, inflicting wound upon wound. Yes, yes, stone by stone he would crumble to dust the tower of my strength, and thinks to crush me to atoms, supposing that I will voluntarily bend to avoid being bent by him. Oh, you are mistaken, little Elector; I am not afraid of you, I shall not bend before you! The Emperor alone I serve, to him alone I am subject. But to me the Emperor is a gracious master. He will ruin you and exalt me; he will protect me against your arrogance. To me belongs the future, presumptuous young Prince! who would rule here, where I have held undisputed sway for twenty years. To me alone belongs the Mark, and I shall hold it for my lord and Emperor! The crisis has come, and finds me prepared and resolute. The troops will revolt, and then shall I step out among them, appease them in the Emperor's name, with lavish hand scatter money among them, and again bind them by oath to the Emperor! Oh, my heart leaps for joy, for the hour of action has come. Only one thing I lack. I would just like to have certain news from my son, to be sure that the Emperor approves of my plan, that he will lift me up where the Elector would cast me down. But this, too, will come, this wish will also be gratified. For I am a son of good fortune, and all goes in accordance with my wishes! Away then with all sad and gloomy thoughts! I would present a cheerful countenance to my guests--I would appear before them in the full splendor of my glory!"

He repaired to his dressing room, where his valets arrayed him in the magnificent habit of a Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and upon his breast shone the cross of the order set with sparkling brilliants. Having completed his toilet, he went to the great mirror and, casting a cursory glance therein, said to himself with some satisfaction that his person was still stately and distinguished, well suited to a reigning prince and fitted for wearing a crown! This thought lighted up his countenance with joyful pride, and with high head he returned to his cabinet. Chamberlain von Lehndorf entered, to inform his most noble master that the guests were already assembled in the great reception room, and longingly awaited his appearance. The chamberlain handed the count his ermine-tipped velvet cap, with its long white ostrich plumes, and then flew before to open for him the doors leading to the small antechamber, where were assembled all the officers of the count's household, waiting to follow their master into the hall.

Lehndorf stood at the door of the antechamber, and the Stadtholder smiled upon him as he passed.

"No letters and dispatches from my son at Regensburg, Lehndorf?"

"None, most gracious sir."

"If a courier comes, let me know of it without delay," continued the count, moving forward. "Anything else new, Lehndorf?"

"Nothing new, your excellency."

"What noise was that just now in the antechamber, while the commandants were in my cabinet?"

"Most gracious sir, an insolent soldier--one of those Saxons who marched in yesterday--forced himself into the antechamber, and with real importunity begged to speak to your excellency."

"Why did you not bid him wait until the gentlemen had, gone, and then announce him?"

"He would not consent to wait by any means, and with brazen face demanded to see your excellency on the spot. The fellow was drunk, it was plain to see, and in his intoxication: kept crying out that he must talk with your excellency about an important secret; if you would not admit him directly, he would go to Prussia and tell your secret to the Elector, which would bring your honor to the scaffold. It was positively ridiculous to hear the fellow talk, and the lackeys, instead of getting angry, laughed outright at him, which only enraged him the more; he worked his arms and legs like a jumping jack and made faces like a nut-cracker. However, when he again presumed to abuse your grace, our people made short work of the drunken knave, and thrust him out of doors."

"Well, I hope his airing will do him good," said the count, smiling, "and that he came to his senses on the street."

"It seems not, though," replied Chamberlain von Lehndorf, making a signal to the halberdiers stationed on both sides of the doors of the grand reception hall that they should open the door--"no, it seems that the airing did the drunken soldier no good. For, only think, gracious sir, just now, as I passed through the front entry to get to your apartments, there the man stood, and as soon as he saw me he sprang at me, seized my arm, and whispered: 'Chamberlain von Lehndorf, I _must_ speak to the Stadtholder. Only tell him my name, and I know that he will receive me.'"

"And did he tell you his name, Lehndorf?" asked the count, as he walked forward.

"Yes indeed, noble sir," laughed the chamberlain; "with monstrously important air he whispered his name in my ear, as if he had been the Pope in disguise or the Emperor himself. I laughed outright, and left him standing."

The count now stood close before the wide-open doors which led into the grand reception hall. The halberdiers struck upon the ground with their gold-headed staves; in the spacious, magnificently decorated hall appeared a dense throng of army officers in their glittering uniforms and civil dignitaries in their ceremonial garbs of office. Six pages, in richly embroidered velvet suits, stood on both sides of the door, while in the raised gilded balcony opposite the musicians arose and began to pour forth a thundering peal of welcome as soon as they caught sight of the Stadtholder.

Count Schwarzenberg, however, took no notice of this; he stood upon the threshold of the door, and his smiling face was still turned upon his chamberlain.

"What name did the fellow give?" asked he carelessly.

"Oh, a very fine name, gracious sir. He had the same name as the blessed archangel--Gabriel!"

"Gabriel?" echoed the count hastily and at the top of his voice, for the musicians played so loud that a man could hardly hear his own voice, even though he shouted. "Only Gabriel, nothing further?"

"Yes, most gracious sir," screamed the chamberlain, "he did call a second name; but I confess _I_ did not pay much attention to it. I believe, though, it was Nietzel. Yes, yes, I am quite sure he said Gabriel Nietzel!"

He shouted this out very loud, not observing, as he pronounced his last words, that the music had ceased; the name Gabriel Nietzel, therefore, rang like a loud call through the vast apartment, and the brilliant, courtly assemblage laughed, although they understood not the connection between the loud call and the hushing of the music. Chamberlain von Lehndorf laughed too, and turned smiling to the count to apologize for his involuntary transgression.

But Count Schwarzenberg did not laugh; he looked pale, and with trembling lips addressed his chamberlain: "Lehndorf, hurry out and conduct the soldier to my antechamber. Tell him I will come to him directly. Do not let the man get out of your sight, watch him closely. In five minutes, as soon as I have welcomed my guests, I will come to the antechamber and speak to the fellow myself. Go!"

The chamberlain flew off to obey this behest, and the Stadtholder entered the hall. Behind him were ranged the twelve pages in their glittering clothes, then followed the officers of the household in splendid uniforms. Again the trumpets of the musicians sent forth their animating peals, and, ranged around the hall in a wide circle, the staff officers, high dignitaries, lords of the supreme court and of the magistracy, all with the insignia of their rank, bowed reverentially before the almighty lord, who now made his progress through the hall amid the clashing of trombones and trumpets. He passed along the brilliant rows of guests with quick, hurried step, but while his lips wore a smile, he thought to himself, "When this abominable ceremony is over and I have completed the circuit, I shall absent myself; I shall see if it is the veritable Gabriel Nietzel, the--"

Just at this moment Chamberlain von Lehndorf approached him, and bent close to his ear. "Most gracious sir!" he cried amid the clash of trumpets--"most gracious sir, the man is no longer there. He has gone and can no longer be seen in the street!"

The Stadtholder gave a slight nod of the head, and proceeded to bid his guests welcome.

VI.--REVENGE.

Sumptuous was the feast, choice were the viands, and costly the fragrant wines. The guests of the Stadtholder in the Mark were full of rapture, full of admiration, and their lips were lavish in praises of the noble count, while their eyes shone brighter from partaking of the generous wine. The lackeys flew up and down the hall, waiting upon the guests, the pages stood behind the count's chair, and offered his excellency food and drink in vessels of gold. At first they sat at table with grave and dignified demeanor, but gradually the delicious viands enlivened their hearts, the glowing wine loosened their tongues, and now they laughed and talked merrily and gave themselves entirely up to the pleasures of the table. Louder swelled the hum of mingled voices. Peals of laughter rang through the banquet hall, until in their turn they were drowned by bursts of dashing music, whose inspiring strains blended with the animated tones of the human voice. Count Adam Schwarzenberg, who sat at the upper end of the table under a canopy of purple velvet, heard all this, and yet it seemed to him like a dream, and as if all this bustle, laughing, and merrymaking came to him from the distant past. He heard the confusion of voices, the clangor of the music, but it sounded hollow in his ear, and above all rang fearfully distinct the name which Lehndorf had pronounced--Gabriel Nietzel! His guests sang and laughed, but he heard only that one name--Gabriel Nietzel!

Round about the long table he saw only glad faces, beaming eyes, and flushed cheeks, but he saw them vanish and other faces arise before his inner eye, faces of the past! There sat the Elector George William, with his easy, good-natured countenance. He nodded smilingly at him, and his glance, full of affection, rested upon _him_, the favorite. Yes, he had loved him dearly, that good Elector! Out of the little, insignificant Count Schwarzenberg he had made a mighty lord, had exalted him into a Stadtholder, into the most powerful subject in his realm! And how had he requited him?

"Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!" He heard the maddening words ringing clearly and distinctly above the din of music, song, and laughter--"Gabriel Nietzel!"

There he stood in page's dress, across there, behind the chair of the young Electoral Prince, whose pale, noble features had just begun to quiver convulsively--there he stood and cast a look of intelligence at _him_, Count Schwarzenberg.

"Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!"

Ever thus rang the echo through the hall, and however varied the medley of sounds, to him all was embodied in that name. For long months he had caused search to be made for him, but nobody had been able to bring him any tidings of Gabriel Nietzel's whereabouts. So, gradually, he had forgotten him, and his anxiety about him had died away. Why must this dreaded name make itself heard again to-day, just to-day, when he was inaugurating the bright days of his future with this splendid feast? Why must that hateful name mingle with the rejoicings of his merry guests?

He would think of it no more, no more allow himself to be haunted by phantoms of the past! Away with memories, away with that unhappy name! Vehemently, indignantly he shook his lofty head, as if these memories were only troublesome insects to be driven away by the mere wrinkling of his brow. He even called a smile to his lips, and with a proud effort at self-control arose from his armchair and lifted the golden beaker on high, in his right hand.

If he spoke himself, he would no longer hear that perpetual ringing and singing within his breast--"Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!"

He lifted the golden beaker yet higher and bowed right and left to his guests, who had risen to their feet and looked at him full of expectancy.

"To the health of the Emperor Ferdinand, our most gracious Sovereign and lord!"

The musicians struck their most triumphant melody; with loud huzzas and shouts the guests repeated, "To the health of our most gracious lord and Emperor!"

"Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!" Still it rang in Schwarzenberg's ears, and he sank back in his armchair and felt a sense of helpless despondency creep over his heart.

The guests followed his example and resumed their seats. A momentary silence ensued. All at once Chamberlain von Lehndorf rose from his place, took his glass with him, and went along the table to the Counselor of the Exchequer von Lastrow, who was carrying on an earnest conversation in an undertone with the burgomaster of Berlin. The chamberlain's face was flushed with wine, his eyes sparkled, and his gait was so wavering and unsteady that even the goblet in his hand swung to and fro.

"Counselor von Lastrow," he said, with loud, peremptory voice, "you refused to drink the health proposed by his excellency the Stadtholder in the Mark. The toast was to his Majesty our lord and Emperor. You did not lift up your glass, nor touch that of your neighbor. Wherefore was this? Why did you not drink to the welfare of our lord and Emperor?"

"I will tell you why, Chamberlain von Lehndorf," replied Herr von Lastrow, leaping up and confronting the chamberlain in his gay uniform, with dagger dangling at his side--"I will tell you why I did not accept the Stadtholder's toast, and may all his guests hear and ponder. I thank you, Sir Chamberlain, for affording me an opportunity of expressing myself openly and candidly on this subject. Permit me, gentlemen, to answer in the hearing of you all the question which the chamberlain has addressed to me."

As the counselor thus spoke his large black eyes surveyed both sides of the long table. All present were silenced, all eyes were directed to the lower end of the table, and each one listened with strained attention to hear the answer of Herr von Lastrow.

Count Schwarzenberg had risen from his chair and given the rash chamberlain a look of displeasure. Yet he felt so embarrassed by his own anxiety that he dared not call him.

"Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!" rang ever in his ears, frightening away all other sounds, until they seemed to reach him only as dim and hollow echoes from afar.

"Gentlemen!" cried Herr von Lastrow now, in a loud voice, "I did not drink the Stadtholder's toast because it would have been contrary to my duty and my oath. Ferdinand is Emperor of the German Empire, and as such we owe him reverence and respect, but when the toast styles him our lord and Emperor I can not respond to it, for Ferdinand is not my lord! No, the Elector Frederick William is my master, and now I lift my glass and cry, 'Long live Frederick William, our lord and Elector!'"

"Long live Frederick, our lord and Elector!" shouted voices here and there at the table, and all followers of the Elector sprang from their seats, held aloft their glasses, and shouted again and again, "Long live Frederick William, our lord and Elector!"

"Strike up, musicians!" called Herr von Lastrow to the balcony, where the musicians sat, who lifted their trombones and trumpets and put them to their lips. But before a note was struck, Lehndorf shouted fiercely up to them: "Silence! Dare not to blow a single blast! I forbid you in the name of our master, the Emperor!"

A wild yell of indignation from the Electoralists and a loud burst of applause from the Imperialists followed these words. Nobody remembered any longer that he was there as the guest of Schwarzenberg, the proud count and Stadtholder. All prudence, all sense of respect was swallowed up in the storms of political passion. With threatening aspect and flashing eyes stood the Electoralists and Imperialists opposite each other, and, while the former lifted up their glasses, to touch them in honor of their Sovereign and Elector, the latter knocked their glasses tumultuously on the table, and broke out into loud laughter and deafening imprecations. No one any longer paid honor to the master of the house--no one thought of him, in fact. He had risen from his seat with the intention of going to the other end of the table, where now a furious duel of words was progressing between his chamberlain and Herr von Lastrow. He desired to pacify them, to smooth over the contention; but it was already too late, for ere he had reached the middle of the hall, a catastrophe had occurred between the contending parties. Counselor von Lastrow raised his arm, and administered to Chamberlain Lehndorf a sounding box upon the cheek.

One unanimous shriek of rage from the Imperialists, and they rushed toward Lehndorf and drew their swords. Behind Lastrow the Electoralists ranged themselves, and they, too, laid bare their weapons.

Count Schwarzenberg tottered back. He perceived that it was too late to pacify now, that all temporizing had become impossible. He had a feeling that he must flee away, that it did not comport with his dignity to stand there powerless and inactive between two factions. In this moment of weakness and indecision his confidential valet approached him.

"Most gracious sir," he whispered, "a courier from Regensburg, from Count John Adolphus, has just arrived. I have already laid the letter upon your excellency's writing table. It is marked 'urgent.'"

Count Schwarzenberg turned to hurry from the hall, to escape the wild tumult, to take refuge in his cabinet, and, above all things, to read the long-expected letter from his son.

The uproar in the hall waxed ever fiercer, weapons clashed and wild battle cries resounded. He quickened his pace, and opened the door of the hall. Behind him rang out a piercing shriek, a death cry! Quivering in every fiber of his being the count turned round to--Once more that piercing shriek was heard, and Herr von Lastrow, with Lehndorf's dagger in his breast, fell backward into the arms of his friends with the death rattle in his throat.[46]

Count Schwarzenberg, seized with horror, rushed on through the deserted, brilliantly lighted apartments--on, ever on. But that fearful shriek went with him, ringing ever in his ears. It drove him onward like a fury, and his hair stood on end and his heart beat to bursting.

He had heard it once before, that death cry!

In the stillness of night it had sounded that time in the castle of Berlin, when a pale woman had knelt at his feet and pleaded for her life! Often had he heard it since; it had awakened him from sleep, it had often startled him when engaged in merry conversation with his friends; at the festive board it had drowned the music as far as he was concerned, this death cry, this Fury of his conscience!

At last he reached his cabinet. He threw himself into a chair. God be thanked, he was alone here! He had quiet and solitude here!

He surveyed the room and an infinite feeling of relief and security came over him.

Alone!

"Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!" was whispered in his heart, and he looked timidly around, as if he feared to see him in each corner. Then a shriek resounded in his ear--that death cry!

It had penetrated into his quiet cabinet, she stood behind him, she screamed in his ear, "Gabriel Nietzel! Rebecca!"

Perfectly unmanned, the count leaned back in his easychair, the sweat standing in great drops upon his brow. He no longer even remembered that he had come there to read his son's important letter! His soul was shattered in its inmost depths. Gabriel Nietzel was there again! A murder had been committed in his house--at his table! Committed, too, by his own servant, his favorite, his friend! He durst not pardon him; he must punish the murderer according to the law. He must pronounce sentence of death on him, who had slain his fellow-man! He foresaw this in the future! He saw himself as judge, the viceregent of God and justice, opposite the pale criminal, his servant, his friend, upon whom he pronounced sentence!

He! Would his lips dare to utter a sentence of death? Dared the murderer condemn?

"Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel! Rebecca! Rebecca!" screamed the voice behind his chair. But hark! what noise is that? What means that confused jumble of groans and yells and shouts--that howling as of fierce and sweeping winds, that roar as of the mighty deep? What is that so like the rolling of thunder? Are those wolflike howls the voices of men? Is that the tramp of human feet? Before his windows it surges and dashes, howls and roars!

With difficulty Schwarzenberg rises from his chair, and, creeping to the window, conceals himself behind the hangings and cautiously looks out upon the street. A dense throng of soldiers surges beneath his windows; the whole street, the whole square is packed with them. Angry faces, the voices of furious men, hundreds upon hundreds of uplifted fists and portentous growls!

"He shall pay us our money! He wants to cheat us out of our pay! He wants to put us upon summer allowance and pocket the rest of the money! It is said this is done by the Elector's command. But it is a lie, an abominable lie! Schwarzenberg lets nobody command him. He is master here. He wants us to starve that his own riches may be increased. We will not suffer it! He shall pay us for it! Hurrah! Storm the house!"

"A mutiny!" muttered Count Schwarzenberg. "They were to have rebelled, and so they do. But they rebel against me! I flung down the sword, and its point is turned against myself. So the spirits of hell grant what they have promised us--what we have purchased at the price of our souls! They give the reward, but even while they are paying it out to us it becomes a curse and ruins us!"

How they storm and rage and roar without! How they beat and hammer against the locked doors! Count Schwarzenberg stands behind the window and hears them! He hears other voices, too--Goldacker, Kracht, and Rochow endeavoring to calm them, exhorting them to be patient.

Futile efforts! Ever louder grow the knocking and thundering against the house. Stones are hurled against the walls, the window shutters rattle and are shivered to pieces, the doors creak and give way.

"If they attempt to murder me, I shall not stand on the defensive," murmurs Count Schwarzenberg to himself, as he retires from the window, slowly traverses the apartment, and again sinks down upon the chair by his writing table. The door of the cabinet is violently torn open, and in rush the Commandants von Kracht and von Rochow, followed by the captains of their regiments.

"Gracious sir, it is impossible to calm these madmen. They no longer heed orders. They are beside themselves with rage. They have already broken open the doors and forced their way into the entrance hall. They will plunder and despoil the whole palace! We can save nothing more, prevent nothing more! You are lost, so are we, and all Berlin!"

"Be it so!" says Schwarzenberg loftily. "Let the whole earth fall down and overwhelm me in its ruins. I shall but be buried beneath them!"

"Gracious sir, only hear! The howling and yelling come ever nearer, and are continually gaining in strength! Gracious sir, have pity upon us, upon yourself! Save us all!"

"Save? How can I save any one? Will those savage hordes obey me, when they refuse submission to you, their officers?"

"Gracious sir, they demand their pay! They demand money! Nothing will appease them but money, and assurances that they shall have their winter allowance. Give us money to quiet that raging host! Money--money!"

"How much would you have? How much is needful to tame that fierce, wild horde?"

"Three hundred dollars!" calls out Herr von Kracht.

"No; four hundred dollars!" shouts Herr von Rochow.

"Five hundred dollars!" growls Herr von Goldacker. "No, give us six hundred dollars, which would do the thing thoroughly."

"Well, be it six hundred dollars then," says the count, with an expression of contemptuous scorn. "Stay here, gentlemen; I will return directly. I am only going to fetch the money."

He left the cabinet and entered his sleeping apartment, where, at the side of the bed, stood the great iron chest to which he alone had the key. After a few minutes he rejoined the officers in his cabinet. He had six rolls of money in his hand, two of which he handed to each of the three gentlemen.

"Here, gentlemen," he said, with bitter mockery, "here are the commandants who have authority to bring their troops to order. Go and show them to your men, and order them to follow these commandants to the cathedral square, and there distribute the money among them."

The gentlemen wished to thank him, but with a wave of his hand he pointed them to the door, and they hurried out to their soldiers.

Schwarzenberg looked after them, and listened to the rumbling and roaring without in the entrance hall of his house. Suddenly it became gentler, and finally ceased altogether. Then, after a pause, rang forth a loud shout of joy, and again the street filled with soldiers, again was heard the loud tramp of feet, the uproar and confusion of many tongues. "The wretches have marched off," murmured Count Schwarzenberg to himself. "Yes, yes, with money we buy love, with money hatred and--"

"Hurrah! Long live Count Schwarzenberg!" sounded below his windows. "Long live the Stadtholder in the Mark!"

"That shout costs me six hundred dollars," said he, shrugging his shoulders. "To-morrow, most likely the mob will come again to threaten me, that I may again purchase a cheer from them. Well, for the present at least I have rest. Nobody shall disturb me. Nobody shall intrude upon me."

He stepped to the doors leading into his sleeping room and antechamber, and bolted them both. He did not think of the secret door which led to the little corridor and thence to the private staircase, and did not bolt that. Why should he have done so? The steps were so little used, so few knew of them, so few, of the existence of the little side door which led to them. It was not necessary to lock that door, for no one would come to him in that way.

He was alone, God be praised, quite alone! And now again he remembered the important letter, which he had forgotten while the soldiers' riot was in progress. There lay his son's letter, on his writing table. He hastened thither and seated himself in the armchair, taking up the letter and examining its address. The sight of his son's handwriting rejoiced his heart, as a greeting from afar.

He drew a deep sigh of relief. All anguish, all cares had left him as soon as he took his son's letter in his hand. Even the warning voice in his heart had hushed, even the Fury no longer stood behind his chair; he no longer heard her death cry. All was silent in that spacious apartment behind him, on which he turned his back.

He took the letter, broke the seal, and slowly unfolded the paper. But now he put off reading its contents for one moment more. This sheet of paper contained the decision of his whole future, it would either exalt him into a reigning prince by bringing him the Emperor's sanction, or lower him into an underling of the Elector, making him a nobody, if--But no, it was impossible! The Emperor would not disavow him! It was folly to think of such a thing!

He fixed his eyes on the paper and began to read. But as he read, his breath came ever quicker, his cheeks became more pale, his brow more clouded. His hands began to tremble so violently that the paper which they held rattled and shook, and finally dropped on the table.

Motionless and gasping for breath the count sat there, staring at the letter. Then its contents flashed through him like a sudden shock, and, collecting his faculties, he once more snatched up the paper.

"It is impossible!" he cried aloud, "I read falsely! That can not be! My eyes surely deceived me! My ears shall lend their evidence! I will hear my sentence of condemnation!"