Her great healthfulness endured, but sometimes she suffered from strange swoons. 'It is from the heart,' said the apothecary whom Maria called in.
'God knows—heart affliction!' said the Grävenitz bitterly, when they told her of this verdict.
Years passed, and still she lingered at Schaffhausen, though she often promised herself to journey to Berlin armed with that 'Letter of Royal Protection' which Zollern had procured for her from Prussia's first King Friedrich i. But she shrank from bringing her cause before Friedrich Wilhelm i., the blustering monarch who had played so unexpected a rôle in her life. She accounted him as the destroyer of her happiness, for she believed that it was he alone who had influenced Eberhard Ludwig against her, and had induced him to banish her. Woman-like, she threw the blame of her lover's action entirely upon the adviser.
She hankered after her beautiful Freudenthal, and she dreamed of returning thither. Deeming herself forgotten, she believed she would be safe in Wirtemberg. Also the fierce torrent of the people's rage had been diverted to another channel, their hatred sated with their vengeance on another favourite. Süss Oppenheimer, who had saved her from imprisonment, had paid the penalty of his own crimes; in his expiation he had borne the brunt, and, for the time, appeased the people's wrath against favouritism.
Karl Alexander of Wirtemberg was dead, and his son, a child of some twelve years, was Duke of Wirtemberg. He resided in Stuttgart with his mother, a princess of the House of Thurn and Taxis.
Ludwigsburg was deserted, the palace closed; the busy crowd of merchants, clothiers, perruquiers, dressmakers, which had flocked to the new centre of gaiety, had vanished. The Grävenitz had heard that Ludwigsburg was like a city of the dead, with grass-grown streets and deserted houses. Surely she, who belonged to that forgotten past, was forgotten also? She longed to return and once more to view the scenes of her dead glory. But the years passed, and she lingered in Switzerland.
In 1740 she heard of the death of Friedrich Wilhelm i. of Prussia, and of the accession of his much-tried son—that Friedrich whom the world was justly to call Great.
A fresh hope sprang up in the Grävenitz's heart. This young man, so noble, so just, so cultured, would he not give her justice? She would journey to Berlin and present the Letter of Royal Protection; he would recognise her claims, and induce the Wirtemberg government to give her back her Freudenthal.
The headman of the canton of Schaffhausen supplied her with the necessary travelling papers. 'A lady of quality and her serving-maid journeying to Berlin on court business,' it was certified therein; no mention of the names of Grävenitz or Würben, which might have awakened dangerous memories.
Once more her way lay through the spring-radiant land. Fate had caused her to wait for the blossom, it was her destiny always to see Wirtemberg clothed in the fairest raiment. She journeyed through the smiling valleys, she passed beside the peaceful Neckar river. Her way led her near to Rottenburg, and she turned from her road to visit the Neuhaus. Here she found ruin. Madame de Ruth had bequeathed her property to Zollern, and while he lived the place had been tended with pious care; but he too was dead, and the Neuhaus had passed to an heir-at-law who knew not, and if he had known, would not have comprehended, the loving memory which caused the dilapidated mansion to be treasured. It is always so; there is no sadder thing than the melancholy of a place, once sacred and beloved, which has fallen into the chill hands of the indifference of another generation.