CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Imbibing somewhat of the spirit of the age whereof I write, I have, perhaps, in this true history, neglected to a certain degree the inferior persons of the tale, keeping myself among lords and ladies, counts and barons, to the exclusion from consideration of not less worthy and serviceable people; but the events at which I am now arrived, require me absolutely to descend from this high elevation, and to notice the fate of one whom, in a former part of the story, I have spoken of with some partiality.
It will not be difficult for the reader to recollect, that when Adelaide of Ehrenstein fled in terror towards the woodman's shed, she imagined that her maid Bertha was following as fast as 'the four legs of her horse would carry her, and that soon after she discovered, to her consternation and surprise, that such was not the case. What became of Bertha in the mean time? In truth, the good gay girl had every inclination in the world to do as she was told; but, nevertheless, she did not follow her mistress ten steps; for, in the hurry and confusion of the moment, while endeavouring to extricate herself from the men and horses that were pressing to the front in order to favour the lady's escape, the long nun's gown, with which she was covered, caught in one of the large stirrup-irons of those days, and pulled her from her horse, as the beast hurried on in the direction which had been given to it.
She fell heavily, and was somewhat confused and stunned by the concussion, so that a moment or two went by without her being aware of anything that passed around. She felt herself raised from the earth, however, heard a number of voices speaking, saw various indistinct objects moving quickly about, and, as sense began to return fully, beheld a party of armed men surrounding her companions of the way and herself, although the body which had quitted the abbey in the morning, seemed to be diminished by two or three.
The first words which she heard clearly, were pronounced in a loud but melodious tone, and were as follows:--"Pursue them quickly, and bring them back. Seek for the girl's horse also. We must know what all this means."
Looking up in the direction of the sounds, Bertha beheld a tall, powerful man on horseback, some five or ten yards before her, with fifteen or sixteen other gentlemen; some fully armed according to the custom of the day, but others in the garb of peace. Round about, and in the open space behind, were not less than two or three hundred soldiers, but the principal personage of the whole, he who had spoken, displayed no arms whatever, except the ordinary sword and dagger. He was clothed in a loose coat of buff leather, trimmed with rich fur, and embroidered with gold thread in various quaint devices. Some careful and laborious needle had worked all over it the figures of birds, and flowers, and leaves, of syrens and armed men, and stags, and hounds, and mermaids; and on his head he wore a bonnet of crimson velvet, and a high plume of feathers, white as snow. His age might be between forty and fifty, but his beard and hair were black as jet, and his teeth white and fine. His countenance was pleasing, though there was something of a cold and sarcastic smile upon it, and the air with which he sat his horse was graceful but somewhat haughty. For a minute or two he said no more; but continued to gaze over the heads of those before him down the road into the wood, then turning his horse with a light hand, he exclaimed: "Wait, Rudolph, till they have brought those men back, then follow me, bringing them with you."
Leading the way onward at the head of the troop, the person who had spoken pursued the same course which the party at the abbey had been taking. About fifty of his followers remained behind, guarding those who might now be considered prisoners; and though a deep silence succeeded to the great man's departure, Bertha, whose tongue was not under the most strict control, ventured at length to ask the man next her, "Who was that who has just ridden away?"
The person she addressed was one of her fellow-captives, and he answered in a low voice, "The Emperor, going to Spires, they say."
He immediately relapsed into silence, and Bertha's brain began to revolve the circumstances in which she was placed, and to inquire whether there was no chance of her being able to extract good out of evil, and to turn her captivity to some advantage. There were difficulties, however, which she saw not how to overcome: for, in the very first instance, she knew not what to do in regard to her fair mistress. "If I leave her in the wood, poor simple thing," said Bertha to herself, "Heaven only knows what will become of her. She has not wit nor experience enough to get herself out of a difficulty, and, like a bird fresh from a cage, she will go fluttering about hither and thither till she is starved to death, or pecked to pieces by birds of prey. Then, again, if I tell these people where she is to be found, a thousand to one they will send her back at once to her father, and that will be worse than all. I wish to Heaven I could get a word with the man he called Rudolph, just to see what stuff he is made off."
A moment or two after, the sound of horses coming up the road was heard, and Bertha, looking round, perceived several of the Emperor's soldiers, bringing with them two of the men of the abbey, who had fled some minutes before. The leader of the party which had remained to guard the prisoners, saw the same objects, and pushed his horse a little forward, till he was nearly by the girl's side. Taking advantage of the opportunity, which she thought might not occur again, Bertha drew near to him, saying: "My lord, I wish to speak with you."
The only answer she obtained, however, was,--"Hold your tongue, pretty mistress; I have nothing to do with this business. You must speak with the Emperor, if you have anything to say."
"But how can I speak with him, when he is not here?" cried the girl, impatiently.
"Oh, he will talk with you at Spires," replied the officer; "he never objects to see a pretty face, and I will tell him you want to speak to him--there, hold your tongue now, for I cannot attend to you."
In a few minutes after, the horse which Adelaide had ridden was brought forward, and Bertha lifted on it without question or ceremony. The men of the abbey were arranged in a line, a part of the Emperor's guard went before, and the rest followed; and at a quick pace, they pursued their way toward Spires, consoling themselves as best they could.
Night came on, not long after, and under the influence of darkness and fatigue, Bertha's good spirits began to fail her sadly, and her light heart to sink. Nevertheless, hour by hour went by, and it was not till near midnight that the rising moon showed her some tall towers and steeples, which indicated they were approaching Spires. By this time, however, all power of talking had left her, and she could hardly sit her horse. The gates of that large and then splendid city were closed when the party reached them, and the few minutes that passed before they were opened, seemed to poor Bertha an hour. Then came the long and melancholy streets, lighted alone by an occasional moonbeam, or the torch or lantern carried before some knight or citizen on his way homeward from a late meeting. But at length a redder glare was seen at the end of the streets by which they passed, and the watch fire of a large party of soldiers showed the tall towers and massive walls of the stupendous cathedral, with the cupola long since destroyed, standing out harsh and severe against the starry sky.
"I can go no farther," said Bertha, in a faint voice to one of the men who rode beside her; "I shall drop off my horse."
"'Tis not far, 'tis not far to the Retscher," answered the man, good-humouredly; "bear up a little, poor maiden, till you reach the palace, and there you will be lodged comfortably, and well treated. I will speak with Count Rudolph, who has a kind heart, though a rough tongue."
Thus saying, he rode on; and in a few minutes after, the large massive building called the Retscher, which served as the Imperial palace when any of the Emperors visited Spires, appeared lighted by innumerable flambeaux, stuck in large stone stands before the steps. Though the hour was so late, all the courtly world seemed awake and busy; guards, attendants, pages were moving about; persons in rich dresses were seen coming in and going out of the various doors, and the weary head of poor Bertha seemed to whirl in the midst of a gayer scene than she had ever witnessed before, as she was detained for a few minutes before the principal entrance, while the leader of the party, and one or two of his companions went in.
At length, however, Count Rudolph, as he was called, appeared again, and approaching the side of the tired girl's horse, lifted her off himself, and aided her up the steps, saying, "You must repose and refresh yourself to-night, fair lady; and the Emperor will see you early to-morrow."
Bertha could only reply by bowing her head; and, accompanying him into the palace, was led up several flights of steps, and through numerous passages, amidst servants and officers, till at length her conductor stopped before an elderly man, who had been sitting playing at tables with a page in one of the vestibules, but who instantly rose and bowed respectfully.
"Where is the room for the lady?" asked the Count, quickly.
"The page will show it, my lord," answered the old man; and given over to the guidance of a gay-looking good-humoured youth, Bertha was led on to a small but comfortable chamber at the end of the gallery. She saw that the young gentleman gazed at her, with a look of interest, from time to time; and fully conscious of her own good looks, the pretty maiden might not at any other time have failed to encourage his young gallantry, but she was too weary even for a light word; and when at length he lighted the lamp upon the table, and asked if he could do aught else to serve her, she only answered, "I am very faint."
"I will bring you some wine in an instant, beautiful lady," he said; and running away before she could decline, he soon returned with some wine and bread, and dried fruits.
He lingered as long as she would let him, pressed her to eat and drink, and seemed very willing to assist at her toilet also; but at length she contrived to send him away; and going back to his old companion, he declared with all the wild enthusiasm and glowing imagination of youth, that she was the loveliest creature that had ever been created.
Bertha slept well, and slept long; nor was it till some one tried to open her door, which she had wisely locked, that she awoke on the following morning. The early visitor who thus roused her, proved to be a woman sent to give her assistance, but she was hardly dressed when one of the attendants came to summon her to the Emperor's presence. Bertha would fain have had more time to consider what she should say or do, but none was allowed her; and, trusting to woman's ready wit, she followed the man, who showed her a degree of deference and respect which somewhat surprised her. Descending two flights of steps, she was led to a door before which stood some armed men, and in a moment after was introduced into a small cabinet, where sat the same high person she had seen the day before, but with his head now uncovered, and a loose robe of rich fur cast negligently over his shoulders. He rose as she entered, and when the attendant had retired, advanced a step, saying, "You wished to see me, lady.--But first tell me, is it true that I see the daughter of my noble acquaintance, the Count of Ehrenstein?"
Bertha's heart sank; for if the Emperor were indeed a friend of the Count of Ehrenstein, how would he judge, she asked herself, his daughter's escape from her father's roof?--and what would be his dealings with one who had aided and accompanied her in her flight? She had but a moment to ask herself the question, for the Emperor continued gazing on her, and then repeated the question almost sternly.
Bertha cast herself at his feet, and, giving way to awe and apprehension, burst into tears, sobbing forth, "No, mighty Sir."
"Who are you then, pretty maiden?" asked the monarch, raising her, and forcing her to sit down. "These men who were with you have been telling my people a strange tale of doings somewhat rash and unruly in the castle of Ehrenstein. I understood from them that you were the Count's daughter; and, although it were not quite politic in me, placed as I am, to countenance disobedience in a child towards a parent, yet, in favour of your bright eyes, I would certainly endeavour to mediate between you and the Count, should you be really his daughter, and, at all events, would protect you from hardship or violence; for I know that he is somewhat stern and severe, and has little indulgence even for beauty and gentleness."
His words gave new life to poor Bertha, who from time to time had given the monarch a furtive glance through the tears, from a pair of dark lustrous eyes, which might well win the admiration they seemed to have excited; and seeing both that she had gained some advantage, and that the Emperor was not in a mood, or of a character, to deal hardly with her fair mistress, even if she were in his power, she resolved to give him her own version of the story of Adelaide of Ehrenstein.
"I am not fit, Sire," she replied, rising, "to sit in such a presence as this. Your officers have made a mistake in thinking that I am the Lady Adelaide: I am but a very poor and humble companion of that lady, and my proper place is at your Majesty's feet."
She spoke gracefully and well; and, as she again knelt, the monarch felt somewhat like the page, and thought he had seldom seen a lovelier creature.
He would fain have raised her again, however, saying, "Nay, nay: I cannot bear you kneeling, pretty maid; and I must have a fair and free confession of all that has past."
"You shall have one as true as if this were a confessional, Sire," replied Bertha, raising her eyes, with a ray of her old merriment brightening her look; "but ere I rise, I must be promised absolution full and entire."
Woman accommodates herself to new scenes and circumstances more quickly than man, and Bertha had already lost just sufficient of her awe to leave her wits free to act, without diminishing in the least her tone of respect. She had become familiarized with the presence of the Emperor, without for a moment forgetting his station or her own; and there are few things more engaging to that curious being, man, than an air of confidence in his kindness and forbearance. I believe the natural heart of man would lead him, like other beasts, to pursue whatever flies--to crush whatever dreads him.
The Emperor was like the rest of his species, and he was pleased with the gay look that crossed the sad one, and with the confidence that brightened the awe. "Well, well," he said, "you shall have full pardon and absolution for all your pretty little sins, whatever they may be--but rise, maiden, rise."
"I would fain kneel still, Sire," answered Bertha: "I feel that it is my right place in every way--as a humble subject in so high a presence, as a penitent, as a petitioner."
"Nay, then," cried the monarch, taking her by both hands, and raising her with gentle force, "I must make myself obeyed. Now tell me all truly, and I promise you that if I can aid or befriend you, I will."
Bertha did tell him all, sometimes in low tones of entreaty and deprecation; sometimes with a gay smile, subdued and chastened by a tear; sometimes an irrepressible jest at herself, at the world, at woman's nature and weakness, half coquettish, half sad, would break the even course of her tale; and while she went on, the monarch listened thoughtfully, and with interest in the tale itself, but more in the person who told it.
When she had done, he answered, "I must think over this; but for your sake, sweet one, it shall have kind consideration, and I will keep my promise by those bright eyes." As he spoke, he took both her hands in his, and kissed her cheek; meditated for a moment, and still holding her firmly. But then he suddenly released her, saying, "No," as if to himself.
At that moment there was a knock at the door of the cabinet, and the Emperor said, "Come in." An attendant instantly entered, and gave him a large sealed packet, saying, "The messenger said it was of instant importance, Sire, from the Count of--."
"Well, well," cried the Emperor, waving his hand; and then, turning to Bertha, he added, "Now go back to your chamber, fair lady, where you shall be well taken care of. I will give your business full and kind thought, and will come and tell you the result."
"Good Heaven!" thought Bertha, as she quitted the cabinet, "What will become of me?"
But the Emperor's thoughts were salutary, and he forbore.