The village of Wilhelmsdhal is quite an hour’s drive (even at the pace of my good horses) along the downhill road which leads from my uplifted mansion into the valley land; it takes two hours for the return way.
For safety’s sake I made the announcement of my approaching marriage to the household as late in the day as possible, and, though sorely tempted to betray the exalted rank of the future mistress to the astonished major-domo, to whom János, with his usual imperturbability, interpreted my commands, I refrained, with a sense that the impression created would only after all be heightened if the disclosure were withheld till the actual apparition of the newly-made wife.
But in the vain arrogance of my delight I ordered every detail of the reception which was to greet us, and which I was determined should be magnificent enough to make up for the enforced hole-and-corner secrecy of the marriage ceremony.
Schultz the factor, my chief huntsman, and the highest among my people were to head torch-light processions of their particular subordinates at stated places along the avenue that led upwards to the house. There was to be feasting and music in the courtyard. Flowers were to be strewn from the very threshold of her new home to the door of my Princess’s bridal chamber.
God knows all the extravagance I planned! It makes me sick now to think back on it!
And the wedding! Ah! that was a wedding to be proud of!
It was a dull and cloudy evening, with a high, moist wind that came in wild gusts, sweeping over the plains and tearing the leaves from the forest trees, bringing with it now a swift moonlit clearing upon the lowering face of heaven, now only thicker darkness and torrents of rain. It was all but night already in the forest roads when I started, and quite night as I emerged from out of the shelter of the mountains into the flat country. János sat on the box and my chasseurs hung on behind, and my four horses kept up a splendid pace upon the level ground. I had dressed very fine, as became a bridegroom; but fortunate it was that I had brought a dark cloak with me, for a fearful burst of storm-rain came down upon me as I jumped out from the carriage at the church door. And indeed, despite that protection, my fine white satin clothes were splashed with mud, my carefully powdered queue sadly disarranged in the few steps I had to take before reaching shelter, for the wind blew a very hurricane, and the rain came down like the rain of the deluge.
The church porch was lit only by an ill-trimmed wick floating in a saucer of oil; but by the flickering light, envious and frail as it was, I discerned at once the figure of Mademoiselle Ottilie’s nurse awaiting us. Without a word she beckoned to me to follow her into the church.
The place struck cold and damp with a death-like closeness after the warm blustering air I had just left. It was even darker than the porch outside, its sole illumination proceeding from the faint glow of the little sanctuary lamp and the sullen yellow flame of two or three tallow candles stuck on spikes before a rough wooden statue on a pillar at one side. I, flanked by János and his two satellites, followed the gaunt figure to the very altar rails, where, with an imperious gesture, she signed to me to take my place.
Before turning to go she stood still a second looking at me, and methought—or it may have been a fancy born of the dismal place and the dismal gloom—that I had never seen a human countenance express so much hatred as did that woman’s in the mysterious gleam of the lamp. My heart contracted with an omen of forthcoming ill.