CHAPTER XXII.
Prince's favour, April's sky,
Woman's love, the rose's dye,
Cards, dice, and weathercocks are still
Chang'd about, believe't who will.
Old Proverb.
The apparition which so opportunely arrested the attention of Albert on opening the door, was no other than the old nurse, Rosel, hastily rising from a bent position she had taken up at the keyhole. She was one of those old servants, who, having been brought up in the family from her youth, was firmly rooted in it, and now formed one of its principal branches. Since the death of the Lady of Lichtenstein, Bertha's mother, she had shewn her attachment to the family in the assiduous care she had taken in bringing up her charge. Having passed through the different gradations, from nursery-maid to nurse, from nurse to housekeeper, she now occupied the more important post of governess and confidant to her foster-child. Greatly jealous of others, and ambitious to secure all authority in her own hands, she filled for many years the different important domestic situations of the castle, making herself universally necessary in all its concerns. Having gained an ascendancy over her master, who never found fault with her, at least before others, she gave out that she was essential in the management of the domestic affairs of the family, that without her superintendence, things could not go on right.
Of late, she had not lived on the best terms with her young mistress. In the days of her childhood and first youth, she had possessed her whole confidence. Even in Tübingen she was partly in the secret of Bertha's love; and old Rosel took such an interest in every thing that related to her child, as she always called her, as to speak in the first person plural, "We love Albert von Sturmfeder most tenderly,"--or "Our heart is ready to break in parting from him."
Two circumstances, however, tended to weaken this confidence. The young lady remarked, that her nurse was too fond of gossiping, that she had been even watching her movements, and had been twattling with others about her intimacy with Albert; she, therefore, grew more reserved towards the old woman, who very soon guessed the cause of it. But when the journey to Ulm was undertaken, and she had provided herself with a new woollen-stuff gown, and a superb brocade cap, upon the occasion, her disappointment knew no bounds upon being ordered to remain at Lichtenstein. This widened the breach between her and Bertha, for she attributed the cause of her not accompanying the family to her mistress.
Confidence between them was not restored after the knight of Lichtenstein returned with his daughter to the castle from Ulm. Old Rosel, who always preferred the society of her superiors to that of the domestics, endeavoured to obtain some information from Bertha about Albert, hoping thus to re-establish herself in her good graces; but Bertha, whose heart was then full of the late painful occurrences at the meeting with her lover, and still suspicious of the discretion of her nurse, would not satisfy her curiosity. When, therefore, the exile visited the castle at stated hours every night, and her young lady secretly prepared his meal, and, as her nurse thought, remained alone with him for a length of time, she gratified her pique towards her mistress by opening her heart to the hostess of the Golden Stag at Pfullingen upon the subject. No wonder, then, that Albert was led to believe every word he heard; because, having only known the nurse as the confidant of his love, he was not aware that the intimacy between her and Bertha had suffered interruption.
She had accompanied her mistress the morning of Albert's arrival, in her best Sunday's attire, to her pilgrimage to the church. Having confessed her sins, among which "curiosity" preponderated above the rest, and received absolution, she returned to Lichtenstein with a lighter heart and clearer conscience than she had when she left the castle, sighing under the weight of them. But the words of the father confessor had not probed so deep in her soul as to root out effectually her besetting sin, for when she got into her apartment and was occupied in putting by her rosary and Sunday dress, she heard her young lady and a man's deep voice in angry conversation together, and she even thought her mistress was crying.
"Can the nocturnal visitor have come up here in the day time, and taken advantage of the old man's absence?" she muttered to herself. A natural feeling of curiosity and sympathy drew her eye and ear involuntarily to the keyhole, when she overheard the dispute of which we have already been witnesses.
The young man opened the door so suddenly that she had no time to retreat, scarcely sufficient to recover her upright figure from her bending position. But she did not lose her presence of mind in this awkward predicament, for stopping Albert, and before either of them could speak, seizing his hands, poured upon him a torrent of words.
"Ay, upon my veracity! Could I ever have thought that my old eyes would have beheld Albert von Sturmfeder again! And I verily believe you have grown handsomer and taller than when I last saw you! Who could have thought it? Look, he stands like a stick at the door! Well, but who is it that dares speak thus to my dear young lady? It is not my master, nor any of his servants! Ay! what does one live to see? Young Albert, it is you who have been upbraiding my child!"
During this rapid flow of exclamations, Albert in vain sought to escape from the old woman, and though he determined, in the heat of the moment, to leave the castle, he felt it unseemly to let her suppose he had been quarrelling with Bertha. He shook off the grasp which the nurse had of him, and, in spite of her reproachful smile, took the hand of Bertha, at the same time pressing it to his heart. A glance from her eye calmed the tumult of his feelings. But a fresh conflict, a new embarrassment agitated him. His anger indeed subsided, he felt convinced that Bertha could not entertain that unkindness towards him which his heated imagination had conjured up--but how to reconcile it with his honour, to submit to the shame of being subdued by a squeeze of the hand, or a glance of the eye, before a witness, was a difficulty in which pride had its share. He blushed for his weakness, in standing self-convicted before the old woman; and we have often heard that the feeling of shame, and the embarrassment of getting out of a scrape, such as Albert's precipitation had drawn him into, without committing our honour, is apt often to convert a trifling quarrel into a lasting one, and dissolve ties founded on the basis of tender affection.
Old Rosel perceived with some degree of pleasure the anxiety and sorrow of her young lady, and would perhaps have gladly taken advantage of her distress, by way of punishing her for the withdrawal of her confidence, had not her natural kindness of heart resumed its sway over the malicious joy which she had given way too. She looked at the young man full in the face, and said, "You surely don't intend to leave us so soon, since it is but an hour ago that you arrived at Lichtenstein? Before you have had your mid-day meal, we will not allow you to depart, for that would be quite against the custom of the castle; and besides which, you have probably not yet seen my master?"
It was a great point gained for Bertha's cause to hear Albert speak again: "I have already spoken to him," he said; "as a proof of it, look at the two goblets we have emptied together."
"Well," continued the old woman, "but you would not leave his house without wishing him farewell?"
"No, I ought not certainly, as he desired me to wait for him in the castle," replied the young man.
"Aye, why would you go away in such a hurry, then?" she said, and forced him back into the room; "do you call that manners? My master would wonder, indeed, to think what kind of guest he had entertained. Whoever comes here by day," she added, with a searching look at Bertha, "whoever comes by broad daylight, possesses a clear conscience, and need not slip away like a thief in the night."
Bertha blushed, and pressed the hand of her lover, who could not refrain from smiling, when he thought of the old woman's mistaken notion respecting the nocturnal visitor, and remarked the reproachful glance which she threw at her child.
"Yes, yes, as I said," she continued, "you have no occasion to steal away like a thief in the night. It had been better, perhaps, had you come sooner. The proverb says, 'judge for yourself, to doubt is dangerous, and he who seeks peace and quiet, let him remain with his cow!'--but I say nothing."
"Well, then," said Bertha, "you see he remains here; your proverbs are misplaced. You know, yourself, they do not always agree with the subject."
"Really? but they sometimes hit the right nail upon the head, however disagreeable it may be to the hearer. But repentance and good advice come too late after the evil has happened. I know well enough, that ingratitude is the wages of the world, and I can be silent! he who seeks peace and quiet, let him keep his eyes open, listen, and be silent."
"Come then, be silent," said Bertha, somewhat displeased; "at any rate it will be wise of you not to let my father remark that you know Albert von Sturmfeder; it were not unlikely he might suppose he is come to Lichtenstein for our sakes alone."
Good and ill humour strove for the mastery in old Rosel's breast. She was, on the one hand, flattered to be admitted again into her lady's confidence, by being requested to keep silence before her master, but, on the other, she still felt annoyed that her young mistress confided so little of her heart to her. She kept muttering a few indistinct words to herself, as she put the chairs in their places against the wall, and took the goblets off the table, wiping the marks which the wine had left on the slate slab with which the table was inlaid. Albert had retired to one of the windows, and though he did not feel quite reconciled to his love, yet he could not mistake a sign she gave him. He was particularly anxious her father should, as yet, know nothing of their mutual feeling, for he feared he might attribute to it the principal motive which had induced him to join Würtemburg's cause, and thereby lose the favourable opinion he had formed of him. Thinking it the wisest plan to pacify the old woman, he approached her, and tapping her gently on the shoulder, said, in a kind manner, "Miss Rosalie, you have a very pretty cap on, but the riband does not match it properly, it looks old and faded."
"Eh! what?" she answered in a pet, expecting to be addressed with more respect: "don't trouble yourself about my cap; every one has enough to do to sweep before his own door. Look first to yourself and your own affairs, and then find fault with me and mine. I am a poor woman, and can't dress like a countess. If all the world were alike, and all rich, and all sat at the same table together, who would you find to serve up the eatables and drinkables?"
"I did not mean to affront you," said Albert, and by way of soothing her, took a silver coin out of his purse, adding, "but Rosalie will do me a favour by changing her riband: and that my request may not sound unreasonable, she will not, I hope, refuse to accept a broad piece!"
Who has not seen the sun disperse the mists of a day of October? In like manner was old Rosel's ill-humour dispelled. The polite manner of the young knight, who had touched her weak point, by calling her Rosalie, her favourite name, instead of the familiar one of old Rosel, and presenting her with a dollar, having the bust of the Duke on one side, and the arms of Teck on the reverse, were charms too potent for her to withstand. "Ah, I see you are still the same good friendly gentleman," she said; whilst, stooping down, she glided the dollar into a large leather pocket which hung to her side, and carried the hem of Albert's cloak to her lips: "just so used you to do in Tübingen. When I stood at the fountain of St. George, or went from the hill down to the market place, I was sure to hear you call to me,--'Good morning, Rosalie; and how is your young lady?' And did you not often give me presents? why at least two thirds of the gown I wear comes from the bounty and kindness of your honour!"
"Never mind that now, good woman," said Albert, interrupting the old chatterbox; "But about your master,--you will not----"
"What do you mean?" she replied, half shutting her eyes: "I can pretend never to have seen you in my life. You may rest assured of that. That which does not burn I will not inflame!"
With these words she left the room and went down to the first floor, to attend to her affairs in the kitchen.
Grateful and full of joy, she took the dollar out of her leather pocket, and looked at it over and over again on both sides. She praised the liberality of the youth, and regretted that his love had been so ill requited, for that her young lady was unfaithful to him was a clear case in her eyes. She stood in the kitchen for some time wrapt in thought. She doubted within herself whether to let the thing take its course, or whether it would not be better to give a hint to the young knight, to apprise him of the nocturnal visitor. "But," she said, "in time of need comes help; perhaps he will see it himself, and does not want my advice. Besides, a meddler between two lovers is likely to burn his own fingers. It will be better to wait and look on, for heat in counsel and rashness in action engender nothing but harm. Who seeks peace and quiet, let him keep his eyes open, listen, and be silent!"
Such were the thoughts of the old philosopher in the kitchen. The lovers had in the mean time made up their differences. Albert was unable to withstand the entreaties of Bertha, and when she asked him, in the most tender tone, whether he was still angry with her, he could not bring his heart to say, yes. Peace was therefore re-established between them, and, which is seldom the case, in a shorter time than that which had been taken up in producing the dispute. She listened to the continuation of his adventures with great interest. It required, nevertheless, the conviction of his stedfast faith in her love, and in the word of the exiled man, to restrain his jealousy within due limits; for when he described his first encounter with his opponent, he observed a blush on her countenance, which raised a doubt in his mind whether it expressed joy for his escape from so formidable and experienced an adversary, or whether it was not occasioned by a lurking interest she took in the stranger. In relating further his visit to the exile in the dreary regions of his retreat, and all the circumstances connected with it, his admiration of the knight's noble mind, his greatness of soul amidst privations and miseries, tears started into her eyes, she looked up to Heaven as if in the act of imploring God's protection upon the unhappy man.
The conversation also which he had had with him, and particularly that part of it in which the exile addressed him as his friend, extolling his magnanimity for having pledged his faith to serve Würtemberg,--the cause of the oppressed and banished,--lighted up the glance of Bertha's eyes with unusual brilliancy. She gazed on her lover for some time in silent admiration. The sufferings she had endured since she last saw him were now effaced by the joy she felt in having him by her side as the staunch ally of her father. Albert was ashamed to feel his heart beat quicker at the interest Bertha appeared to take in everything relating to his new acquaintance. But he had command enough over himself to conceal his uneasiness from her, whilst his conscience upbraided him for harbouring the slightest suspicion of her fidelity.
"Albert," she said, "some time hence many a one will envy you this night's adventure. You may think yourself highly honoured, for it is not every one that Hans would venture to conduct to the exile."
"You know him, then?" replied the young man, eager to hear from her what he had failed to elicit from the fifer. "Oh, tell me who he is! I have seldom seen a man whose features, whose whole bearing, have acquired such an ascendancy over me? He told me he would at present be called by no other name than 'the man;' but his arm, whose strength I have felt, his penetrating look, convince me his name must be renowned in the world."
"He had a name, indeed, once," she answered, "which could vie with the most noble in the land. But if he did not tell it you himself, neither dare I pronounce it, because it would be against my word to do so. You must exercise your patience a little longer," she added, smiling, "difficult as it may be to restrain your curiosity."
"But why cannot you tell me," he interrupted her, "are not we one? Ought we to withhold anything from each other? Come, tell me, who is the man in the cavern?"
"Do not be angry. Look ye, if it were my secret only, you know I would not conceal it from you a moment, and you might with justice demand it of me; but, though I know it would be safe in your keeping, I dare not tell it,--I cannot break my word."
Though frankness beamed in her countenance, and not a spark of guile reigned in her heart, her refusal to satisfy Albert's wish irritated him, and he was on the point of taxing her with duplicity, when the door burst open, and an immense dog sprang into the room. Albert gave an involuntary start, having never seen so powerful a beast. The dog took up a position opposite to him, eyed him with a fierce look, and began to growl. His voice bore an ominous sound, whilst a row of white teeth, which he every now and then showed, might have startled the courage of the bravest man; one word from Bertha was sufficient to quiet and make it lay down at her feet. She stroked his beautiful head, from which his sharp eye first glanced inquisitively at her and then at the stranger. "It does everything but speak," she said, smiling; "it comes to warn me not to betray my friend."
"I have never seen so beautiful an animal! How proudly it carries his head, as if he belonged to an emperor or a king."
"It belongs to him, the banished," replied Bertha; "it came to stop my mouth."
"But why does not the knight keep him with him? Truly, such an arm as his, supported by a dog of this kind, might defy a host of enemies."
"It is a watchful beast," she answered, "and savage; if he kept it in the cavern, he would, indeed, be a certain protection. The cavern is so extensive that a man may remain concealed in its interior without fear of molestation. But if by chance any one entered it, a dog might easily betray him, for as soon as it heard a footstep no one could control it; he would begin to growl and bark, and attract the notice of his master's enemies; he therefore ordered it to remain here. The dog understands his duty, and I take care of him. It pines for his master, and you should see his joy when night comes; he knows then that his lord will soon visit the castle; and, when the drawbridge falls, and footsteps are heard in the court, it is impossible to hold him any longer, he would break a dozen chains to get to his side."
"A beautiful specimen of fidelity!" said her lover; "but exemplified by the man to whom this dog belongs in a still higher degree. Faithful to his lord, he prefers banishment and misery rather than betray his cause. It is a folly in me," Albert added; "I am aware that curiosity is not seemly in a man, but I long to know who he is."
"Have patience till the night," said the maiden; "when he comes I will ask him if I may tell you. I doubt not but that he will permit me."
"It is a long time to wait," said Albert; "and really I cannot drive his image out of my head. If you will not tell me, I'll ask the dog; perhaps he will be kinder than you."
"Well, try him," said Bertha, laughing; "if he can speak, I'll allow him to satisfy your curiosity."
"Hearken, you enormous beast," said Albert, turning to the dog, who looked at him attentively; "tell me, what is your master's name?"
The dog raised himself proudly up, opened his broad jaws, and roared out, in terrifying tones, "U--U--U!"
Bertha coloured: "Let's have no more of this nonsense," she said, and called the dog to her; "who would talk to a dog when in Christian society?"
Albert appeared not to heed her remark. "He said 'U,' good dog; I'll wager he has been trained to it! It is not the first time he has been asked what his master's name was?"
Scarcely had he pronounced the last words than the dog repeated his U--U--U! in a still harsher tone. Bertha coloured again, she made it come and lay down at her feet, scolding him in displeasure.
"Well, we have it now," said Albert, in triumph; "his master's name is U!" He recollected that the curious word on the ring which the exile had given him began with an U. It is extraordinary, thought he. "Is your master's name, perhaps, Uffenheim? or Uxhüll? or Ulm? or, by the bye,----"
"Nonsense! the dog has no other note than U. How can you plague yourself in trying to find out a meaning to it? But here comes my father. If you wish to conceal our love from him, do not commit yourself. I'll leave you now, as it would not be right to be found together."
Albert promised to be discreet, and once more embraced Bertha, an indulgence which was likely to be the last for some time, should the presence of her father render it impossible to see her again alone. The dog appeared to watch the movements of the loving couple with astonishment, as if he were really gifted with human sense. The first sound of the horse's feet on the drawbridge was the signal for separation, when Bertha left the room accompanied by the faithful animal.