The Nameless Castle

by Maurus Jokai

  “Why, how so?” in surprise questioned the colonel.

  “You have taught a wild creature to kindle a fire, and thus aroused in him a dangerous passion. His desire to amuse himself with the dangerous element will develop into a mania, and he will end by setting fire to houses and other buildings.”

  “I will tell you what to do, baroness. In order that the little monster may not play his tricks about here, give him to me; I will take him with me.”

  “No; I had rather keep him here. I shall take good care, however, that he does not get hold of tinder and flint, and have him constantly watched. You have quite ruined my system of education. I taught him to kneel and fold his hands to the music of the organ; you taught him to dance and grimace to the drone of the bagpipe. You have even accustomed him to drink wine, which is unchristian.”

  The company laughed at this harmless anger.

  Then came the fireworks.

  When the Roman candles and the fire-wheels illumined the darkness, it became impossible to control the little monster. He rushed into the thickest of the rain of fire, and tried to catch the red and blue stars in his hands. The sparks burned holes in his clothes, and he would not have escaped a severe burning himself had not some one thrown a pail of water over him. It was impossible to restrain him. He struck out with hands and feet, and bit at any one who attempted to prevent him from running into the fire. Suddenly a rocket shot in an oblique direction, and dropped into the lake. When the human beast saw this he uttered a yell, and dashed into the water. He thought that the beautiful fire belonged to him because it had fallen into his lake, and he went to hunt for it. He did not return. The baroness had search made for him; but he knew so well how to escape his pursuers that he was not seen again at the manor.

  The next morning, while yet the stars were glittering in the sky, the trumpets sounded the departure of the regiment.

  The sounds were familiar to Count Vavel. Even yet, when the blare of trumpets roused him from sleep, he felt as if he must hasten to the stable, saddle his horse, and buckle on his sword. But those days were past. His trusty war-horse had become used to the carriage-pole, and the keen Toledo blades were drawn from their scabbards only when they were to be oiled to prevent the rust from corroding them.

  The departure of the troops removed one care from Count Ludwig’s mind: the noise and turmoil would cease, and peace would again return to the silent neighborhood.

  One morning when Frau Schmidt brought her basket, as usual, to the castle, there was a letter in it for the count. He recognized the hand at once; it was from his fair neighbor at the manor.

  “HERR COUNT: As I have something of the utmost importance to communicate to you, I beg that you will receive a call from me this morning before you take your usual drive. Answer when it will be convenient for you to see me.”

  What did it mean? Something of the utmost importance? Why could she not have asked him to come to the manor? The count was puzzled. And how was he to answer this most singular request? He could not write it himself; was it not said that he was unable to hold a pen? He could not dictate the letter to Marie appointing a meeting with the baroness. Henry was a very shrewd fellow, but he had never learned to write.

  At last Count Vavel bethought him of an expedient. He marked on the back of his card the Roman numerals XI, and trusted that the baroness would understand that she was expected at eleven o’clock. When the appointed hour drew near, curiosity began to torture the count. He could not wait indoors, but hurried into the park, where he paced restlessly to and fro amid the fallen leaves.

  He listened anxiously to every sound, and consulted his watch every few minutes. At last the gate bell rang. He hastened to admit the visitor, and found that the baroness had understood his reply. He recognized her figure, for the face was closely veiled. She wore a pale-blue silk gown with wide sleeves—Marie’s favorite costume.

  “It is I, Herr Count,” she said in a low tone, looking anxiously about her.

  “How did you come? I did not hear the carriage,” said Count Vavel.

  “I rowed across the cove—alone, because no one must know that I came. Can any one see us here?”

  “No one.”

  “We need not go into the house,” she continued; “I can tell you here why I came.”

  Ludwig was more and more perplexed. He had believed the baroness wished to enter the Nameless Castle out of curiosity.

  “My visit,” pursued the lady, “has as little conventionality about it as had yours. The magnitude of the danger which prompted yours must also excuse mine; I am come to repay the debt I owe you.”

  “Danger?” repeated the count.

  “Yes; danger threatens you—and some one else! Let us come farther into the park, that no one may by a possible chance overhear me.”

  When they had reached a sheltered spot the lady again spoke:

  “Do you know anything about Colonel Barthelmy?”

  “I received the cards he left here when he called,” indifferently replied Count Vavel.

  “You certainly have heard more about him,” returned the baroness, a trifle impatiently. “His domestic troubles were in all the newspapers—it was a cause célèbre. He was a major in the French army, under the Directory, but entered our service when the Empire was established. The domestic troubles I referred to occurred while he was still in France. His young and beautiful wife ran away with another man—a man who is unknown to Barthelmy, who is pursuing the fugitives over the whole world—”

  “Ah! I remember now reading something about it. That is why his name seemed familiar to me.”

  “I thought you must have heard something about him,” responded the baroness, in a peculiar tone. Then, with a sudden movement, she seized his hand and whispered:

  “And you are the unknown who abducted Colonel Barthelmy’s wife.”

  “I?” in boundless amazement ejaculated the count. Then he laughed heartily.

  “Yes, you; and you are living here in seclusion with the lovely woman whose face no one is permitted to see.”

  Ludwig ceased laughing, and replied very seriously; “Gracious baroness, were I the person you believe me to be, I should have been glad to meet the man who compelled me to live here in seclusion. A skilful sword-thrust or a well-aimed bullet would have released me from this prison.”

  “And yet, everybody believes Count Vavel to be Ange Barthelmy’s lover,” responded the baroness.

  “Do you believe it, baroness?”

  “I? Perhaps—not. But Colonel Barthelmy believes it all the more firmly because you refused to see him.”

  “And suppose he had seen me?”

  “He would have asked you to introduce him to your—family.”

  “Then he would have learned that I have no family.”

  “But you could not have refused to tell him what relation you bear to the lady at the castle.”

  “My answer would have been very brief had he asked the question,” was the count’s grim response.

  “I know what men mean by a ‘brief’ answer; the result is usually fatal.”

  “And does your ladyship imagine that I fear such a result?”

  “So far as courage is concerned, I should not give any one precedence to Count Vavel. A regular duel, however, requires more than courage. Colonel Barthelmy is a soldier by profession; you are a philosopher who lives amid his studies, and whose right hand is unable to hold a pen, let alone a sword or a pistol!”

  Count Vavel was touched on the spot where men are most susceptible.

  “Who can tell whether I have always been a studious hermit?” he demanded proudly. “Besides, might it not be that my hand is unable only when I don’t want to use it?”

  “That may be,” retorted the lady. “But Barthelmy, who is perfectly insane on the subject of his wife’s infamy, would have the advantage of you. He is suspicious of every stranger; and of all the gossip which environs you, the legend of that elopement is the mildest.”

  “Indeed
? This is very flattering! Probably I am also said to be a counterfeiter?”

  “I am not jesting, Herr Count. While Colonel Barthelmy was my guest I was able to prevent him from taking any aggressive steps toward you; this is why you did not hear from him again after his last call on you—”

  “I certainly am greatly indebted to you,” interrupted Count Vavel, with visible irony.

  “You owe me no thanks, Herr Count. When a woman tries to prevent a quarrel between two men, she does so, believe me, out of pure self-love. The emotions which electrify your nerves torment ours. I could not have continued to live here had a tragic occurrence made the place memorable. That is why I prevented an encounter between you and the colonel; so you need not thank me. However, the evening before the regiment took its departure the colonel said to me: ‘I have kept my word to you, baroness; but tomorrow I cease to be your guest. I shall take steps then to learn if the mysterious lady at the Nameless Castle be Ange Barthelmy or some one else.’ ”

  At these words a deep flush crimsoned Count Vavel’s face. “I should like to know how he proposes to settle that question?” he said, in a voice that trembled with suppressed rage.

  “I will tell you. Just listen to the ridiculous plan which the man betrayed in his fury. He is quartered in the neighboring village to the edge of which you and a certain person drive every day. He is going to rise, with several friends, along the road; and when he meets your carriage, he is going to stop it, introduce himself, and demand if the lady by your side be Mme. Ange Barthelmy.”

  Count Vavel clenched his hands and closed his lips tightly. After a brief struggle he regained command of himself, and said quietly:

  “I shall, of course, reply: ‘On my word as a man of honor, this lady is not Ange Barthelmy.’ ”

  “But if that does not satisfy him? Suppose he should insist on seeing the lady? Suppose he even attempts to lift the lady’s veil?”

  “Then he dies!” The count gave utterance to these words in a tone that sounded more like the growl of a lion that has the neck of his prey between his teeth.

  “He is capable, in his present mood, of doing anything rash,” murmured the baroness, with an expression of terror in her eyes.

  “And I am capable of an equally rash act,” responded the count.

  “I believe it; I have heard of such courage before. But you must not forget that you do not belong to yourself; there is some one else you must think of before you risk your life.”

  Count Vavel started violently; he opened his lips as if to speak, but the baroness quickly raised her hand and interposed.

  “I am not trying to pry into your secret, Herr Count; I am no spy—you must have seen that ere this. All I know is that there is under your protection a woman to whom you are everything, and who will have no one should she lose you.”

  “But what can I do?” in desperation exclaimed Count Vavel. “I cannot hide in my castle until Colonel Barthelmy leaves the neighborhood. Would you have me confess to all the world that I am a coward?”

  “Let me advise you, Herr Count,” with sudden resolution responded the baroness. “Turn this matter, which you look upon as a tragedy, into a capital jest. Take me to drive with you to-day instead of your—friend.”

  Count Vavel suddenly burst into a loud laugh—from extreme anger to unrestrained merriment.

  But the baroness did not laugh with him.

  “I am in earnest, Count Vavel. Now you will understand why I came here this morning.” She drew her veil over her face, and asked: “Am I enough like her to take her place in the carriage?”

  Count Vavel was astounded. The likeness to Marie was perfect. The gown, the hat, and veil were exactly like those Marie was wont to wear when she drove out with him. The daring suggestion, however, amazed him more than anything else.

  “What! You, baroness? You would really venture to drive with me? Have you thought of the risk—the danger to yourself?”

  “I have given it as much thought as did you when you risked coming to the manor with nothing but a walking-stick to battle with four thieves. One ought not stop to think of the risk when a danger is to be averted. This adventure may end as harmlessly as the other.”

  “And suppose the colonel should by any chance see your face? No, no, baroness; there is no comparison between my venture and this plan you propose. If I had had an encounter with those thieves I might have received a wound that would soon have healed; but your pure reputation as a woman might receive a wound that would never heal.”

  A bitter smile wreathed the lady’s lips as she replied: “Could any wound that I might receive increase the burden on my heart?” She laughed harshly, then asked suddenly: “Perhaps you are afraid the colonel will think I am the mysterious lady of the Nameless Castle?”

  Count Vavel’s face reddened to the roots of his hair.

  Again the lady laughed, then said apologetically: “Pardon me, but the idea amused me. But, to return to Colonel Barthelmy, he is going very shortly to Italy with his regiment; therefore, I need not care what fables he thinks of me—or repeats. The few persons whose opinion I care for will not believe him; as for the others—pah! Come, your hand on it! Let us perpetrate this joke. If I am willing to run the risk, you surely need not hesitate.”

  And yet he hesitated.

  “Don’t speak of this plan of yours as a mischievous trick, baroness,” he said earnestly. “It is a great, a noble sacrifice—so great, indeed, that living woman could not perform a greater—to be willing to blush with shame while innocent. She who blushes for her love does not suffer; but to flush with shame out of friendship must be a torture like that endured by martyrs.”

  “Very well, then; let it be a sacrifice—as you will! I am a willing victim! I owe you a debt of gratitude; I want to pay it. Now go and order the carriage; I will wait here for you.”

  Every drop of blood in his body rebelled against his accepting this offer. A woman rescue a strong man from a threatened danger! And at what a risk!

  “Well,” a trifle impatiently exclaimed the baroness, as he still lingered, “aren’t you going to fetch your cloak? I am ready for the drive.”

  Without another word the count turned and strode toward the castle.

  Marie was satisfied with the excuse he made for not taking her with him as usual: he said he had urgent business in the neighboring village, and would have to drive there alone.

  Then he ordered Henry to harness the horses to the carriage, and drive down to the gate, where he would await him.

  He found the baroness waiting for him where he had left her.

  “Well,” she began, when he came near enough to hear her, “have you decided to take me with you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you are going to take the lady?”

  “No.”

  “Not? Then who is going with you?”

  “These two pistols,” replied the count, flinging back his cloak and revealing the weapons thrust into his pocket. “With these two companions I am going to meet the gentleman who is so determined to see the face of the veiled lady. I shall show him a lady whose face is not a subject of gossip.”

  The baroness uttered a cry of terror, and seized Count Vavel’s hand.

  “No, no; you shall not go alone. Listen. I was prepared for just such a decision on your part, so I wrote this letter. If you persist in going alone to meet the colonel, I shall hurry back to the manor, send my groom on the swiftest horse I own with this letter to Colonel Barthelmy. Read it.”

  She unfolded the letter she had taken from her pocket, and held it so that Count Vavel might read, without taking it in his hands:

  “HERR COLONEL: You need not seek Mme. Ange Barthelmy at the Nameless Castle. The veiled lady seen in company with Count Vavel is

  “B. KATHARINA LANDSKNECHTSSCHILD.”

  In speechless amazement Count Vavel looked down at the baroness, who calmly folded the letter and returned it to her pocket.

  “Now you may go if you like,” she
said coolly, “and I, too, shall do as I like! The colonel will then have written proof to justify him in dragging my name in the dust!”

  The count gazed long and earnestly into the lovely face turned defiantly toward him. What was said by those glowing eyes, what was expressed by those lips trembling with excitement, could not be mere sport. There is only one name for the emotion which urges a woman to risk so much for a man; and if Count Vavel guessed the name, then there was nothing for him to do but offer his arm to the lady and say:

  “Come, baroness, we will go together.”

  When the count assisted his veiled companion into the carriage, and took his seat by her side, not even Henry could have told that it was not his young mistress from the castle who was going to drive, as usual, with her guardian.

  It was with a singular feeling that Count Vavel looked at the woman beside him, to whom he was bound for one hour by the strongest, most dangerous of ties. Only for one hour! For this one hour the woman belonged to him as wholly, as entirely as the soul belongs to the living human being. And afterward? Afterward she would be no more to him than is the vanished soul to the dead human being.

  The carriage had arrived at the boundary of the neighboring village, where the usual turn was made for the homeward drive, and they had not yet seen any one. Had Colonel Barthelmy’s words been merely an idle threat?

  Henry knew that he was not to drive beyond this point; he mechanically turned the horses’ heads in the homeward direction, as he had done every day for years.

  On the return drive the carriage always stopped at the edge of the forest, where a shaded path led through the dense shrubbery to a cleared space some distance from the highway. This was the spot for their daily promenade.

  The count and his companion had gone but a short distance along the path when they saw coming toward them three men in uniform. They were cavalry officers. The two in the rear had on white cloaks; the one in front was without, an outer garment—merely his close-fitting uniform coal.

  “That is Barthelmy,” whispered the baroness, pressing the arm on which she was leaning.