CHAPTER XXXIII.
TWO MEN.
The Waldgrave's return to his old self, and to the frankness andgaiety that, when we first knew him at Heritzburg, had surrounded himwith a halo of youth, was perhaps the most noteworthy event of allwithin my experience. For the return proved permanent, thetransformation was perfect. The moodiness, the crookedness, the craftyhumours that for weeks had darkened and distorted the man's nature--sothat another and a worse man seemed to look out of his eyes and speakwith his mouth--were gone, leaving no cloud or remembrance. He hadbeen mad; he was now as sane as the best. Only one peculiarityremained--and for a few days a little pallor and weakness--of all thethings that had befallen him between his first wound and his second,he could remember nothing, not a jot or tittle; nor could any amountof allusion or questioning bring these things back to him. After manyattempts we desisted; but there were always some who, from this date,regarded him with a certain degree of awe--as a man who had been for atime in the flesh, and yet not of it.
With sanity returned also all the wholesome ambitions and desires thathad formerly moved the man; and amongst these his passion for my lady.He lay at our house that night, and spent the next two days there,recovering his strength; and I had more than one opportunity ofmarking the assiduity with which he followed all the Countess'smovements with his eyes, the change which his voice underwent when hespoke to her, and his manner when he came into her presence. In aword, he seemed to take up his love where he had dropped it--at thepoint it had reached when he rode down into the green valley andsecured his rival's victory at so great a cost; at the point at whichTzerclas' admiration and my lady's rebuff had at once strengthened andpurified it.
Now Tzerclas was gone from the field--magically, as it seemedto the Waldgrave. And, magically also--for he knew nothing of itsflight--time had passed; days and weeks running into months--asufficiency of time, he hoped, to remove unfavourable impressions fromher mind, to obliterate the memory of that unhappy banquet, andreplace him on the pinnacle he had occupied at Heritzburg.
But he soon found that, though Tzerclas was gone and the field seemedopen, all was not to be had for the asking. My lady was kind; she hada smile for him, and pleasant words, and a ready ear. But before hehad been in the house twenty-four hours, he came and confided to methat something was wrong. The Countess was changed; was pettish ashe had never seen her before; absent and thoughtful, traits equallynew; restless--and placid dignity had been one of her chiefcharacteristics.
'What is it, Martin?' he said, knitting his brows and striding to andfro in frank perplexity. 'It cannot be that, after all that haspassed, she is fretting for that villain Tzerclas?'
'After risking her life to escape from him?' I answered dryly. 'No, Ithink not, my lord.'
'If I ever set eyes on him again I will end him!' the Waldgrave cried,still clinging, I think, to his idea, and exasperated by it. He strodeup and down a time or two, and did not grow cooler. 'If it is notthat, what is it?' he said at last.
'There are not many light hearts in Nuremberg,' I suggested. 'And ofthose, few are women's. There must be an end of this soon.'
'You think it is that?' he said.
'Why not?' I answered. 'I am told that the horses are dying byhundreds in the camp. The men will die next. In the end the King willhave to march away, or see his army perish piecemeal. In either casethe city will pay for all. Wallenstein will swoop down on it, and makeof it another and greater Magdeburg. That is a poor prospect for theweak and helpless.'
'It is those rascally Croats!' the Waldgrave groaned. 'They cover thecountry like flies--are here and there and nowhere all in the sameminute, and burn and harry and leave us nothing. We have no troops ofthat kind.'
'There was plundering in the Wert suburb last night,' I said. 'TheKing blames the Germans.'
'Soldiers are bad to starve,' the Waldgrave answered.
'Yes; they will see the townsfolk suffer first,' I rejoined, with atouch of bitterness. 'But look whichever way you please, it is agloomy outlook, my lord, and I do not wonder that my lady isdown-hearted.'
He nodded, but presently he said something that showed that he was notsatisfied. 'The Countess used to be of a bolder spirit,' he muttered.'I don't understand it.'
I did not know how to answer him, and fortunately, at that moment,Marie came down to say that my lady proposed to visit CountLeuchtenstein, and that I was to go to her. The Waldgrave heard, andraced up before me, crying out that he would go too. I followed. WhenI reached the parlour I found them confronting one another, my ladystanding in the oriel with her back to the street.
'But would it not be more seemly?' the Waldgrave was saying as Ientered. 'As your cousin, and----'
'I would rather go alone,' the Countess replied curtly.
'To the camp?' he exclaimed. 'He is not in his city quarters.'
'Yes, to the camp,' my lady answered, with, a spark of anger in hereyes.
On that he stood, fidgety and discomfited, and the Countess gave meher orders. But he could not believe that she did not need him, andthe moment she was silent, he began again.
'You do not want me; but you do not object to my company, I suppose?'he said airily. 'I have to thank the Count, cousin, and I must goto-day or to-morrow. There is no time like the present, and if you aregoing now----'
'I should prefer to go alone,' my lady said stiffly.
His face fell; he stood looking foolish. 'Oh, I did not know,' hestammered at last; 'I thought----'
'What?' the Countess said.
'That you liked me well enough--to--to be glad of my company,' heanswered, half offended, half in deprecation.
'I liked you well enough to abase myself for you!' my lady retortedcruelly. And I dare say that she said more, but I did not hear it. Ihad to go down and prepare for her visit.
When I next saw him, he was much subdued. He seemed to be turningsomething over in his mind, and by-and-by he asked me a question aboutCount Leuchtenstein. I saw which way his thoughts were tending, orfancied that I did; but it was not my business to interfere one way orthe other, and I answered him and made no comment. The horses were atthe door then, and in a moment my lady came down, looking pale anddepressed. The Waldgrave went humbly to her, and put her into hersaddle, touching her foot as if it had been glass; and I mountedMarie, who was to attend her. I expected that my lady--who had a verytender heart under her queenly manner--would say something to himbefore we started; but she seemed to be quite taken up with herthoughts, and to be barely conscious, if conscious at all, of hispresence. She said 'Thank you,' but it was mechanically. And the nextmoment we were moving, Ernst making up the escort.
My eyes soon furnished me with other matter for thought than theWaldgrave. Throughout the city the summer drought had dried up thefoliage of the trees; and the grass, where it had not been plucked bythe poor and boiled for food, had been eaten to the roots by starvingcattle. The whole city under the blaze of sunshine wore an arid,dusty, parched appearance, and seemed to reflect on its face the lookof dreary endurance which was worn by too many of the countenances weobserved in the streets. Pain creeps by instinct to some dark andsolitary place; but here was a whole city in pain, gasping andsuffering under the pitiless sunshine; and the contrast between theblue sky above and the scene below added indescribably to the gloomand dreariness of the latter. I know that I got a horror of sunshinethere that lasted for many a month after.
Either twenty-four hours had aggravated the pinch of famine, which waspossible, or I had a more open mind to perceive it. I marked morehollow cheeks than ever, more hungry eyes, more faces with theglare of brutes. And in the bearing of the crowd that filled thestreets--though no business was done, no trade carried on--I thoughtthat I saw a change. Wherever it was thickest, I noticed that menwalked in one of two ways, either hurrying along feverishly and inhaste, as if time were of the utmost value, or moving listlessly, withdragging feet and lacklustre eyes, as if nothing had any longer p
owerto stir them. I even noticed that the same men went in both wayswithin the space of a minute, passing in a second and apparentlywithout intention from feverish activity to the moodiness of despair.
And no wonder. Not only famine, but pestilence had tightened its graspon the city; and from this the rich had as much to fear as the poor.As we drew near the walls the smell of carrion, which had hitherto butspoiled the air, filled the nostrils and sickened the whole man. Insome places scores of horses lay unburied, while it was whispered thatin obscure corners death had so far outstripped the grave-diggers thatcorpses lay in the houses and the living slept with the dead. Therewas fighting in front of the bakers' shops in more than one place--mylady had to throw money before we could pass; in the kennels womenscreamed and fought for offal; from the open doors of churches prayersand wailing poured forth; at the gates, where gibbets, laden withcorpses, rose for a warning, multitudes stood waiting and listeningfor news. And on all, dead and living, the sun shone hotly, steadily,ruthlessly, so that men asked with one voice, 'How long? How long?'
In the camp, which had just received huge reinforcements of men andhorses, we found order and discipline at least. Rows of kettles andpiles of arms proclaimed it, and lines of pennons that stretchedalmost as far as the eye could reach. But here, too, were knittedbrows, and gloomy looks, and loud murmurings, that grew and swelled aswe passed. Count Leuchtenstein's quarters were on the border of theSwedish camp, near the Finland regiments, and not far from the King's.A knot of officers, who stood talking in front of them and knew mylady, came to place themselves at her service. But the offer proved tobe abortive, for the first thing she learned was that the Count wasabsent. He had gone at dawn in the direction of Altdorf to cover theentrance of a convoy.
I felt that she was grievously disappointed, for whether she loved himor not, I could understand the humiliation under which she smarted,and would smart until she had set herself right with him. But sheveiled her chagrin admirably, and, lightly refusing the offer ofrefreshment, turned her horse's head at once, so that in a twinklingwe were on our road home again.
By the way, I saw only what I had seen before. But the Countess, whosefigure began to droop, saw, I think, with other eyes than thosethrough which she had looked on the outward journey. Her thoughts nolonger occupied, she saw in their fulness the ravages which famine andplague were making in the town, once so prosperous. When she reachedher lodgings her first act was to send money, of which we had no greatstore, to the magistrates, that a free meal in addition to thestarvation rations might be given to the poor; and her next, todeclare that henceforth she would keep the house.
Accordingly, instead of going again to the Count's, she sent me nextday with a letter. I found the camp in an uproar, which was fastspreading to the city. A rumour had just got wind that the King wasabout to break up his camp and give battle to the enemy at allhazards; and so many were riding and running into the city with thenews that I could scarcely make head against the current.
Arriving at last, however, I was fortunate enough to find the Count inhis quarters and alone. My lady had charged me--with a blushing cheekbut stern eyes--to deliver the letter with my own hands, and Idismounted. I thought that I had nothing to do but deliver it; Iforesaw no trouble. But at the last moment, as a trooper led methrough the antechamber, who should appear at my side but theWaldgrave!
'You did not expect to see me?' he said, nodding grimly.
'No, my lord,' I answered.
'So I thought,' he rejoined. 'But before you give the Count thatletter, I have a word to say to him.'
I looked at him in astonishment. What had the letter to do with him?My first idea was that he had been drinking, for his colour was highand his eye bright. But a second glance showed that he was sober,though excited. And while I hesitated the trooper held up the curtain,and perforce I marched in.
Count Leuchtenstein, wearing his plain buff suit, sat writing at atable. His corselet, steel cap, and gauntlets lay beside him, andseemed to show that he had just come in from the field. He looked upand nodded to me; I had been announced before. Then he saw theWaldgrave and rose; reluctantly, I fancied. I thought, too, that ashade of gloom fell on his face; but as the table was laden withpapers and despatches and maps and lists, and the sight reminded methat he bore on his shoulders all the affairs of Hesse, and theresponsibility for the boldest course taken by any German prince inthese troubles, I reflected that this might arise from a hundredcauses.
He greeted the Waldgrave civilly nevertheless; then he turned to me.'You have a letter for me, have you not, my friend?' he said.
'Yes, my lord,' I answered.
'But,' the Waldgrave interposed, 'before you read it, I have a word tosay, by your leave, Count Leuchtenstein.'
I think I never saw a man more astonished than the Count. 'To me?' hesaid.
'By your leave, yes.'
'In regard to--this letter?'
'Yes.'
'But what do you know about this letter?'
'Too much, I am afraid,' the Waldgrave answered; and I am bound to saythat, putting aside the extraordinary character of his interference,he bore himself well. I could detect nothing of wildness or delusionin his manner. His face glowed, and he threw back his head with a hintof defiance; but he seemed sane. 'Too much,' he continued rapidly,before the Count could stop him; 'and, before the matter goes farther,I will have my say.'
The Count stared at him. 'By what right?' he said at last.
'As the Countess Rotha's nearest kinsman,' the Waldgrave answered.
'Indeed?' I could see that the Count was hard put to it to keep histemper; that the old lion in him was stirring, and would soon haveway. But for the moment he controlled himself. 'Say on,' he cried.
'I will, in a few words,' the Waldgrave answered. 'And what I have tosay amounts to this: I have become aware--no matter how--of thebargain you have made, Count Leuchtenstein, and I will not have it.'
'The bargain!' the Count ejaculated; 'you will not have it!'
'The bargain; and I will not have it!' the Waldgrave rejoined.
Count Leuchtenstein drew a deep breath, and stared at him like a mandemented. 'I think that you must be mad,' he said at last. 'If not,tell me what you mean.'
'What I say,' the Waldgrave answered stubbornly. 'I forbid the bargainto which I have no doubt that that letter relates.'
'In Heaven's name, what bargain?' the Count cried.
'You think that I do not know,' the Waldgrave replied, with a touch ofbitterness; 'it did not require a Solomon to read the riddle. I foundmy cousin distrait, absent, moody, sad, preoccupied, unlike herself.She had moved heaven and earth, I was told, to save me; in the lastresort, had come to you, and you saved me. Yet when she saw me safe,she met me as much in sorrow as in joy. The mere mention of your nameclouded her face; and she must see you, and she must write to you, andall in a fever. I say, it does not require a Solomon to read thisriddle, Count Leuchtenstein.'
'You think?' said the Count, bluntly. 'I do not yet know what youthink.'
'I think that she sold herself to you to win my pardon,' the Waldgraveanswered.
For a moment I did not know how Count Leuchtenstein would take it. Hestood gazing at the Waldgrave, his hand on a chair, his face purple,his eyes starting. At length, to my relief and the Waldgrave's utterdismay and shame, he sank into the chair and broke into a hoarse shoutof laughter--laughter that was not all merriment, but rolled, in itsdepths something stern and sardonic.
The Waldgrave changed colour, glared and fumed; but the Count waspitiless, and laughed on. At last: 'Thanks, Waldgrave, thanks,' hesaid. 'I am glad I let you go on to the end. But pardon me if I saythat you seem to do the Lady Rotha something less than justice, andyourself something more.'
'How?' the Waldgrave stammered. He was quite out of countenance.
'By flattering yourself that she could rate you so highly,' CountLeuchtenstein retorted, 'or fall herself so low. Nay, do not threatenme,' he continued with grim severity. 'It was not I who
brought hername into question. I never dreamed of, never heard of, neverconceived such a bargain as you have described; nor, I may add, everthought of the Lady Rotha except with reverence and chivalrous regard.Have I said enough?' he continued, rising, and speaking with growingindignation, with eyes that seemed to search the culprit; 'or must Isay too, Waldgrave, that I do not traffic in men's lives, nor buywomen's favours, nor sell pardons? That such power as God and mymaster have given me I use to their honour and not for my ownpleasure? And, finally, that this, of which you accuse me, I would notdo, though to do it were to prolong my race through a dozen centuries?For shame, boy, for shame!' he continued more calmly. 'If my mind hasgone the way you trace it, I call it back to-day. I have done withlove; I am too old for aught but duty, if love can lead even a youngman's mind so far astray.'
The Waldgrave shivered; but the position was beyond words, and heessayed none. With a slight movement of his hand, as if he would haveshielded himself, or deprecated the other's wrath, he turned towardsthe door. I saw his face for an instant; it was pale, despairing--andwith reason. He had exposed my lady. He had exposed himself. He hadinvited such a chastisement as must for ever bring the blood to hischeeks. And his cousin: what would she say? He had lost her. She wouldnever forgive him--never! He groped blindly for the opening in thecurtain.
His hand was on it--and I think that, for all his manhood, the tearswere very near his eyes--when the other called after him in an alteredtone.
'Stay!' Count Leuchtenstein said. 'We will not part thus. I can seethat you are sorry. Do not be so hasty another time, and do not be tooquick to think evil. For the rest, our friend here will be silent, andI will be silent.'
The Waldgrave gazed at him, his lips quivering, his eyes full. Atlast: 'You will not tell--the Countess Rotha?' he said almost in awhisper.
The Count looked down at his table, and pettishly pushed somepapers together. For an instant he did not answer. Then he saidgruffly,--'No. Why should she know? If she chooses you, well and good;if not, why trouble her with tales?'
'Then!' the Waldgrave cried with a sob in his voice, 'you are a betterman than I am!'
The Count shrugged his shoulders rather sadly. 'No,' he said, 'only anolder one.'
My Lady Rotha: A Romance Page 34