“You’re English, aren’t you?” the old lady asked in her turn.
I admitted it.
“You’ve talked — he — he! And Her Highness heard of it. She is English, and she had you brought here from the servants’ quarters. The gracious Hoffurstliche lady has been to see you most days. How did you come to be murdered? Ach, the allmachtiger Gott may know, not I! Some rogues of Burschen brought you in looking like death, and with your pockets turned out — wunderbar! Everything taken, everything, everything! The very linings stripped!”
“I’ve seen you before,” said I, pondering. “ And the young lady there.” I pointed to a portrait of a head which stood on an easel in such a position that, as I lay, my eyes rested on it — had rested on it indeed through many a feverish night. “You were with her. Who is she?”
“He! he! That one?” The old dame rubbed her nose with her horn-rimmed spectacles. “Well to be sure it is her room — when she is here.”
“Oh! And who is she, if you please?”
“No great lady if you are thinking that, my man. Just,” with a grin, “the Lady Babetta’s governess. But of good — yes, of soldierly stock.”
English?”
“Nein, nein. Danish is she — of Altona.”
And that — that, strange to say, touched the chord of memory, and brought all back to me; the girl waiting with her attendant in the courtyard of the Golden Stag at Wittenberg, the scene at the Rathhaus, the quarrel with Perceval Ellis, the voyage down the Elbe; all the events of the days preceding my collapse, which hitherto had been wrapt in a mist that it had pained me to probe.
All this now came to mind — and I groaned. The parting, which I had meant to be an affair of days, had grown into a matter of weeks. What must they be saying of me in England? What must they be thinking of me at the Office? And the alarm of my family, when they learned that Ellis had returned alone and for all explanation could give but the bare, the damning story of our parting and of my desertion.
After all, what could I do? Days, weeks perhaps, must elapse before I could muster strength to travel, and in the meantime to fret against fate, to consume myself with impatience, would not help. Too weak to contend, I let the thought of the future slip from me, and sinking into the easy ways of an invalid as into a feather bed, I put care and all but the present from me, looked forward to the next meal, and grumbled at the fat that floated on my suppe.
And they were infinitely kind to me — I say it with gratitude. The day came when I was carried out in a chair, and henceforth I spent much of my time on the Terrace, now watching the child princess as she careered up and down behind her hoop, her bouffant skirts billowing about her slim legs, now contemplating with amusement the lean stately figure of the Grand Duke as, cane and snuffbox in hand, he paced with dignity to and fro.
Often a page followed him, bearing a flute on a velvet cushion, and from time to time His Highness would halt, exchange in lofty fashion his cane for the flute, and resuming his progress pour forth to the September air some delicate trilling melody, some morceau of Lulli or Corelli.
I seemed to see in him the old slumberous Germany with its easy-going princelings and fat canons, its high-pitched roofs and chiming belfries, its Hofrath of this and Frei-Ritters of that — the Germany still almost mediaeval, into which like a dark thunderbolt of war the modem Napoleon had burst, hurling down all, devastating all, sweeping away all, even that shadowy and venerable Empire, which after some sort had bound all together. It was a contrast that was to be even more closely presented to me — but not yet.
And he was courteous, the Grand Duke, as he was quaint. No day passed that he did not approach my chair, bid me with condescension to remain seated, inquire with affability but with real kindness, how I did. Doubtless in some degree I owed this to the fact that his wife had discovered in me an old acquaintance. Coming up to speak to me on my first appearance in the open, she had paused, gazed at me for a moment in smiling perplexity, then asked me if she had not seen me somewhere.
I had discovered this some days before, and had my answer ready. “ Your Highness’s recollection,” I said, “is as flattering as it is accurate. I was for a short time Chargé d’Affaires at Berlin in my brother’s absence.”
She clapped her hands. “Mr. Cartwright!” she exclaimed. “Of course! In 1804 or 5. You were my partner in a polonaise? I remember!”
“At the Princess Radizwill’s dance, Highness, I had the honour.”
“To be sure! Ah, poor Louise, how often I think of her, and what troubles she has gone through since that day! But how — heavens, Mr. Cartwright, how do you come to be here? In Germany? And like this?”
“With a broken head?” I answered, smiling, and told her as much as I thought wise. Naturally we became friendly — the better friends I think because we shared not only a common fatherland, but a sense of humour in which those about her were wanting.
A dainty gracious figure, she moved amid the fountains and statues as if she had stepped out of a picture by Watteau; now teasing her husband who adored her, now romping with the child, now making fun of her ancient Lady-in-Waiting, who, toiling after her, spoiled her and scolded her by turns.
It must be confessed that as I grew a little stronger not only the Lady-in-Waiting, but Her Highness’s whole entourage, furnished me with amusement which she was mischievous enough to share. The war had depleted the Grand Ducal forces by one-half — thirty of the rank and file under Graf von Heeren, the Captain of the Guard, having joined “ our cousin of Prussia’s army in the field.” Worse still, Napoleon’s imposts had made such inroads on the treasury as to restrict the splendour of the household. One day it was the trumpets that announced His Highness’s dinner that were mute — the remaining trumpeter had a cold and could not blow! Another day it was the Lady-in-Waiting whose attendance failed — she was collecting the eggs in company with the Minister of Finance — who I suppose checked them.
On another it was the Maid of Honour who was absent — she was counting the linen. Or at times the weekly game of chess — played by the Grand Duke on a gigantic chess-board in the garden, the pieces being members of the household grotesquely disguised as Castles and Knights and the like — was threatened with ruin. Pieces were lacking, and the absent ones had to be supplied from the town; while the Court Physician was elevated to the honours of the platform in place of the Graf von Heeren, His Highness’s customary opponent.
On such occasions the Grand Duchess’s eyes would meet mine and twinkle, and the old Grand Duke would lift his hands to heaven and cry “Allmachtiger Gott!” in a tone of distress irresistibly funny. Yet let me do him justice. On one day in the week the gardens were open to the townsfolk, poor and rich, gentle and simple. Some would even bring their meals and partake of them in quiet comers.
On that day the fountains played, the four sentries mounted guard, the Grand Ducal flag flew to every air, the Grand Ducal band played; and then it was a fine and touching thing to see with what kindness and simplicity the prince mixed with his people, inquired after their concerns, or tapped their flaxen-haired children on the head, his dignity as safe from trespass as if he had been surrounded by a thousand guards. For it is a singular fact that where the gradations of rank are fixed and immutable, in practice they are often and safely ignored.
They were pleasant sunny days that I spent on the Terrace, a smiling spectator while Babetta skipped and the old Lady-in-Waiting scolded, and the fountains played and the Grand Duchess laughed. I exchanged the dressing gown in which I had made my first appearance, and which fancy had once graced His Highness’s illustrious form, for a suit, abstracted I suspect from the Ober-Forster’s wardrobe.
Later I left my chair and day by day wandered farther from it, and presently I descended to the Gardens. And I should have been as content as I was grateful, had I been care-free. But, as my strength returned, anxiety, thoughts of the past and fear for the future, returned with it.
What was passing at home? At the Offi
ce? What was being said of me, and thought of me? Soon, very soon, I must be moving, I must be leaving this haven, I must be facing the world and its chill.
Sooner indeed than I expected. For one day when the Duchess was talking to me — a little disjointedly I fancied, and as if she had something on her mind — Babetta ran up to her. “I want my Norma! I want my Norma!” she cried pettishly.
“And so do I, Liebling,” her mother replied. “And next week, Gott sei gedankt, I shall have her, and a good angel-like child — instead of the runagate, much-to-mischief-inclined imp that I have.”
“Who is Norma, Highness?” I asked, though I had little doubt of the answer.
“Babetta’s governess, Fraulein Mackay — a quite delightful young person of whom I am fond. She has been absent two months attending her father, who is ill — at Altona.”
“Danish then?” I said. “But the name sounds—”
“Scotch, of course, and so is she. But her father is in the Danish service — was in the Swedish, but passed over with the territory. So Danish we call her — since to be English is not very safe here, you understand. Which brings me, Mr. Cartwright,” more gravely, “to something I have been wishing to say to you. Do you know that I am not very easy about you, my friend?”
“Indeed?”
She nodded.
CHAPTER VI
THE UNWELCOME GUEST
“HAS something occurred,” I asked, “to — to—”
“To make me uneasy?” the Grand Duchess replied. “ No,” breaking off and speaking to the child, who had returned to her side, “No, Babetta, run away and play now. I am talking to Mr. Cartwright. If you are tired of skipping, go and feed the carp. Has something occurred?” she continued, returning to me, “ Yes, I am sorry to say that something has, of a rather serious kind. Naturally when you were brought here and it was not thought that you would live, no secret was made of your presence. The police, here and at the Prussian frontier, seven miles away, were informed, and there was a hue and cry after your assailants. Later, when it came to my ears that you were English, the household were charged to say nothing about it, and I fancy that the order was observed. Nevertheless, some hint of the fact must have leaked out, for two days ago I learned that inquiries were being made about you, and made by the last man whom the Grand Duke would willingly take into his confidence.”
“Indeed,” I said. The news was unpleasant, but the desire to bear oneself well before a woman led me to speak lightly. “And who — if I may presume to inquire, Highness — is this inquisitive gentleman?”
“The Burgomaster, Huth. A wretched tool — in the French interests. A man whom we have long suspected of being employed to spy upon us.”
“And you fear that he is on the track?”
“He has undoubtedly made inquiries; and if he learns for certain that you are an Englishman it may not stop there. An Englishman is as rare here as a white crow. And in as much peril. And you have no passport or papers, you see.”
“They were taken from me by the robbers.”
“Just so, my friend, but who will believe that? And you were disguised as a Bursch — that is the difficulty. I do not wish to alarm you,” but I could see that she was no little alarmed herself, “but if Huth comes to suspect that you are a spy, you will be in considerable danger.”
“Just so,” I rejoined with as much indifference as I could muster. “ I see that. But even so I can hardly think that this Huth would dare—”
“To interfere with the Grand Duke’s guest?” Her lip curled. “No, thank God, we have not come down to that, Mr. Cartwright, low as we have fallen! No! He would not dare, presumptuous as he is! But, alas, that is not the end of the story. The armies on the Danube are dispersing, and large bodies of French troops are marching northwards on their return to the Hansa towns. Mostly they pass by way of Leipzig or Hameln. But detachments have gone by Wittenberg, and yesterday a request, which in our situation” — again her lip curled—” is a command, was received in the town to provide quarters, brandy and bread for five hundred men. Someone of importance is with them, for the largest house in the town is being prepared for him. Now, what I fear is that Huth may communicate his suspicions to the French on their passage, and in that event your situation may become perilous. It is for that reason I have thought it right to speak to you.”
The child was playing within sight, the sun of a warm October still shone, the splash of the fountains still fell pleasantly on the ear — but I felt a chill creep over me. The gardens with their flowers and statues, their glitter and gaiety, took on the look of the drop-scene of a theatre, behind which the real drama was preparing. With difficulty I suppressed a shiver, and “You think then, Highness — and I am infinitely grateful to you for your solicitude — you think that I ought to go before—”
“Before the French arrive?” gravely. “I do. I am ashamed to say it, Mr. Cartwright, but were I to tell you that the Grand Duke could protect you I should be doing you a wrong. His Highness, sovereign prince as he is, has not the power to protect you, if suspicion be once aroused! No, alas! No more than the Grand Duke of Baden had to protect his unhappy guest at Ettingen, or than the Free City of Nuremberg to save that poor bookseller whom they murdered at Brantzau! If the King of Prussia, even before Jena, dared not move a man to succour his subjects in Anspach, if after our downfall he failed to secure the safety of his own Minister, Stein, you may guess what protection you are likely to enjoy in our little Duchy! “Why,” with a gesture of despair, “even my brother in Ross-shire has more real power among his factors and cotters — ay, a hundred times more — than has the Grand Duke in his dominions if but one word fall from the mouth of Napoleon! Shame on us, shame on us, but it is so! Still—” speaking more lightly, though her heightened colour proved how much she was moved—” still we are not come to that yet. There is no call for immediate haste. You are still weak, and this is but Tuesday. The French do not arrive until Friday! If you leave us on Thursday it will be soon enough, and this will give you two more days in which to regain strength. We will see that you cross the frontier safely, and in twenty-four hours you may be in Berlin, where you will be in a better position to defend yourself.”
“Certainly,” I agreed, and added some words of heartfelt thanks. “Certainly I will do that. To the Danish Ministry I can look for some protection, and Baron Bronberg is an old acquaintance. I shall alight there. Count Hardenberg also knows me, and when I tell him my story he can hardly refuse to grant me a safe conduct,”
She looked her relief, and became once more her charming self. “Good!” she said. “That is a great relief to me. Your presence once recognized in Berlin, your position will be altered. After that, whatever is done will e the affair of every Chancellerie, and even Napoleon will not be anxious to touch the person of an Envoy au nez du monde entier. Yet,” rubbing her piquant nose with the handle of her fan, “I do not know what he will not dare; he has so often overridden every law, and every privilege! Ah, the despot!”
“But only,” I replied cheerfully, for I had until Friday and the risk was dissipated as soon as seen —
“where the prize has been worth the odium. And I cannot flatter myself that I am of so much value. I may incur a short detention in Berlin, or at worst be interned until the end of the war.”
“But even that,” with a grimace, “would not be pleasant.”
“No, but compared with the fate of a spy it is a small matter. In the present, Highness,” I added with feeling, “I am more concerned how I may express my profound gratitude to you and to the Grand Duke for all your kindness.”
“To the Grand Duke — c’esca, Monsieur! His heart is of gold — no one knows it better than I! But for me,” with emotion, “am I not a countrywoman? Am I not also English? Have I not also a right to be proud — proud when I think that it is my country that stands, ever and unflinching, in the tyrant’s way? That thwarts his schemes, and tarnishes his triumphs, and alone bars his way to that Empire of the wo
rld at which he aims. Ay, and that, for every enemy, every coalition his genius overthrows, raises up another enemy and even another coalition! What prizes had been Malta and Egypt, my friend, if Nelson had not destroyed him at the Nile! How splendid Austerlitz, if Trafalgar had not destroyed its value! How welcome Wagram, if Talavera had not poisoned the cup! He may flatter himself that he is Charlemagne, but while the tides flow, and the sea is salt, and England stands, he will never be Alexander! English? Ah, but I am proud to be English! To be more English than the English — as is every exile! I am more proud of, more conscious of the mother that bred me, than the home-children! And shall an Englishman thank me when I succour him? Shall I not rather thank fortune for the opportunity?”
Her feeling so irradiated her beauty that I could liken her to no one I had ever seen except to her friend, the Patriot Queen, the Queen of Prussia and of Hearts. I could not trust myself to speak. I bent over her hand and kissed it.
She blushed, not at my action, but at her own vehemence. And smiling, “Now I leave you, my friend,” she said. “You have two days. Eat, drink, and grow strong. Play battledore with Babetta. Her Norma returns to-morrow, and it fits in well. The return carriage can convey you to Berlin on Thursday. As far as we can, we will see that you are provided with all things fitting, and when the opportunity occurs you can repay me with caps d I’anglaise and millinery from Bond Street. Dear, delightful Bond Street, how I long to walk down your pavement!”
She tripped, laughing, away, and not before it was time if I was to leave her without a heartache. Shall I be thought the worse, shall I appear very silly, if I own that I spent the next half-hour in foolish musings — in dreams of what might have been had we met earlier, had I been the first to besiege that loyal and generous heart, to encounter the smiles of those arch and bewitching eyes, and had there been no Grand Duke of Zerbst to force me to raise my plebeian siege.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 684