CHAPTER II.
Laubegast is situated on the banks of the river Elbe, two hours' ride from Dresden. It is a small village, containing only a few better-class dwellings, and these are hidden from view among old linden trees, and tall, black pines.
Count Hoym's villa was built in the French style, and ornamented as well as its modest size permitted. It was evident that its owner bestowed great care on the beauty of his house. The small courtyard was surrounded by an iron railing. Seen through the sheltering trees, the house looked like some lordly residence, but it was as quiet as a monastery.
There were no signs of gaiety about it. Two old lackeys and a few servants might be seen from time to time, walking near the house, and occasionally, towards evening, a lady would come forth, on whom the population of Laubegast would gaze with admiration, but always from behind the shelter of the bushes.
In truth, no one in the neighbourhood had ever before seen such a beautiful woman.
She was young, and tall, and a pair of bright, dark eyes gave animation to her pale face. There was something majestic in her movement as she walked. But she was sad, like a figure taken from a sarcophagus--she never smiled. She had dwelt here for several years, visited by no one save Hoym's sister, the Countess Vitzthum. It was thus that Count Hoym guarded his wife from the intrigues of the court, and he did not even like to see his sister too frequently visiting his wife's retreat. The Countess Vitzthum, however, only shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.
The Countess Hoym's only distractions were the pious books of Protestant dreamers, which she read with great avidity. Occasionally she took a walk under the surveillance of the old butler.
Life here was monotonous, and quiet as the grave, but at the same time passions never entered to cause disturbances. It was only when the King and court were absent, that the Countess Hoym was permitted to visit the capital for a short time. This long seclusion had made her proud, sad, and bitter; she despised the world, and was full of strange asceticisms. She thought that her life was ended, and that she was awaiting death, although she was very beautiful, and not more than twenty years of age; but all who saw her could scarcely believe she was older than eighteen, so remarkably youthful was her appearance.
The Countess Vitzthum, who in the turbulent life of the court had lost all her freshness and half her beauty, was provoked at the unfading charms of her sister-in-law. She was also irritated by her other good qualities; her noble pride of virtue; her indignation at corruption; her contempt for intrigue and lying; and last, but not least, by the majestic manner in which the Countess Hoym looked upon her lively, laughing, and fickle sister-in-law.
Countess Hoym, on her side, did not like the Countess Vitzthum; she felt an instinctive repulsion towards her. For her husband she had a cold contempt, having learned through her sister-in-law that he had been unfaithful to her. By one tender look, she could bring him to her feet; she knew her power, but she had no wish to use it. He seemed to her too villainous to care for. She received him coldly, and parted from him with indifference. Hoym was furious, but he felt feeble in the presence of his wife, and all quarrels were stopped by his taking his departure.
Thus the sad monotonous life at Laubegast went on. Sometimes Anna thought of returning to Holstein, and taking up her abode with her family who dwelt at Brockdorf; but she was not on good terms with them. Her father and mother were both dead, and her sister, the Countess of Brunswick, née Holstein Plön, would not have cared to see her at court. She remembered only too well the behaviour of the sixteen-years old Anna, who had slapped the face of Prince Ludwig Rudolf, when, attracted by her marvellous beauty, he had tried to kiss her.
Thus it was that the beautiful but unfortunate Anna had no place to which she could turn for comfort.
Notwithstanding the corruption of the court, and the nearness of Dresden, in which it is difficult to hide such a beautiful being from the gaze of the people, Anna had been so carefully concealed in her retreat on the shores of the Elbe, that despite the continual movement of the lazy gang surrounding the Sovereign, no one had noticed her.
Except one.
That one was a young Pole, who lived at the court, which he had been forced to enter quite against his inclination.
The first time Augustus the Strong visited Poland after having been elected King of that country, he wished to show his strength to the Polish nobles. With this intent, he began one evening, after dinner, to break horse-shoes and silver plates. The Poles regarded this as a bad omen for their country, and one of them, wishing to break the spell, said he knew a lad who could do the same. The King felt the sting conveyed in the remark, still he expressed a wish to see his rival. Thereupon the Bishop of Kujawy promised to produce the noble referred to, who dwelt at Cracow. His name was Zaklika, and he came of a powerful family, though at present he was very poor. Then the incident was forgotten, and the Bishop would never have mentioned it, being conscious that he had committed an indiscretion, had not the King reminded him of it, and asked to see Raymond Zaklika.
The youth had just ended his studies at a Jesuit convent, and was uncertain what he should do. His wish was to enter the army, but he had no money with which to purchase a commission, and, being a noble, he could not enter otherwise. After long searching, Zaklika was found. The Bishop was obliged to purchase him a decent suit of clothes, before he could present him to the King. Then he was kept ready to be brought forward at the first favourable moment, for the King usually rose to display his strength after he had feasted, and was in a good humour.
At length one day, when the King was breaking silver cups and horse-shoes, which his courtiers always kept in readiness for him, he turned to the Bishop, who was quietly looking on, and said,--
"Father, where is your Hercules?"
Zaklika was summoned.
The youth was straight as an oak, good-looking, and modest as a girl. Augustus smiled on seeing him. He could only converse with him in Latin, for as yet the youth knew neither French nor German. Still there was no need for many words. Two new silver goblets stood before the King; Augustus took one of them, and, pressing it between his fingers, bent it as though it had been a leaf.
Smiling ironically, he pushed the other towards Zaklika, saying,--
"Now you try. If you can bend it, it is yours."
Timidly the youth approached the table, and, taking the bumper, he pressed it so hard that the blood rushed to his head; but the cup was broken in pieces.
The King's face was expressive of great astonishment, and still greater discontent. The lords who sat round, tried to persuade him that the cup was thin.
The King then turned to the horse-shoes--they broke beneath his fingers like dry branches--but Zaklika could do the same with perfect ease. Augustus took out a new thaler and broke it. A thicker piece of Spanish money was handed Zaklika. For a while the youth remained thoughtful, then he grew eager on the matter, and eagerness lending him fresh strength he broke the coin.
A cloud rested on the King's forehead, and his court grew sorry that such a trial had been permitted. To reward Zaklika, the King ordered the two cups to be given him, then, after a moment's reflection, he told the youth to remain at the court. A small post was assigned to him, but the next morning he was told quietly never to dare to show his strength in that way again, or some evil thing might befall him.
Thus he remained hanging about the court; a splendid livery was provided for him; he was allowed a few hundred thalers by way of salary, and plenty of liberty, his only duty being to follow the King wherever he went. Augustus did not forget him, and gave orders that he should be provided with every comfort, but he never spoke a word to him. Having plenty of time at his command, Zaklika began to study French and German, and within two years spoke both languages fluently. Being unable to spend all his time in study, he used to wander about Dresden, visiting all the adjoining villages and forests on foot. He was also of a very inquisitive turn of mind, and climbed all over the rocky shores of the Elbe, yet he never met with any accident.
During one of his rambles he visited Laubegast, and finding the shade of the linden-trees very pleasant, lay down on the ground to rest. Unfortunately for him, it was about the time when the Countess Hoym used to take her walk. On seeing her the youth was petrified with admiration--he could not breathe. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be dreaming; that so lovely a being existed in the flesh, he could not imagine. Poor fellow! Thus he sat until nightfall, gazing continually, yet being unable to satisfy his eyes. He thought one look at the lovely woman would have satisfied him, but the longer he looked, the more he desired to gaze on her. In short, such passion and longing arose within his breast, that every day he rushed to Laubegast like a madman; his head was completely turned.
As he did not confide in any one, he could obtain no advice, nor learn that the best cure for such an illness is to avoid the danger.
Soon the youth was so much in love that he grew pale and thin. The Countess's servants having noticed him, and guessed what was the matter, told their lady about him in jest. She also laughed, but afterwards she looked on him in secret. It may be that she took pity on the youth, for she ordered him to be brought before her, and having scolded him severely for tramping round about her house, she forbade him ever to show himself there again.
There being no one present at their interview, the youth grew bold, and replied that he committed no sin in looking at her, that he did not come for anything else, and that even should they stone him, he must still continue to come, so great was his longing to see her.
Then the Countess grew angry, and threatened to complain to her husband, but this threat likewise was without effect. For several weeks she avoided the paths on which she was accustomed to see him, and, changing the direction of her walks, wandered along the banks of the Elbe, until one day she noticed Zaklika, standing up to his neck in the river, so that he might be able to see her. In great wrath she summoned the servants, but with one plunge Raymond had disappeared. For some time after this she saw nothing of Zaklika, for he had found a new hiding-place; thus all question about him ceased; and no one noticing him at court, he acted just as he pleased.
Only once was he summoned before the King. In an access of rage, Augustus the Strong had cut off a horse's head, and now that powerful monarch desired to show that Zaklika was incapable of performing this feat. An old, strong-boned horse was brought, but at the same time the youth was given to understand that if he valued the King's favour, he had better let the animal alone. But Raymond was so carried away by the desire to show his strength that he cut off the horse's head as with a razor. The King shrugged his shoulders, and drowned the memory of his defeat in wine. No one looked at Zaklika, but those who were kindly disposed towards the youth found opportunity to whisper to him that he had better go away somewhere quietly, because on the slightest excuse he would be sent to Königstein.
But Raymond was not in the least alarmed at their words, and continued his excursions to Laubegast. His love had made quite a different man of him. It is needless to say that Countess Anna Hoym never said anything to any one about this young man.
At Laubegast the gates were always shut at dusk, and the dogs released from their chains; the servants retired early, but the lady of the house would sit reading until late into the night.
That same night, when they were all drinking at the castle, and the wind was blowing keen and cold across the open fields, the beauteous Anna, having undressed, sat reading the Bible, of which she was very fond.
It was already far on into the night, when the tramping of horses' feet was heard, and the dogs began to bark so terribly that the usually fearless lady grew alarmed.
Robbers did not often attack houses in those times, especially near the capital, still such things did happen occasionally. The Countess, therefore, rang the bell, and aroused all the servants. Some one was shaking the gate violently, and the barking of the dogs grew fiercer and fiercer. The armed servants went to the gate, where they found the King's messenger waiting impatiently, with a carriage drawn by six horses. The dogs were chained up, the door opened, and the messenger delivered the letter.
At first Anna thought some misfortune had occurred--she grew pale--but recognizing her husband's handwriting, her calmness returned. At that moment there recurred to her mind the sad fate of the Chancellor Beichlingen, who one night fell into disgrace, and was sent to Königstein. Count Hoym had frequently told her that he did not believe in the King, and that he should never feel safe until he had crossed the borders of his own principality.
When she had read her husband's letter, ordering her to come to Dresden immediately, she was greatly surprised. She could not refuse to go, for she did not wish to expose herself to the comments of the servants, and besides she was drawn thither by curiosity. She therefore ordered the necessary preparations to be made, and in less than an hour she had left quiet Laubegast behind for ever.
But strange thoughts took possession of her during her journey. She was afraid of something, and this made her so sad that she nearly wept. She could form no idea of the danger which she felt was threatening her, but she was afraid nevertheless. She knew that the King had returned, after an absence of several years, and that with his return to Dresden, the court was full of intrigues and races for favour, in which every possible means, good or bad, were employed. Many of the things that happened there, though apparently light and trivial, were, in reality, tragic.
At the very moment when those who were sacrificed were thrown into dark and terrible prisons, lively music was being played at the ball given in honour of those who had been victorious. Often and often Anna had gazed on the mountain of Königstein, so full of mysteries and of victims.
The night was dark, but the carriage, which was preceded by two men on horseback, carrying torches, rolled swiftly on its way. She scarcely noticed when it stopped before her husband's mansion, which was situated in Pirna Street. Although the Count was expected, the servants were all asleep, and it was impossible to awake them immediately. No apartment had been prepared for the Countess, and she shuddered at the thought of being obliged to enter her husband's room.
The office of the Secretary to the Treasury adjoined the large hall, which, although richly furnished, looked gloomy and sad. On finding that her husband was from home, the Countess's astonishment increased still more, but the servants explained that this was the King's night, and that the entertainment was usually continued until daybreak. Being obliged to remain and rest, the Countess chose a room situated at the opposite side of the office, and separated from all the other apartments. In this she ordered a camp-bed to be placed, and having shut herself in with a servant as companion, she tried to sleep. But the beautiful Countess sought sleep in vain; she only dozed, waking up at the slightest sound.
The day was already bright, when, having fallen asleep for a few moments, she was aroused by hearing footsteps in the office. Thinking it was her husband, she rose and dressed.
The morning toilet she put on only made her appear the more beautiful, while fatigue, uneasiness, and fever increased her charms. She entered the office, but instead of meeting her husband as she expected, she perceived a stranger, whose bearing, combined with the expression of his features, made a deep impression on her.
The man was attired in the long, black dress of a Protestant minister. He was no longer young; he had a massive head, and deeply sunk, dark grey eyes. His mouth wore a bitter smile, in which quiet contempt for the world was curiously blended with serenity and gravity, and this gave to his face an expression so striking that it was impossible to help gazing at him attentively.
The Countess looked on him in astonishment, but he, as though alarmed at the apparition of a woman, stood silent and motionless, with widely-opened eyes, in which could be clearly seen involuntary admiration for this marvellous masterpiece of God.
Thus he stood, his lips trembling, and his arms raised in silent surprise.
The two strangers looked at each other, examining one another attentively. The man retreated slowly. The Countess looked round for her husband. She had just made up her mind to retire, when the stranger inquired,--
"Who are you?"
"It is rather I who should ask who you are, and what you are doing in my house?"
"In your house?" repeated the man in surprise. "Then are you the Count's wife?"
Anna bowed. The old man gazed on her with eyes full of pity, and two large tears rolled slowly down his dried and yellow cheeks.
On her side Anna regarded him with extreme curiosity. This unassuming man, broken by the cares and hardships of life, seemed to be animated by some unknown sentiment; he became grave and majestic. In his presence that proud lady felt almost humble. The features of the silent old man glowed with a secret inspiration. Suddenly coming to his senses, he glanced round timidly, and then advanced a step.
"Oh, you!" he exclaimed, "whom God has created for His glory, you beautiful vase of virtue, a being full of light, and like unto an angel in purity, why do you not shake from off your shoes the dust that now clings to them from their contact with this unclean Babylon? Why, oh why, do you not flee from this place of corruption? Who was so perverse as to cast such a beautiful child into this sordid world? Why are you not afraid? Are you not aware of your peril?"
Anna listened to the old man, whose voice intimidated her for the first time in her life. She was indignant at such daring on the part of the minister, but she could not feel angry with him.
Without giving her time to reply, he continued:
"Do you know where you are? Are you aware that the ground on which you stand shakes beneath your feet? Do you realize that these walls open; that people disappear if they prove an obstruction; and that here human life is a thing of nought, when it interferes with a single drop of pleasure?"
"What fearful things you are telling me," exclaimed the Countess at length, "why do you wish to terrify me?"
"Because I see that you are innocent and pure, and that you know not what you may expect here. You cannot have been here long."
"Only a few hours," replied the Countess.
"And you did not spend your childhood here, or you could not look as you do now," continued the old man.
"My childhood was spent at Holstein; I have been Count Hoym's wife for several years, but I have lived in the country."
"Then I suppose you do not know much about your husband?" said the old man, shivering. "I pity you, for you are beautiful and innocent as a lily, and now a herd of savage beasts are going to trample on you. 'Twere better had you bloomed and shed forth your perfume in God's desert."
He became silent and thoughtful. Anna moved a few steps nearer to him.
"Who are you?" she inquired.
The old man appeared not to hear her, so she repeated her question.
"Who am I?" he repeated. "I am a sinner; a wretched being, the laughing-stock of all. I am the voice crying in the wilderness. I am he who predicts downfall, annihilation, and days of misery. Who am I? I am God's messenger, sent to point out to His people the path of virtue, but to whom none will hearken. I am an outcast to the rich--I am despised--but I am true and pure in the sight of the Lord."
The last words were spoken quietly, then he became silent.
"How strange it all is!" said the Countess. "After years of tranquillity, passed in the country, I am summoned here by my husband, and here I meet you, who are to me as a voice of warning. Surely in this there must be the finger of God!"
"Yes, verily!" rejoined the old man, "and woe to those who heed not God's warning. You ask who I am. I am a poor preacher, I have spoken against powerful lords, and therefore their vengeance pursues me. My name is Schramm. Count Hoym knew me when I was a mere lad, and I have come here to ask his protection, for my life is threatened. This is the reason I am here; but who brought you hither?"
"My husband," replied Anna briefly.
"Ask him to let you go away," he whispered, looking timidly round as he spoke. "I have seen all the beauties of the court, and, taken all together, they cannot compare with you in beauty. Woe be to you if you remain here. They will entangle you in a net of intrigues; they will intoxicate you with songs; they will still your conscience with fairy-tales; they will accustom you to shame. Then one day, intoxicated, weary, feeble, you will fall over the precipice."
Anna Hoym frowned.
"Never!" she exclaimed. "I am not so feeble as you think. I am aware that I am surrounded by peril, but I have no desire for a life of luxury. No, the life of the court has no attractions for me. I despise it!"
"You must not trust in your own strength; flee, flee from this hell!"
As he spoke, he stretched out his arms, as though he would have liked to drive her away. But Anna stood motionless, and smiled scornfully.
"But where could I go?" she inquired. "My fate is bound up with that of my husband. I cannot break the ties that unite me to him. I am a fatalist. I believe what will happen will happen--only never will they be able to conquer me. It is rather I who shall rule over them."
Schramm looked frightened; Anna stood before him full of strength and pride, the smile still on her lips.
At that moment the door opened, and there entered, confused and hesitating, Count Adolf Magnus Hoym.
He never looked very attractive amid the elegant company of the King's favourites, but after a night spent in revelry, his appearance was still worse. There was nothing noble in his features, and his face, which was commonplace, was only remarkable for the quick, convulsive changes it underwent. His grey eyes were either hidden beneath his bushy eyebrows, or glowing with fire and animation; his lips were now smiling, now contorted; now his forehead frowned, but the next moment it was clear and unruffled. It seemed as though some secret power were continually struggling within him, and changing the expression of his features.
Even at the moment when he perceived his wife, it seemed as though some hidden influence were at work within him, giving rise to the most contradictory feelings. First he smiled at her, but the next moment his anger seemed about to break forth. With a violent effort, however, he controlled himself, and entered the room. But on perceiving Schramm, his eyebrows contracted, anger was clearly visible on his face.
"You madman, you fanatic, you clown!" he shouted, without waiting to speak a word to his wife. "You have been doing some fresh mischief, and again you come to me to help you out of your difficulty. But I cannot help you. You act as you please. You think that a minister may do anything; and that you can declare what you call God's message to every one. You fancy you can play the part of an apostle. But I tell you again, as I have told you a hundred times already, that I cannot help you."
The minister stood motionless, gazing into the Count's eyes.
"But I am God's servant," he rejoined. "I have sworn to bear witness to the truth, and if they desire to make a martyr of me, I am ready."
"A martyr!" laughed Hoym, "that would be too great a favour, they will kick you out, that is all!"
"Then I shall go," said Schramm, "but so long as I am in Dresden I shall speak the truth."
"And you will preach to deaf people," retorted the Count sarcastically, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. "But enough of this, do what you please, I should be glad if I could protect myself. I told you to keep quiet. In these times you must flatter or you will be trampled on, and perish. Sodom and Gomorrah indeed! Good-bye, I have no more time."
Schramm bowed without a word, cast a pitying glance on Hoym's wife, and then, after gazing on the Count for a moment in silent surprise, he turned to leave the room.
Hoym pitied him.
"I am sorry for you; go! I will do my best to help you; but read your Bible and say nothing. This is the last time I shall advise you."
Schramm went, and husband and wife were left alone.