VII
Princess Isabella, too, was not enjoying a very happy time of it. For six days she did not see a human being save her maid and Fräulein von Martigny. That old lady was preaching repentance in every possible key and tune; Isabella did not listen. In these sermons Count Vierstein was not mentioned as often as he should have been, but the old lady continued to remark at frequent intervals that he would come the following Sunday without fail. Isabella was silent. The readings from the French classics were three times as long as usual; Isabella did not notice it. She only thought and thought of all the suffering she had endured in this stupid castle from her childhood on. She determined to get away from it at any cost. Yet she did not know where to go.
Saturday night had come. Fräulein was just reading in Boileau’s tenth epistle: “In vain do I stop you; my remonstrance is vain—go, depart!” when a distant, dull thunder shook the air, rattling all the windows. The old lady was startled, but kept on reading all the louder; she knew, it seemed, what the noise meant, and was trying to divert her prisoner’s attention. But it was not necessary: Isabella was so deep in thought that she had no more heard the report than she had the verses of Boileau.
It soon grew dark, and every one went to bed early, as usual. Isabella slept very little; at four o’clock the bright sunshine awakened her again. It was the Sunday at last on which the Count was to appear. She looked through the open window out over the dewy landscape; her eyes sought the distant castle, the only object which she ever watched with interest, often with tears in her eyes; but, oh, horrible! the castle had only one tower left! At first the Princess thought that the sun, shining into her face, had caused an optical illusion. She ran for her spyglass; then she recognized the sad truth: the castle had now but one tower, the other, the Hasen Tower, had been blown up last night when that dull report made the windows rattle.
Isabella was beside herself with grief and anger. She had firmly believed that her father would show mercy to the castle, if only to please her, and she hoped that such a sign of his love might lead to a reconciliation and help her to begin a new life in her father’s house, one more worthy of living. Such had been her thoughts during rare and more hopeful hours. And every day she had been looking upon the still intact castle as a promise of the future; but now, to-day, the first tower had fallen, her father remained unmoved, and—the Count was coming! She dressed herself, threw a shawl over her head, and stole on tiptoe from the room, down the staircase into the castle-yard. No one noticed her at this early hour. A small gate stood open; she hurried out, not knowing what she was doing or whither she was going; at least, she had once more willed something and done something. The fresh air was inspiring, and her spirits felt uplifted on the wings of the morning wind.
Instinctively she walked in the direction of the castle, at first hurrying like a fugitive, but soon moderating her pace, for, though no one recognized her, still she was attracting the attention of the few people she happened to meet. At last she asked herself, where would she go? Her resolution was quickly formed: to Neideck. And what then? She did not know. But once up in the castle, she would be far away from her own home, and for the present that was enough.
Not accustomed, however to such long tramps, she soon grew tired, her knees shook, her eyes filled with tears; but even then she did not give up, and two hours later arrived at Neideck, where in the castle-yard she fell to the ground, completely exhausted. It grew dark before her eyes; she heard the ringing of the church-bells, the humming of bees; she noticed the fragrance of the elder blossoms, but she did not realize where she was, and lay as in a dream.
A voice roused her. Some one asked anxiously: “What is the matter, young woman?” She looked up. A young man in traveling clothes, with boots and spurs, stood before her, looking at her kindly. She did not answer, but searched him sharply with her eyes; there was something familiar in his face, but she could not remember where she had seen it.
“What are you doing here so early in the morning?” he asked.
“I am looking for the schoolmaster,” stammered Isabella. It was all she could think of.
“I am looking for him, too,” remarked the young man. “This Burg Balzer is certainly a remarkable man: something of a fool, no doubt, like all original people. But he no longer lives here; he has been dismissed and sent away, as one of the peasants told me; sent away because he conducted himself very improperly toward the Princess Isabella.”
“That is not true!” said Isabella. “At least, not as far as the Princess is concerned.”
“Oh, yes,” the stranger assured her. “There is no joking with this Isabella; she is such a bore!”
“Perhaps she is more bored than boring,” replied Isabella.
The stranger looked at her attentively. “Who are you, I wonder, that you know so much about this? Perhaps a lady’s maid from the castle?”
She stammered timidly: “Yes.” She had learned so little, did not know how to tell even a lie.
“Well, if that is so, I wish you would tell me a little about your mistress. I heard that she was quite a nice-looking puppet, pulled by a string, either by her father or her lady-in-waiting. Is she not going to marry Count Vierstein in the near future?”
“She is not quite such a puppet as you think!” cried Isabella, very indignantly, and in quite another tone. “The string is broken; she is not going to marry this wild Count, not under any circumstances!”
“Oh, oh! Is the Count really so wild? And how do you know that?”
“He lives only among hunters, horses, dogs, and soldiers, and roams the woods all day long!”
“So, so! And why are you roaming through old castles all alone, my highly virtuous young woman?”
“I? Oh, I wished to see the schoolmaster and the—the tower that was blown up yesterday,” Isabella answered, very much embarrassed.
“Well, I intended to see the tower too; the schoolmaster’s book interested me—”
“Have you read his book? That was the reason I came here,” interrupted Isabella.
“It is an absurd book,” the stranger went on. “But the man’s feeling for his castle is true and strong. After reading his book you feel drawn toward this place, whether you wish to come or not.”
“That is just what happened to me,” whispered the Princess.
“There is a sentimental maid for you,” thought the stranger. “They are becoming very frequent in our philosophical century.”
“That young man has a good heart and clear head,” thought Isabella. As far back as she could remember he was the first person who had ever shown her any sympathy.
“Oh, see here,” he suddenly broke out aloud and straightened himself. “I can not play a part. I am Count Vierstein, whom you called ‘the wild Count.’ And if I do roam about in God’s nature all day long, I get more joy and pleasure out of it than do your pale people who live indoors. I can see the sun rising here from this enchanted castle, as I did to-day—and—I am furious at the people over there in Westerau who, without further ado, are barbarous enough to blow up the home of their ancestors. You may tell your mistress so; I shall see her myself to-day, but shall not have much to say to her, certainly nothing about this.”
For a while Isabella stood speechless with terror. But the Count did not look at all wicked; in fact, he was quite handsome; and not nearly so ill-mannered as Fräulein von Martigny had described him; on the contrary, he seemed to her kind and very tactful. This consideration lessened her terror. Should she tell him? But shame closed her lips. Finally she controlled herself and whispered: “Are you really on the way to Westerau? Several times you have been expected there, but always in vain.”
“Well, it is a rough road, this journey after a bride!” the Count sighed. “However, I must go through with it; my father wishes it, and children must obey their parents, so says the Bible. But there is a limit to our obedience; I will go to Westerau and do all that is necessary and proper, but if I then dislike this Princess as much as I do from a distance—and I have little doubt of that—and if she herself intends to give me, as you say, a very decided refusal—then I can ride back home with a light and happy heart, having done my duty. My attendants are awaiting me down in the village. It is too early to make a call, and I wish once more to breathe freely here in Burg Balzer’s incomparable castle before I start on the rough road I have to travel. There, now, you know my whole history!”
Isabella drew the shawl closer over her head and looked out into the valley. She saw there a group of horsemen, followed by a carriage; the horsemen were galloping toward the castle, and in the lead, as they came nearer, she recognized her father. With an imploring cry she turned to the Count: “Save me! That is my father there, the Prince! I am Isabella. Save me, protect me from my father. Do not let them take me back into that hateful castle; it would kill me!”
The Count was covered with surprise. “You are really Isabella, my dear cousin? But you don’t look at all like your pictures, and your speech is quite different from your letters. But why are you so afraid of your father. Did you run away from him?”
“Yes, because he tried to make me marry—you!”
“Well,” thought the Count, “she at least has a will of her own, and wishes to refuse me in her own way.”
“But not only on that account am I afraid,” the Princess continued, “but because I was shut into my room as punishment for wishing to save the castle and for taking the schoolmaster to my father on my own responsibility!”
“On your own responsibility?” the Count repeated very cheerfully. “Then you did run away after all?” Isabella did not answer. “Why did you not run away long ago? We would have known each other so much sooner. And, and—are you often so excited as you are to-day?”
“Oh, no; that is only here in Neideck; below, in the castle, it is very different.”
“You see,” said the Count, “it is the bracing air that does it! You must be out of doors more, ride horseback, go hunting; then you will get rosy cheeks! By the way, the air in Vierstein is much better than it is down there in Westerau!”
But the poor girl only kept on imploring, “My father! Save me!” All at once they heard a voice whisper, “Quick, come here, this is the best hiding-place you can find! I wished to keep it a secret from every one, but to save the gracious Princess I gladly sacrifice my secret, my head, everything! Come here, the entrance is not far away.”
The Count turned and saw a strange figure, that would have made him laugh if he had not been provoked. “What does the fellow mean?”
“Pardon me, sir, I am Burg Balzer, whom you came to see. Sitting under the elder-bush here, I could not help hearing the whole conversation. I beg you to forgive me! But come, waste no more time!”
“My dear friend,” answered the Count coolly, “we will look at your vault some other time; on the contrary, you had better come over here, where I can protect both of you. I am not used to hiding.”
The Prince rode into the castle yard; his foaming horse reared in front of the group: Count Vierstein in the middle, at his right the Princess, at his left Burg Balzer.
At first the Prince did not recognize the Count; then answering the latter’s bow, he exchanged a few words with him, surprised at meeting him here and under such circumstances. After a while the Prince turned to Isabella: “Come here, you shameless girl!” And then to the Count: “Unheard-of things have happened, cousin! And before I do my duty as host, I must do my duty as father. Down there at the foot of the hill a carriage is awaiting you, Isabella; the curtains are closely drawn. You will step into the carriage; Fräulein von Martigny is expecting you; everything is so arranged that you can drive home and reach your room without being seen. A Princess of Westerau, who ran away! Who ever heard of such a thing in the whole history of our family!”
Firmly, though very respectfully, Count Vierstein came forward. “Forgive me, most gracious prince and cousin, if I do not give up the Princess to you; at least, not against her will. She has placed herself under my protection, and as a man of honor I must grant it to her.”
The Prince was astounded completely. What! Isabella had placed herself under the Count’s protection, and at the same time had run away only to escape the Count.
Burg Balzer, taking advantage of his bewilderment, pressed forward, forgot his fear of horses, until almost touching that of the Prince, and begged for mercy toward his castle. For answer the Prince called to his outrider: “Drive this fool down the mountain with your whip!”
Again the Count interceded: “This man, too, is under my protection, and I beg your Highness to leave him to me for the present!”
“My dear cousin,” laughed the Prince angrily, “do you claim sovereign rights over my family and my subjects? Perhaps I am no longer master here on my own soil!”
“Indeed,” answered the Count, “I would be very much pleased if you would place that, too, under my protection! The castle would be a perfect gem in my dear cousin’s dowry, and I am beginning to hope that she may not repulse this wild fellow when once she comes to know him better!”
“What! Courting and marriage contract here in the open road? Preposterous!” said the Prince. But all at once he seemed to be in the best of humors. Burg Balzer pulled the Count’s sleeve and whispered mysteriously: “I have discovered the most beautiful place for the wedding ceremony; it is right here under our feet.” Even the Prince was listening now. “While I was in hiding, and having nothing else to do, I succeeded in clearing out the rubbish from the passageway, and oh, joy! I found a beautiful crypt under the old chapel. For centuries it had been buried underneath, and it has three heavy antique columns, the capitals of which are ornamented with eagles and lions—”
“A wedding in the cellar? Preposterous!” interrupted the Prince. “You are a fool, schoolmaster! There! I have called you by mistake ‘schoolmaster’; you may be one again! A man’s word is as good as his bond!”
As this did not seem the proper place for further discussion, the Prince decided to lead his daughter to the carriage and to accompany her with his attendants to the castle. The Count was to stay here about two hours longer—perhaps visit the crypt—in order to give the people in Westerau time to prepare a reception with all honors. Everything else could then be arranged in proper form.
Four weeks later the schoolmaster, who had received by decree the additional dignity of castellan in Neideck, ordered ten men to come to the castle yard and raise from the well the old cannon that had been buried there since 1757. After three days’ labor they succeeded in dragging it out and hoisting it into its old place near the castle gate, ready to salute at the wedding of Princess Isabella and her cousin Frederick, which was to take place the following day in the chapel of Castle Westerau.
While Balzer was leaning against the cannon, in a very comfortable and contemplative frame of mind, the inspector came up the mountain, put his hand on the schoolmaster’s shoulder, and said: “Well, schoolmaster, what about your prophecy of the lady of high rank who was to save the castle? It seems to me the Princess did not do it after all, and the Count did. And who are the men that have been put to shame?”
Philip replied: “Count or countess, it does not matter, so long as the castle is saved! But it is a pity they did not let that tower stand one day longer; it could have lasted a thousand years to come. Prophecies never are fulfilled to the letter, or people would all be superstitious. With regard to the humiliated men—well, what about the steward and the Prince himself? Only one must not even think of that, far less say so. After all, we can see in all this again how a just power guides the fate of men as well as of castles. Neideck has always been a good, true stronghold: in its first youth it was the cradle of our ruling family; in the prime of its existence it was a place of refuge for all around; now it has grown old and has retired into private life. But even so it has given to our Princess an excellent husband, and to a poor schoolmaster the prospect of a happy old age. May it prosper for many years to come.”
FOOTNOTES:
[1] About eighty cents.
THE YOUNG GIRL OF TREPPI
BY PAUL JOHANN LUDWIG HEYSE
Heyse, creator in the art of poetry, fiction, and the drama, is opposed to the new materialism.
First known as one of Germany’s most original writers of narrative poetry, he gradually worked his way into the short story. Brandes, most influential of living critics, once said of these “Novellen” of Heyse’s: “The Novelle, as he has made it, is an entirely original and independent creation, his actual property.”
Heyse was born in Berlin in 1830. After devoting himself to the study of languages, he settled in Munich, and with a collection of “Märchen” began that remarkable series of tales which he has brought, as Robert König says, to such genuine artistic perfection. Popular as they all are, the two best are thought to be “L’Arrabiata” and “The Young Girl of Treppi,” in which his peculiar talent, the portrayal of strong, passionate feminine nature, is signally displayed.
Heyse’s style has been called the most perfect of modern Germany.
