The Nameless Castle

by Maurus Jokai

  The count’s expression of calm indifference did not change. He walked with a firm step toward the approaching officers.

  Very soon they stood face to face.

  The colonel was a tall, distinguished-looking man; he carried his head well upright, and every movement spoke of haughty self-confidence and pride.

  “Herr Count Vavel, I believe?” he began, halting in front of Ludwig and his companion. “Allow me to introduce myself; I am Colonel Vicomte Leon Barthelmy.”

  Count Vavel murmured something which gave the colonel to understand that he (the count) was very glad to learn the gentleman’s name.

  “I have long desired to make your acquaintance,” continued the colonel (his companions had halted several paces distant). “I was so unfortunate as not to find you at home the three calls I made at your castle. Now, however, I shall take this opportunity to say to you what I wanted to say then. First, however, let me introduce my friends,”—waving his hand toward the two officers,—“Captain Kriegeisen and Lieutenant Zagodics, of Emperor Alexander’s dragoons.”

  Count Vavel again gave utterance to his pleasure on making the acquaintance of the colonel’s friends. Then he said courteously:

  “In what way can I serve you, Herr Colonel?”

  “In a very simple manner, Herr Count,” responded the colonel. “I have had the peculiar misfortune which sometimes overtakes a married man; my wife deceived me, and ran away with her lover, whom I do not even know. As mine is not one of those phlegmatic natures which can meekly tolerate such an indignity, I am searching for the fugitives—for what purpose I fancy you can guess. For four years my quest has been fruitless; I have been unable to find a trace of the guilty pair. A lucky chance at last led me to this secluded corner of the earth, and here I learned that—but, to be brief, Herr Count, I owe it to my heart and to my honor to ask you this question: Is not this lady by your side, who is always closely veiled, Ange Barthelmy, my wife?”

  “Herr Vicomte Leon de Barthelmy,” calmly replied Count Vavel, “I give you my word of honor as a cavalier that this lady never was your wife.”

  The colonel laughed in a peculiar manner.

  “Your word of honor, Herr Count, would be entirely satisfactory in all other questions save those relating to the fair sex—and to war. You will excuse me, therefore, if I take the liberty to doubt your assertion in this case, and request you to prove that my suspicions are at fault. Without this proof I will not move from this spot.”

  “Then I am very sorry for you, Herr Colonel,” returned Count Vavel, “but I shall be compelled to leave you and your suspicions in possession of this spot.”

  He made as if he would pass onward; but the colonel politely but with decision barred the path.

  “I must request that you wait a little longer, Herr Count,” he said, his face darkening.

  “And why should I?” demanded the count.

  “To convince me that the lady on your arm is not my wife,” was the reply, in an excited tone.

  “You will have to remain unconvinced,” in an equally excited tone retorted Count Vavel; and for a brief instant it was a question which of the two enraged men would strike the first blow.

  The threatening scene was suddenly concluded by the baroness, who flung back her veil, exclaiming: “Here, Colonel Barthelmy, you may convince yourself that I am not your wife.”

  Leon Barthelmy started in amazement, and hastily laid his hand against his lips as if to repress the words which had rushed to them. Then he bowed with exaggerated courtesy, and said: “I most humbly beg your pardon, Herr Count Vavel. This lady is not Ange Barthelmy. These gentlemen are witnesses that I have asked your pardon in the proper form.”

  The colonel’s companions, who had come hastily forward at the threatened conflict between their superior and the count, were gazing in a peculiar manner at the lady whose hospitality they had so lately enjoyed. Colonel Barthelmy also, although he bowed with elaborate courtesy before the baroness, cast upon her a glance that was full of insulting scorn.

  The situation had changed so rapidly—as when a sudden flash of lightning illumines the darkness of night; and like the electric flash a light sped into Vavel’s heart and illumined it with a delicious, a heavenly warmth that made it throb madly. But only for an instant. Then he realized that this woman who had dared everything for his sake had been insulted by the glance of scorn and derision.

  He had now lost all control of himself. He snatched a pistol from his pocket, directed the muzzle toward Colonel Barthelmy’s sneering face, and said in a voice that quivered with savage fury:

  “I demand that you beg this lady’s pardon.”

  “You do?” coolly returned the colonel, still smiling, and gazing calmly into the muzzle of the pistol.

  “Yes—or I will blow out your brains!”

  The two officers accompanying the colonel drew their swords. The baroness uttered a cry of terror, and flung herself on Vavel’s breast.

  “I presume you will allow me to inquire, first, what relation this lady bears to you?”

  Colonel Barthelmy asked the question in measured tones; and without an instant’s hesitation came Count Vavel’s reply:

  “The lady is my betrothed wife.”

  The sneer vanished from the colonel’s lips, and the swords of his companions were returned to their scabbards.

  “I hasten to apologize,” said the colonel. “Accept, madame, my deepest reverence, and do not refuse to forgive the insulting scorn my ignorance caused me to express. Permit me to convince you of my sincere homage, by this salute.”

  He bent his head and pressed his lips to one of the lady’s hands, which were clasped about Count Vavel’s arm. Then, with his helmet still in his hand, he turned to Count Vavel, and added: “Are you satisfied?”

  “Yes,” was the curt reply.

  “Then let us shake hands—without malice. Accept my sincerest congratulations. To you, baroness, I give thanks for the lesson you have taught me this morning.”

  He bowed once more, then stepped to one side, indicating that the way was clear.

  The baroness drew her veil over her face, and, clinging tremblingly to the arm of her escort, walked by his side back to the highway, the three officers following at a respectful distance.

  When they emerged from the forest they saw the three horses which had been left by the colonel and his companions in charge of the grooms. Henry must have told the gentlemen where to find his master.

  With what different emotions Count Vavel returned to the castle! The dreamer in his slumbers had given utterance to words which betrayed what he had been dreaming, and he compelled the vision to abide with him even after he had wakened. He felt that he had the right to do what he had done. This woman loved him as only a woman can love; and what he had done had only been his duty, for he loved her! What he had said was no falsehood—the words had not been forced from him merely to preserve her honor; they were the truth.

  Count Vavel stopped the carriage at the park gate, assisted his companion to alight, and sent Henry on to the castle with the horses.

  “What have you done?” in a deeply agitated voice exclaimed the baroness, when they were alone in the park.

  “I gave expression to the feeling which is in my heart.”

  “And do you realize what that has done?”

  “What has it done?”

  “It has made it impossible for us to meet again—for us ever to speak again to each other.”

  “I cannot see it in that light.”

  “You could were you to give it but a moment’s serious thought. I do not ask what the mysterious lady at the castle is to you; I know, however, that you must be everything to her. Pray don’t believe me cruel enough to rob her of her whole world. I cannot ask you to believe a lie—I cannot pretend that you are nothing to me. I have allowed you to look too deeply into my heart to deny my feelings. But there is something besides love in my heart! it is pride. I am too proud to take you from the woman to whom
you are bound—no matter by what ties. Therefore, we must not meet again in this life; we may meet again in another world! Pray do not come any farther with me; I can easily find the way to my boat. No one at the manor knows of my absence. I must be careful to return as I came—unseen. And now, one request: Do not try to see me again. Should you do so, it will compel me to flee from the neighborhood. Adieu!”

  She drew her veil closer over her face, and passed swiftly with noiseless steps through the gateway.

  Ludwig Vavel stood where she had left him, and looked after her until she vanished from his sight amid the trees. Then he turned and walked slowly toward the castle.

  CHAPTER III

  Count Vavel did not see Marie, after his return from the drive with the baroness, until dinner. He had not ventured into her presence until then, when he fancied he had sufficiently mastered his emotions so that his countenance would not betray him. The consciousness of his disloyalty to the young girl troubled him, and he could not help but tremble when he came into her presence. It was not permitted to him to bestow his heart on any one. Did he not belong, soul and body, to this innocent creature, whom he had sworn to defend with his life?

  From that hour, however, Marie’s behavior toward him was changed. He could see that she strove to be attentive and obedient, but she was shy and reserved. Did she suspect the change in him? or could it be possible that she had seen the baroness driving with him? It was very late when her bell signaled that she had retired, and when Ludwig entered the outer room, as usual, he found a number of books lying about on the table. Evidently the young girl had been studying.

  The next morning Ludwig came at the usual hour to conduct her to the carriage.

  “Thank you, but I don’t care to drive to-day,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Riding out in a carriage does not benefit me.”

  “When did you discover this?”

  “Some time ago.”

  Ludwig looked at her in astonishment. What was the meaning of this? Could she know that some one else had occupied her place in the carriage yesterday?

  “And will you not go with me tomorrow?”

  “If you will allow me, I shall stay at home.”

  “Is anything the matter with you, Marie?”

  “Nothing. I don’t like the jolting of the carriage.”

  “Then I shall sell the horses.”

  “It might be well to do so—if you don’t want them for your own use. I shall take my exercise in the garden.”

  “And in the winter?”

  “Then I will promenade in the court, and make snow images, as the farmers’ children do.”

  And the end of the matter was that Ludwig sold the horses, and Marie’s outdoor exercises were restricted to the garden. Moreover, she studied and wrote all day long.

  When she went into the garden, Josef, the gardener’s boy, was sent elsewhere so long as she chose to remain among the flowers.

  One afternoon Josef had been sent, as usual, to perform some task in the park while Marie promenaded in the garden. He was busily engaged raking together the fallen leaves, when Marie suddenly appeared by his side, and said breathlessly:

  “Please take this letter.”

  The youth, who was speechless with astonishment and confusion at sight of the lady he had been forbidden to look at, slowly extended his hand to comply with her request when Count Vavel, who had swiftly approached, unseen by either the youth or Marie, with one hand seized the letter, and with the other sent Josef flying across the sward so rapidly that he fell head over heels into some shrubbery.

  Then the count thrust the letter into his pocket, and without a word drew the young girl’s hand through his arm, and walked swiftly with her into the castle. The count conducted his charge into the library. He had not yet spoken a word. His face was startlingly pale with anger and terror.

  When they two were alone within the four walls of the library, he said, fixing a reproachful glance on her:

  “You were going to send a letter to some one?”

  The young girl calmly returned his glance, but did not open her lips.

  “To whom are you writing, Marie?”

  Marie smiled sadly, and drooped her head.

  Vavel then drew the letter from his pocket, and read the address:

  “To our beautiful and kind-hearted neighbor.”

  The count looked up in surprise.

  “You are writing to Baroness Landsknechtsschild!” he exclaimed, not without some confusion.

  “I did not know her name; that is why I addressed it so.”

  Vavel turned the letter in his hands, and saw that the seal had been stamped with the crest which was familiar to all the world.

  He hurriedly crushed it into bits, and, unfolding the letter, read:

  “DEAR, BEAUTIFUL, AND GOOD LADY: I want you to love my Ludwig. Make him happy. He is a good man. I am nothing at all to him.

  “MARIE.”

  When he had read the touching epistle, he buried his face in his hands, and a bitter sob burst from his tortured heart.

  Marie looked sorrowfully at his quivering frame, and sighed heavily.

  “Oh, Marie! To think you should write this! Nothing at all to me!” murmured the young man, in a choking voice.

  “’Nothing at all,’ ” in a low tone repeated Marie.

  Vavel moved swiftly to her side, and, looking down upon her with his burning eyes still filled with tears, asked in an unsteady voice:

  “What do you want, Marie? Tell me what you wish me to do.”

  Marie softly took his hand in both her own, and said tremulously:

  “I want you to give me a companion—a mother. I want some one to love,—a woman that I can love,—one who will love me and command me. I will be an obedient and dutiful daughter to such a woman. I will never grieve her, never disobey her. I am so very, very lonely!”

  “And am not I, too, alone and lonely, Marie?” sadly responded Vavel.

  “Yes, yes. I know that, Ludwig. It is your pale, melancholy face that oppresses me and makes me sad. Day after day I see the pale face which my cruel, curse-laden destiny has buried here with me. I know that you are unhappy, and that I am the cause of it.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Marie! who has given you such fancies?”

  “The long, weary nights! Oh, how much I have learned from the darkness! It was not merely caprice that prompted me to ask you once what death meant. Had you questioned me more fully then, I should have confessed something to you. That time, when you rescued me from death, you gave my name to Sophie Botta, who also took upon herself my fate. I don’t know what became of her. If she died in my stead, may God comfort her! If she still lives, may God bless and help her to reign in my stead! But give me the name of Sophie Botta; give me the clothes of a working-girl; give me God’s free world, which she enjoyed. Let me become Sophie Botta in reality, and let me wash clothes with the washerwomen at the brook. If Sophie and I exchanged lives, let the exchange become real. Let me learn what it is to live, or—let me learn what it is to die.”

  In speechless astonishment Count Vavel had listened to this passionate outburst. It was the first time he had ever heard the gentle girl speak so excitedly.

  “Madame,” he said with peculiar intonation, when she had ceased speaking, “I am now convinced that I am the guardian of the most precious treasure on this terrestrial ball. Henceforward I shall watch over you with redoubled care.”

  “That will be unnecessary,” proudly returned the young girl. “If you wish to feel certain that I will patiently continue to abide in this Nameless Castle, then make a home here for me—bring some happiness into these rooms. If I see that you are happy I shall be content.”

  “Marie, Marie, the day of my perfect happiness only awaits the dawn of your own! And that yours will come I firmly believe. But don’t look for it here, Marie. Don’t ask for impossibilities. Marie, were my own mother, whom I worshiped, still living, I could not bring her within thes
e walls to learn our secret.”

  “The woman who loves will not betray a secret.”

  For an instant Ludwig did not reply; then he said:

  “And if it were true that some one loves me as you fancy, could I ask her to bury herself here—here where there is no intercourse with the outside world? No, no, Marie; we cannot expect any one else to become an occupant of this tomb—the gates of which will not open until the trump of deliverance sounds.”

  “And will it be long before that trump sounds, Ludwig?”

  “I believe—nay, I know it must come very soon. The signs of the times are not deceptive. Our resurrection may be nearer than we imagine; and until then, Marie, let us endure with patience.”

  Marie pressed her guardian’s hand, and drew a long sigh.

  “Yes; we will endure—and wait,” she repeated. “And now, give me back my letter.”

  “Why do you want it, Marie?”

  “I shall keep it, and sometime send it to the proper address—when the angel of deliverance sounds his trump.”

  “May God hasten his coming!” fervently appended the count.

  But he did not give her the letter.

  Count Vavel now rarely ventured beyond the gate of the Nameless Castle. The weather had become stormy, and a severe frost had robbed the garden of its beauties. The very elements seemed to have combined against the dwellers in the castle. Even the lake suddenly began to extend its limits, overflowing its banks, and inundating meadows and gardens. Marie’s little pleasure-garden suffered with the rest of the flooded lands, and threatened to become an unsightly swamp.

  Count Vavel, knowing how Marie delighted to ramble amid her flowers, determined to protect the garden from further destruction. Laborers were easily secured. The numerous families of working-people who had been rendered homeless by the inundation besieged the castle for assistance and work, and none were turned empty-handed away. A small army was put to work to construct an embankment that would prevent further encroachment upon the garden by the water, while to Herr Mercatoris the count sent a liberal sum of money to be distributed among the sufferers by the flood.