CHAPTER II.
In the custody of the Grand Marshall, Algernon Grey was removed from the presence of the Elector, and passing across the hall where he had seen Agnes waiting, he was led into one of the open galleries which ran along the great court on one side, and thence by innumerable small passages, scarcely large enough for two persons to thread them abreast, to the door of a chamber which opened upon one of the landing-places of a tolerably wide staircase.
The door was low, scarcely of the height of the young Englishman's head, and covered with large bars and bands of iron, as well as heavy-headed nails. When it was opened, it displayed on the right-hand side a small ante-room, with a high window, opposite to which was another low-browed arch with a door, and beyond that a third door equally solid and strong with the first.
The Lord of Helmstadt, as they passed, pointed towards the arch on the left, saying, in a courteous tone: "There will be your bedroom, and here your servants can remain, if, as I trust, it be the Elector's pleasure that your usual attendants should be admitted to you." As he spoke, he led the way towards the third door; and, turning the heavy key that was in the lock, opened it, motioning the young Englishman to go in.
Algernon Grey did so in silence, and with no very pleasant anticipations; but he was agreeably disappointed in finding himself in a room bearing very little the aspect of a prison, cheerful in itself, and commanding that same unrivalled view, which he had beheld before from the castle grounds. In shape, the chamber was an exact half-moon; the large round tower in which it was situated being cut by a partition, which left this segment as a sort of wide saloon; while the other half was again divided into two, the one portion being appropriated to the purposes of a bed-room, and the second and lesser part serving as an ante-room, except a small space which was separated from the rest to contain the staircase.
The furniture of the room was costly and convenient. Nothing was wanting that could contribute to the comfort of its denizen; and Algernon Grey drew from the aspect of the whole place an augury that it was not the Elector's intention to show any very great severity towards him. The hangings, the tables, the velvet chairs, however attracted but little of his attention; for he walked at once forward to one of the three large windows, through which the full torrent of light was streaming into the room, though not indeed the sunshine; for it was yet morning, and that side of the tower looked to the south and west.
"A glorious prospect," he said, turning to the Marshall; "methinks a day or two's sojourn here will be no great infliction. Nevertheless, I protest against the right of any one to place me in confinement for that which I have done. Endurance, however, is a serviceable quality; and the Elector's will must be obeyed; but I do trust that I shall not be left here without some attendants within call; and that my servants and baggage may be brought up from the inn, where I left them, little anticipating imprisonment."
"I will take the Elector's farther commands," replied the Lord of Helmstadt. "Of course some persons will be appointed to attend upon you; but whether your own servants, or not, I cannot say.--I must leave you alone for a time, greatly grieving that such a chance should have befallen so gallant a gentleman. We all know John of Oberntraut well; and there is not a man in all the court who doubts that he has provoked this affair; but the Elector has been very strict in such matters lately, and of course he cannot show favour even were he inclined."
Thus saying, he withdrew; and Algernon was left alone. For an instant he gazed round the room, while the key grated heavily in the lock, and then laughed in a light cheerful tone. "Here I am a captive," he said; "well, though unexpected, it is no great matter. A few short hours, a few short days, what are they from the sum of life; and, forgetting that I have lost my liberty, I will think myself a prince hospitably received, well lodged, and only, like the slave of the Harem, not suffered to go abroad. What an idle thing it is for a man to fret and wear himself with vain regrets over the loss of that shadowy thing, the portion of freedom that is left him by the usages of the world. In courts and cities, with the stiff bit of the law beneath his jaws, he is trained and curbed up by the habits of the land to go through his taught paces, like a horse in the manege, curveting here, and passaging there, with hardly a natural step in his whole allure. Here, with no eves to watch me, with no form of restraint or customary ceremonies, I can have more real freedom than in a king's halls, although yonder door be locked and bolted. What is it that makes imprisonment painful? Either the anticipation of farther evil as its dark termination, or the prospect of its indefinite, perhaps interminable, extent. In a few days I shall be free. They dare not do me wrong. I have nothing farther to apprehend. Why should the locking of that door jar upon my ear, when the hand that turns the key is on the outside? Had it been my own hand, ere I lay down to sleep, it would have been nothing--no, no, I will bear it lightly. Man doubles all the evils of his fate by pondering over them; a scratch becomes a wound, a slight an injury, a jest an insult, a small peril a great danger; and a light sickness often ends in death by the brooding apprehensions of the sick.--What a magnificent scene! Methinks, I could contemplate that view for ever; and, forgetting all the world, live here an anchorite in the midst of a great city, worshipping God in the grand temple of his brightest works."
Vain, oh! how vain is it in man to strive, by the mere power of intellect, to quell or overrule the natural affections of the heart. The stoical philosophy would have broken down instantly, had not its teachers skilfully applied emollients to its harsh sternness, teaching not alone to bear the evils that fate inflicts, but often, also, to fly from them--ay, to fly, even though the place of refuge was the tomb: for, after all, the magnificent-miened crime of suicide, was but a cowardly flight before a conquering army of the world's ills.
Vain was all the reasoning of Algernon Grey; and silently and slowly the solitary moments, as they passed, sapped the foundations of the tall edifice of lofty thoughts which he had so confidently built up. First he began to find the time go slowly; he felt delight in the beauty of the scene, it is true, but it was all still: nothing moved: the very air had fallen away, so that the leaves of the trees stirred not on the branches; and the green Neckar looked like a sheet of solid glass. He could not see into the streets of the town; the thickness of the walls excluded the garden below; the sky overhead was without a cloud; the glowing heat of the day kept the birds quiet; and the light changed so slowly, that the creeping on of the shadow here and the sunshine there was imperceptible to the eye. The prospect was beautiful; but it became monotonous; and a storm or cloud would have been a relief.
He began to turn his eyes towards the door, and wished that some one would come. The knowledge that it was locked became oppressive to him; he felt that his philosophy was failing, and he determined to find or make an occupation. He had not yet seen the bed-room; and, walking through the door, which communicated with it, he examined the furniture it contained, looked out of the high window over the roofs of some of the buildings and against the walls of others. A pigeon, seated upon one of the gables, took flight at that moment, and whirled up into the free air. Algernon Grey knew then how much he had felt the loss of liberty; for to witness the bird's flight was joy to him; and yet it woke melancholy associations. As he saw it spreading its pinions lightly in the clear sky, sweeping round in a gay circle, and then darting away to meadow or to corn-field, he thought how beautiful a thing freedom is, how terrible is its loss.
The bird disappeared; and walking slowly back into the other chamber, he seated himself in the window and gazed out; but bitter thoughts took possession of him; and the mind rambled on from one sad train of images to another. He thought of human life, its griefs, its cares, its changes. He viewed it all darkly, both its accidents and its ordinary course. "What is it," he said, "but a gradual development, filled with many an evil and many a danger, a short maturity and a long and sad decay? Scarcely have we touched our prime, when some failing power, some slackened energy, some corporeal, or some mental weakness, warns us that we are on the descent, and that all is thenceforward downward, downward to the grave. Thenceforward the game of life is all loss. One after another we cast the dice for a new stake; and fate is ever the winner against us; till, bankrupt in body and in mind, we go to bed, and sleep--forgotten. Then, too, how often, even in the days of our highest energies, comes something to bar us from the treasures that we covet; some small but fatal obstacle, over which all our hopes fall prostrate; the eternal stumbling-block of circumstance that gives the ever-flying good time to escape us. Often!--Nay I should have said ever; for that dark inscrutable hand of fate, still mingles with the cup of joy, even when sparkling most brightly in the hand of youth, the bitter drop that soon pervades it all."
He turned his mind to other things. "Well, it matters not," he thought, "there is surely one unalloyed pleasure, at all events,--to do good, to save, protect, befriend." Then, for an instant, his fancy rested joyfully upon the events of the night before. He thought of Agnes Herbert--of having saved her from destruction--of having rescued her from the dark waters of that turbulent stream--of having given back to life that creature, so full of all life's brightest energies; and, for a moment, he was happy. She rose before him in her young beauty, sparkling with graces, heart beaming from her eyes; love and happiness upon her lips; her clear, fair brow, like the expanse of heaven; and the soul of loveliness in every look and every movement. The vision was too bright; and, clasping his hands together, he fixed his eyes upon the ground, murmuring bitterly through his closed teeth: "Yet she never can be mine!"
Deep, deep and gloomy were his meditations after; and more than one hour passed by, ere he moved a single muscle; till, at length, he heard a step, and a voice speaking without; and, starting up, he strove to clear his brow, brushing back the hair from his forehead, and looking grave, but not so sad. The key was turned in the door; and the next moment, two faces, which he knew well, presented themselves, those of Herbert and William Lovet.
Herbert stayed not long. "For the first time in life, Master Grey," he said, "I have petitioned to be a gaoler; but I have so much to thank you for, that I might well undertake that office on your behalf, to soften, as much as possible, your captivity, which will not be long, I trust. My thanks and my plans of all kinds must have greater room than I will now give to them, as your cousin is here to talk with you; but I will see you again, ere the day be over, and, in the mean time, provide for your comfort, as far as may be. So fare-you-well for the present;" and, shaking him warmly by the hand, he turned to Lovet, saying: "The guard without knows your person, and will give you exit when you require it. You can come hither as often as you like during the day; but after sunset the gates of the tower, by the Elector's orders, must be closed against all visitors."
"Thanks, colonel, thanks," answered Lovet, and gazed after him to the door, ere he spoke to his cousin. The opening of his conversation was as strange as usual; for he began with a loud burst of laughter.
"Caged, Algernon, caged!" he exclaimed. "Well, upon my life, a mighty pretty dungeon, and convenient! Velvet chairs, upon my life; and a ravishing prospect, as poets would call it. Good soup, a bottle of rich wine, and bread not too brown, and, methinks, you are comfortably provided for. On my life, I am greatly indebted to the Elector."
"You seem to enjoy his bounty towards me, certainly," answered Algernon Grey, with a slight touch of bitterness; "may I know, William, whether it is from kindly sympathy with my pleasures, or from personal satisfaction, you derive your merriment?"
"Oh, personal, personal!" exclaimed Lovet. "That celebrated cardinal, the son of a butcher and master of monarchs, bright Wolsey, was a frank and sincere man; and when he wrote 'ego et rex meus,' he only did what every other man would do, if he were not a hypocrite, namely, put himself first, that is to say in the place which he occupied in his own consideration. I love you second to myself, dear Algernon.--Don't tell sweet Madam de Laussitz, or her deep sleepy eyes would flash with indignation, to think that I loved any thing or any body, but her fair self. However, can you deny that I have great obligations to the Elector? Here he has caged my bird, just as I thought it was about to take flight, and that I should be obliged to follow. It answers my purpose just as well as if you had fallen in love with all the ladies of the court together, and stayed philandering in orange bowers. As to yourself, from what I know of you, the Elector's prison will be much more pleasant than Cupid's chain; and, on my life, he has put the jewel in a very snug casket. Here you are, like a poor simple Catholic girl's new crucifix, wrapped up in cotton, and laid upon a shelf, all safe and sheltered; while I, like the same poor maiden, go wandering at large in my worldly vanities."
"Take care, William," answered Algernon Grey, "that your vanities don't get you into worse than this."
"Heaven and earth listen to the man!" exclaimed William Lovet, laughing. "Think of his preaching decorum to me! Did I not tell you long ago, Algernon, that your vices were much more serious ones than mine? Here, instead of bowing down and worshipping the embroidered hem of some fair lady's petticoat, the very first thing you do in a strange country is, to go and cut a poor man's throat. Now, I will ask you fairly and candidly, which is the worst, to amuse an hour or two in giving and receiving pleasure; or to spend your time like a wild cat in a holly bush, scratching your neighbour's heart out?--The thing won't bear an argument, cousin of mine. I am the moral and well-regulated young man; and you are the reprobate."
"I only cut another man's throat, as you call it, William, in defence of my own life," replied Algernon Grey; "but, of all men, you should be the last to find fault with such a transaction. Methinks I have heard of some six or seven of such affairs upon your hands."
"Ay, but I never begin with fighting," answered Lovet; "when driven to such extremities, I can't help it. I always commence with love and affection; and, if it end with hate and naked rapiers, it is no fault of mine. And so you pinked this Oberntraut! Why, you deserve thanks for that, too. Really it was a public service; if he die, there will be one bubble less upon the stream of the world; and, if he recover, the bleeding and the lesson will do him an immense deal of good. 'Tis a pity it was not in the spring; for that is the time, the doctors say, to let blood."
"Pray, do not jest upon the subject, my good cousin," answered Algernon Grey; "I went unwillingly on a quarrel not of my own seeking; I did what I scarcely judged right to save my honour; and I bitterly regret that I was forced to wound a gentleman, who was too skilful a swordsman to be disarmed. Let us talk of other things."
"Pooh!" said Lovet, "he's a coxcomb, and deserved it. If you had not done it, I would have done it for you.--But to talk of other things, as you say. The Elector can certainly mean you no harm by assigning you so pleasant a place for imprisonment. When you have got up your clothes and a few books, you will be as comfortable here as at the inn with a sprained ankle--more so; for you will want the pain. Then, my dear Algernon, you will be out of all temptation, which is a great thing in your case. Here you can neither drink, nor swear, nor game, nor make love; in short, you are now physically in the state, to which you voluntarily reduce yourself morally, and are cut off from all the little pleasures of life by that door, instead of a puritanical spirit.--I could myself be very comfortable here but for one thing. I have often thought, as I like to try every sort of emotion in this world, that I would make myself a voluntary prisoner for a few days, only I could never determine upon the gaol."
"And pray what is the one thing wanting in this sweet place?" asked Algernon Grey; "the one thing I want is liberty; but, I suppose, that is not what you mean?"
"Oh, dear no," cried Lovet, "I mean woman's company; I should require something sadly to play with, to teaze, to irritate, and to amuse myself with, as I would a petted child, and then to soothe her with soft caresses, and look into her liquid eyes, half full of tears, half light. Liberty! Pooh! liberty is nothing. I would sell myself for a sequin to a Turk, if he would but engage to imprison me in his harem. But, on my life! if I were shut up in a prison for any of my small misdemeanours, I would get some fair girl or another to come and entertain me at any price, were it but the gaoler's fat daughter."
Thus went he on for well nigh an hour, with gay, light, apparently thoughtless talk; but yet it was all calculated to produce a certain impression; and it must not be denied that, in a degree, it did so. He never mentioned the name of Agnes Herbert; he never alluded to her in the most remote manner; he spoke not of his cousin's gallant conduct on the preceding night; he seemed to be ignorant of all that had taken place, except the duel and the arrest. But yet his conversation turned Algernon's thoughts to Agnes, and made him long for her society. His words called up a pleasant dream of how she might cheer the hours of imprisonment, how, under other circumstances, she might make the sad and weary day the sweetest and the brightest of life. Algernon gave himself up to the dream too. As he had no substantial source of pleasure, he fancied he might as well console himself from the stores of imagination; and on Agnes his thoughts rested, fondly, tenderly, even while his cousin remained with him.
Lovet marked well the effect he produced; the meditative look, the occasional absence of mind, the random answer, and a sigh that once broke forth; and, when he thought he had succeeded sufficiently, he rose to go.
"Well, Algernon," he said, "what shall I send you up?--clothes, books, and an instrument of music by the hands of a pretty maid, if I can find one. They tell me, you must not have your man; but the category did not include the fair sex; and, unless they are barbarians, they will let you have a femme-de-chambre, though they exclude a valet.--Come, come, do not look so grave. I must go and pay my devotions, but first will despatch all that you may require.--Leave it to me, I will make a good selection, never fear; and your little coxcomb, Frill, shall carry them all hither, and see if they will let him stay to tend upon you. Whatever be their rules and regulations, if they view him justly, he can fall under none of them; for Heaven only knows what class the little devil belongs to; I am only certain that he is neither man, woman, nor child.
"Well, send him at all events," answered Algernon Grey; "it would be convenient if they let him stay. Send a lute, too, if you can find one in the town."
"A lute!" exclaimed Lovet. "On my life! the man will fall in love at last, if it be but by twanging catgut to his own sweet voice. To think, that two pieces of white board, strung with the entrails of a tame tiger, should give a reasonable creature, full of intellect as he thinks himself, the best consolation in adversity, is a sort of marvel--a lute! Heaven bless the mark!--Well, you shall have a lute, if it be but to make you commit a folly for once in your life and sing soft ditties to a certain spot in the ceiling.--Adieu, cousin, adieu! I will see you again to-morrow."
"Bring me news of this young baron's state, if you can get them," said Algernon Grey.
"Happy for him, I am not his physician," answered Lovet; and thus saying he left the room. When he was gone, the prisoner relapsed into thought again; but he had found out--or at least his cousin's words had suggested--a new source of pleasant meditations. They were dangerous ones, it must be owned--those sweet alluring fancies which lead us along far, much farther than we know of, with steps as light as if the foot rested upon clouds. It was weak, but it was very natural so to give way. For long, long hours there was no occupation for his mind. The choice, if it could be called a choice, was between dark and gloomy broodings over a bitter point in his fate, together with sad anticipations of the future, on the one hand; and, on the other, an unreal dream of happiness, which could hardly, by any possibility, be verified, but which yet presented itself to fancy every moment, when thought was left free to roam, unrestrained by a powerful will. Is it wonderful that he grew weary of the struggle? Is it surprising that more and more he gave way to the bright deceptions of a warm eager heart and quick imagination? Is it to be marvelled at, that in the dull hours of solitude, he turned from the gloomy pictures presented by reason and memory, to gaze upon the glowing pageantry of fancy and hope? Ah, no! And so constituted mentally and corporeally, so situated in the past and in the present, few, very few men on earth would be found to resist more than he resisted, to do otherwise than he did. He yielded his heart to the only comfort it could receive, he yielded his mind to the only thoughts that were bright; and, though his stern resolve to do all that was right maintained its place, yet the traitors of our peace were busily undermining in secret the defences of the castle in which he trusted. He made Agnes Herbert the companion of his thoughts. He saw her with the mind's eye; the tones of her sweet voice came back to his ear melodiously; the glance of her clear soft eye, with all its tempered brightness, seemed upon him again; the very memory of her grace and beauty brought sunshine with it, as sometimes, when we shut our eyes in the darkness of the night, resplendent scenes come back to sight, all vivid and distinct, as if they were painted in light upon our closed eyelids. He made a happiness for himself where none other was to be found; and if it was a weakness, be it remembered he was but man.
Nothing was, indeed, wanting to mere corporeal comfort, except freedom. A well-served table was provided for him; one of the Elector's servants attended to all that could lighten his captivity; his clothes, some books, and a lute were brought up in the course of the day; and a small hand-bell was placed upon a table that he might have the means of summoning attendance when he needed it. His page, indeed, was not admitted; and no one visited his chamber after the hour of dinner, but once when he rang. His thoughts, however, had by this time chosen their own course. He read little; he touched not the instrument of music; but, seated near the window, he gazed out; and thought while, wandering slowly round to the west, the bright summer sun presented the scene beneath, in the same warm light of evening which had flooded valley and plain and gilt mountain and castle, when he had seen it from the Altan with Agnes Herbert. Her image mingled with the whole, and the prospect was not the less sweet to his eyes for the associations with which memory enriched the view.