The Youth of the Great Elector by L. Muhlbach (page 8)

excellency, a courier from Koenigsberg has just arrived, and is the bearer of this dispatch from the Elector.”

The Stadtholder took the proffered packet, and by a hurried sign dismissed the chamberlain.

“A courier from Koenigsberg,” he said, with a slight shaking of the head, as he examined the great sealed envelope which he held in his hand. “A writing from the Electoral Government Office, when Schulenburg was just with me this very day, the bearer of verbal communications! I do not understand it!”

“The best plan would be, most revered father, to open the letter!” cried Count Adolphus briskly. “You will then see what news it contains.”

The Stadtholder made no answer, but tore off the cover and drew forth the inner paper. Slowly he unfolded this, and read.

His son had involuntarily advanced a few steps nearer, and watched his father’s countenance with the impatience of suspense. He saw him turn pale, his brow darken, and his lips become firmly compressed.

“The letter contains bad news?” he said breathlessly.

“Not merely bad but astonishing news,” replied the count, with forced composure. “The Elector here makes several requirements of me, and not directly, but through his private secretary Goetz.”

“What presumption!” exclaimed his son passionately.

“How can that little Elector dare to forward a writ of chancery to you, the mighty and influential Stadtholder in the Mark, instead of addressing his desires and requests to you privately in his own handwriting?”

“It shows at all events a little negligence and want of formality,” replied his father thoughtfully, “although the Elector may certainly plead as his excuse the many claims upon his time. For the same reason he only gave Schulenburg verbal messages for me.”

“And may I ask what the Elector demands of your grace? Or is this an indiscretion on my part?”

“No, my son, you shall learn it. In the first place, the Elector requires me to send unopened to him at Koenigsberg all letters arriving here addressed to him, and not to open and answer them in his name as hitherto. The Elector further desires me to conclude no act of government without having previously called together the privy council. In the third place, the Elector directs me forthwith to require of all the governors and officers of the forts an oath of allegiance to himself. He lastly asks, if I can make it convenient to come to Prussia, that we may confer together, and that he may have the benefit of my aid and advice.”

“And what answer will your grace return to these demands?”

“As regards the first requirement, I shall reply that the Elector’s will is law, and that all writings shall be henceforth forwarded to him unopened. As to the second demand, I shall represent that it is now simply impossible to gratify, since only a single member of the old privy council is yet alive. As to binding the officers and commandants by oath to their duty,” continued the count slowly, “I shall but require a token of their disposition to fulfill existing engagements. And lastly, as the Elector wishes it, I can hardly refuse him my advice; so that I will go to him in Prussia.”

“No,” cried Count Adolphus impatiently, “no, father, you shall not. You shall not accept this artfully contrived invitation. You dare not go to Prussia. My God, sir, are your usually keen and penetrating eyes so blinded that they can not see what is so very palpable? Do you really not perceive that the Elector only wants to entice you away, in order to get you in his power, in order noiselessly and quietly to put you out of the way? Ostensibly you are to go to Koenigsberg to advise the young, inexperienced Elector. That is the pretext, the sand which they would scatter in the eyes of yourself, your friends, the Emperor, yea, all Germany, so that no one can see what is going on, or by any possibility guess what will happen. You may set out for Koenigsberg, but you will never get there; you will meet with an accident on the way–either your carriage will be overset and you fatally injured, or robbers fall upon you in the woods and murder you. However it may be, only as a dead man will you arrive at Koenigsberg, and the Elector will have nothing further to do than to decree your magnificent obsequies!”

“Ah, my son!” cried the Stadtholder, smiling, “you go too far. Never will the Elector resort to such expedients. He is too pious and good a Christian for that!”

“Father, are not you, too, a good, pious Christian, and yet–Believe me, the Elector has forgotten nothing. He remembers the man found under his bed once, with a murderous weapon in his hand and much gold in his pocket. He remembers the sickness which so suddenly seized him two years ago at the banquet which you had prepared for him. _Then_ you invited him, _now_ he invites you, and if sickness seizes you, you will probably not have the good fortune to recover as he did.”

“That is true; my God! he may be right,” muttered the count, turning pale. “It may be that they suspect me; they may have told him I meant to poison him at that banquet. I have proofs of it which make it seem probable, and that woman–Hush, hush! nothing of that–that has no place here! But I believe myself that you are right, and will therefore ignore the Elector’s invitation.”

“God be praised, father, that you have taken this resolution!” cried the young count joyfully. “Now at last the crisis is upon us–open enmity and a rupture, regardless of consequences! Waver and hesitate no more. The Elector would ruin you; you must ruin him. Nay, look not so amazed and shocked, father! I have long foreseen this moment, and have prepared everything for meeting the emergency with dignity. As soon as the first news of the Elector George William’s death reached here, I gathered about me my friends and yours, and held a long consultation with them, which satisfied me of their fidelity and devotion. Oh, most gracious sir, you have indeed no reason to bewail your lot, for you have many and reliable friends, who are ready for your sake to confront the most imminent dangers, to undertake what is most difficult and hazardous! All of our friends were convinced with me that the Electoral Prince is your implacable enemy, and that he only watches for an opportunity to accomplish your ruin. In spite of his few years, however, he is much too wise and cautious a man to attempt to act against you with open, swift determination. He knows the Emperor loves you, and that he would regard each act of enmity against you as directed against himself. Therefore he would quietly remove and undo you. Here, in the midst of your faithful friends, surrounded by soldiers and officers who have taken an oath of fidelity to you and the Emperor, in the midst of your adherents and retainers, the Elector would not dare to arrest and accuse you. He begins much more prudently, much more circumspectly! In the first place, you are to swear the governors and officers into the Elector’s service. That is to say, in other words, they are no longer to recognize the Emperor as lord paramount or you as the Elector’s representative, but their oath is to bind them to the Elector alone, and only on his will are they to be dependent. After having accomplished all this, you are to proceed to Prussia, where no one defends you, where your friends can not rally around you, where you will vanish, uncared for and unwept. No, my lord and father, you must not go to Prussia, or if you do, not until you have assembled around you your loyal subjects, when, at the head of your regiments, you go forth to meet the Elector as his powerful and determined foe, not as his servant.”

“What do you say, my son?” asked the Stadtholder, shocked.

“I say, father, that your friends and I have been secretly active, that we have prepared to defend you in case the Elector threatens you. Throughout the whole Mark your friends are ready to make open opposition to the Elector, and firmly determined to protect you and their own rights and privileges sword in hand. Only carry out Frederick William’s order, summon the commandants of the forts here to Berlin, and demand of them their oath of allegiance to the Elector. This they will refuse. All, with the exception of Burgsdorf of Kuestrin and Trotha of Peitz, will declare that they have already given in their oath to the Emperor, and can not conscientiously take any other. The colonels of the regiments will say the same, especially Goldacker, the boldest, bravest of them all. They will keep faith with the Emperor, and therefore the Elector of Brandenburg is not their commander in chief. _You_, who administered the imperial oath, they will obey in the Emperor’s name, they will follow whithersoever _you_ lead.”

“But whither can I lead them?” asked the Stadtholder.

“To battle against the little Elector of Brandenburg, who would revolt against his lord the Emperor; to battle against the heretical vassal of the Emperor, who threatens the German Empire and the Church, who would break loose from Emperor and empire, who threatens all creeds, making every effort to strengthen and aggrandize the reformed party. Oh, believe me, not merely good Catholics, but the Evangelical and Lutheran sects, will obey this call, and burn with enmity and wrath against the rash little Elector. We have spread our net, and its meshes are entangling him, even there in Prussia, where he thinks himself quite safe and secure. True friends and trusty messengers have been sent by Goldacker and myself to Prussia, to concert measures there with your adherents, and to rouse them to strong, energetic action. Sebastian von Waldow, superintendent of the palace and captain of Ruppin, assembles your friends together in perfect secrecy, and I daily expect from him exact accounts as to the success of his operations. In Koenigsberg itself we now have a powerful and efficient friend, who co-operates with us and is like-minded with ourselves. It is the ambassador whom the Emperor has sent to condole with the Elector. He is my best, most confidential friend, Count von Martinitz. He is acquainted with all my plans, he is the confidant of all my hopes and views, and will second them with all his might. This ambitious, heretical little Elector shall not rise, shall not arrive at power and distinction! That is not only the view the Emperor takes of it, but all German princes. The Elector of Brandenburg is a source of terror and embarrassment to them all. He threatens Saxony, he threatens Brunswick and Hesse; of all he claims land and property now in their possession. He has no friends, adherents, nor allies, this little Elector Frederick William. Holland will not side with him, because it will not relinquish Julich and Cleves, Sweden contends with him for Pomerania, and Poland about the investiture. He has only enemies and accusers! If, then, we attack him, he is lost! No hand will be lifted in his defense, no arm outstretched to save him. The Emperor will grant us his support and countenance, and all German princes will secretly rejoice that so dangerous a rival has been happily removed. O father! you see I have not abandoned hope of becoming some day Elector of Brandenburg! Only, I shall not be indebted for it to the Princess Charlotte Louise, but to you. I shall inherit the dignity as my father’s son! And this shall be my revenge upon the faithless, treacherous Princess! I will ruin her and her whole house; I will put my father in her brother’s place; I will one day enter as master the palace before whose closed portals they once insolently kept me two hours waiting. I swore that night to be revenged for that insult, and now the moment has come. Father, the fruit of revenge is ripe, and you must pluck it!”

“Yes, that I will,” cried the Stadtholder, with animation. “Oh, my son, a great, immeasurable joy fills my soul at this hour; and, first of all, let me beg your pardon for having entertained a horrible suspicion with regard to you which has lately forced itself upon me. I mistrusted you, seeing your activity, your strange confidential transactions with the commandants and officers; I felt that you were on the eve of some great undertaking, and suspected that in you I had a rival, and that you wished to supplant me! Forgive me, my son, forgive me in consideration of the misery my suspicions caused me!”

“I have nothing to forgive, father,” said Count Adolphus coldly. “It is so natural for those incapable of love to suppose that others are only moved by selfish ends! You, father, love nothing on earth but your own ambition and fame, and so fancied that it was the same with me, and that ambition could make the son a traitor to his own father!”

“My Adolphus!” cried the Stadtholder, “I have already told you, and repeat again, that I feel I have a heart. I felt it in the pain which I experienced when I doubted you; I feel it now in the rapture which thrills me in beholding you act so boldly and courageously in behalf of your father. Give me your hand, Adolphus, and–if you do not disdain such a thing–embrace me, and kiss your old father.”

He held out his arms, and his son threw himself on his breast and imprinted a long, fervent kiss upon his lips. Long did Count Schwarzenberg clasp him to his heart, then took the young man’s head between both his hands and looked at him with loving, tender glances. Finally, with a singular expression of embarrassment, he bent down and kissed his eyes.

“My son,” he said softly and quickly, “I love you. Yours are the first eyes that I have ever kissed, and this kiss of your father’s unpolluted lips should be to you a life-long blessing. And now to work, now for action, and bold adventurous deeds! Oh, of late how weak and worn out I have felt myself to be, and longed to withdraw into solitude and retirement, to rest from all labor! I believed it was old age creeping upon me, and by its abominable touch unnerving my arm and crippling my activity. But now I feel that it was only secret grief about you which thus enfeebled me and robbed my arm of vigor. Now I am quite well again and strong; now I will dare everything that you have so prudently and wisely planned. Yes, yes, once more I am Schwarzenberg, the Stadtholder in the Mark, and I shall not allow myself to be imposed upon; I shall do battle with this little Frederick William, who ventures to defy and threaten me. He opposes the Emperor, he would be an independent Sovereign, while he is only the Emperor’s vassal. For this he shall be punished. It will not be our fault if this hurls him from his little throne, and how could we be blamed, should the Emperor bestow the margraviate of Brandenburg upon Prince Schwarzenberg, as he did the margraviate of Jaegerndorf upon Prince Lobkowitz? To work, my son, to work! Oh, now again my eyes see clearly–now again my head conceives fixed and energetic thoughts. My son, we two combined will surely be equal to the execution of our exalted schemes. We two combined will ruin the Elector.”

“And put you in his place,” cried the young count.

“I must go before, that you may be my successor, and that our house stand firm and strong, and not be inferior to that of Lobkowitz or Fuerstenberg. Already it is clearly defined in my mind what we shall have to do. In the first place, we must render the Elector odious to all parties, making it evident to each that he is a dangerous foe to all, who would enrich himself at his neighbors’ expense, and would arrive at honor and power by weakening and degrading others. We have only to say to the Emperor that he is his opponent, and seeks to release his officers from the oath they have taken. Ferdinand is passionate and jealous of his prerogatives, and will crush his rebellious vassal. To the Lutherans and their favorers we will have it whispered by our friends that the Elector, as a rigid Calvinist, threatens their faith, and proposes to restrict the privileges of their country churches and to deprive of their offices all those who will not confess the Calvinistic creed. The Lutherans are a hard-headed and fanatical sect. He who menaces their faith is their arch-enemy, and they will be ready to fight against him with fire and sword. The soldiers, you know, are always ready to follow him who pays them best, and as regards their officers, thanks to you, my son, we are sure of them. Let us now adopt a fixed plan for hastening the crisis.”

“I am only waiting for the return of the messenger whom I sent to Sebastian von Waldow. He will bring us reliable information as to the progress of organization among your adherents in Prussia, for Waldow has gone himself to Koenigsberg to hold a consultation with Count Martinitz, and to concert with our loyal friends a fixed plan of operations.”

“We shall be obliged to go very slowly and cautiously to work,” said Count Adam thoughtfully. “We must first secure ourselves on all sides, and be sure of the result before we venture to assume the offensive. The most important thing now is to assure ourselves of the Emperor’s favor and approval. You, my son, must repair forthwith to Regensburg, where the Emperor is at present. You will inform him that I have obtained orders from the Elector to release the troops from their oath to the Emperor, and to swear them into the Elector’s service alone. You will say to his Majesty that I have declined to yield to this order, and in the oath administered to the officers have made their allegiance to the Elector quite secondary to their obligations to himself. You will further notify the Emperor that the soldiers’ pay has been in arrears for a month, because all our coffers are empty. Therefore ask, in my name, if it would not perhaps be advisable, if we come to extremities, to take the Brandenburg troops into the Emperor’s pay, to give them rations in the Emperor’s name, and renew their oath to his Imperial Majesty. To effect this, we have only to stimulate a little the discontent of the troops. They are already tolerably desperate because they have not received their wages. If the Elector does not speedily pay off the troops, the desperation will reach its height, and a revolt break forth spontaneously.”

“Thence it follows, most gracious sir, that they will become as wax to be molded at your will.”

“You are right, my son; we must manage to retain authority over friend and foe. The troops here are a wild, lawless horde, knowing little of discipline and order, and bearing much closer resemblance to a robber band than a princely army. We must aim at having disciplined troops at hand, such as are accustomed to obedience, and to this end must introduce imperial troops into the Mark. Nothing further is necessary for this than to begin hostilities against the Swedes with renewed activity, drawing them down upon Berlin. It will then seem quite natural, considering the weakness of the forces here, to invite the aid of the Emperor and his troops in defending Berlin and protecting ourselves against the Swedes, but in truth to help us in this great movement against the seditious Elector, who would revolt against Emperor and empire.

“I commission you, my son, to unravel this whole scheme to the Emperor, and to petition him for his countenance. For, without the imperial approbation and without an assurance of success, we dare not proceed further in this dangerous undertaking. We must have some security, too, that the Emperor’s Majesty will proportionately reward us if we gain the Mark for him, and rid him of that mutinous, heretical Elector.”

“I shall above all things seek to come to an understanding with Father Silvio, and impress upon the Emperor’s pious, zealous father confessor the extent of glory and blessing to be acquired in behalf of the Church and holy faith by wresting the Mark out of the hands of a heretic, and bestowing it upon a believing, true Catholic, such as the Stadtholder in the Mark. The father has the Emperor’s ear, and, I believe, is favorably disposed toward me. I shall use every means for enlisting his favor, and it would be well to have some funds at my disposal for this purpose. Father Silvio, noble and pious though he be, loves money, and is not inaccessible to jewels and valuable gifts. He has in his apartments at Vienna costly collections of precious stones and rare gold and silver plate, and it affords him high gratification to add a few valuable pieces to them.”

“We will take care of that,” said Count Adam, smiling. “Choose out of our casket of gems a few things worthy the pious father’s acceptance, and for money you can draw upon the bankers Fugger of Nuremberg. I recently deposited with them considerable sums, in case of emergency. They are safer there than here in this starved-out Mark, among the desperadoes of Berlin and Cologne, who have no affection for me, and perhaps some day may take it into their heads to demand relief from me for their poverty and want, and plunder me to enrich themselves. Among such a gaunt, hungry populace we must be prepared for everything, and it is wise to be insured against mishaps. In these present evil days, however, nothing but money can raise an army, and only he who has money can aspire to being a general.”

“The little Elector of Brandenburg has no money!” cried Count Adolphus, “for which God be praised! He, therefore, can be no general. His troops and his land belong to us, and, like the Margrave of Jaegerndorf and the Elector of the Palatinate, the deposed Elector of Brandenburg may soon be a wanderer in foreign lands, exposing his humiliation to the whole German Empire. Nowhere will he find compassion, nowhere sympathy, for he is a dangerous foe to all, and all will profit by his fall. Dear, honored father, let me depart this very hour for Regensburg, in order to obtain the Emperor’s approval of our weighty plans, and to return to you the earlier with plenipotentiary powers.”

“You are right, Adolphus, haste makes speed, and we must strike while the iron is hot. Set off, my son, this very hour if you choose. It will not be necessary for me to write to the Emperor by you. You know perfectly how to interpret my thoughts, and your spoken word is better than my written one. God speed you, then, my son, I shall expect daily dispatches from you, acquainting me with the progress of your negotiations.”

“I shall write, father, and make use of the ciphers agreed upon between us. You have preserved the key, have you not?”

“I have preserved it in my head,” replied the count, pointing to his forehead. “Important secrets should never be committed to paper, and I say with Charles V, ‘If one carries a great secret in his head, he should burn his very nightcap, that it may not betray him.’ Truly may it be said of us two that we carry an important secret in our heads. Instead of a nightcap I have burned the cipher key, that it may not one day betray us!”

“But the great secret will one day surprise the world,” cried Count Adolphus joyfully; “its trumpet peals will one day startle the whole of Germany. From the palace balcony here in Berlin shall its triumphant flourishes ring forth. The people in the streets will hear them in astonishment, and to me they will sound as the rejoicing songs of the heavenly hosts, and enraptured I shall look up to my father, standing there majestic in the pomp of his princely power. If I may then fall at your feet, all the ambitious dreams and aspirations of my heart will be fulfilled, and all within me will rejoice and shout, ‘Health and blessings upon Prince Schwarzenberg, Margrave of Brandenburg!’ Farewell now, dear father! I hurry away, the earlier to return to you!”

V.–THE CATASTROPHE.

Their plans matured, and every day approached nearer to completion, while with firm hand Count Adam Schwarzenberg held the reins which guided the great machinery of insurrection. He had sent Colonel Goldacker with his regiment to Mecklenburg to draw out the Swedes, and to provoke them to advance upon the Mark. The Swedes took up the gauntlet thrown down to them, and, while they were opposed to Goldacker in Mecklenburg, other Swedish regiments marched from Lausitz against Berlin. This was exactly what the Stadtholder wished, and once more the devoted Mark saw the flames of war burst forth, in order that Schwarzenberg might have an excuse for summoning Saxon troops to his aid.

To-day these troops had reached Berlin, and the Stadtholder wished to celebrate their arrival by a sumptuous _fete_ in his palace. To this entertainment he had bidden Colonel Goldacker from Mecklenburg; the commandants of Spandow and Berlin, with their officers, were also invited, and already, in the early morning, they were preparing the table in the great hall for the magnificent collation to be served at noon.

Meanwhile lamentation and mourning reigned in the cities of Berlin and Cologne, while life went so merrily in the Schwarzenberg palace. The wild hordes of soldiers made the streets unsafe even in the daytime. Drunken they roved through the city, with the greatest tumult and uproar; they broke into the houses of peaceful citizens to plunder and rob, and wherever anything was refused them, they committed the most wanton acts, laughing and singing over the tortures they inflicted. In vain had the burghers applied to the officers of these ungovernable outlaws and besought them to restrain the soldiery from outrages, to confine them to their quarters, and to punish them for their thefts and robberies. The officers declared that there was no means of enforcing so rigid a discipline, and that in times of war some allowance should be made for soldiers who with their own bodies protected the burghers from their foes.

But the poor, tormented burghers did not want war; they wanted peace! Peace at any price. The States, too, who held their session in Berlin, wanted peace, and to this end had sent out a deputation from their midst to the Elector at Koenigsberg to implore him to pity their distress and to command the Stadtholder in the Mark to abstain from hostilities against the Swedes.

The same suit the citizens desired to present to the Stadtholder, and to-day, while preparations were in progress for a military entertainment in the Schwarzenberg palace, a solemn deputation of the magistracy and citizenship repaired to the same spot to lay before the Stadtholder their wishes and entreaties. Count Schwarzenberg kept them waiting a long while in his antechamber, and when he finally made his appearance his countenance was proud and haughty, and his eyes shot angry glances upon the poor representatives of the burghers, who stood with deprecating humility before him.

“What would you have of me, sirs?” he cried, in a rough voice. “What have you to say to me?”

“Most gracious sir,” replied the burgomaster of Berlin, “we come to entreat the aid and assistance of your excellency in behalf of our afflicted cities. We are exhausted, hungry, plundered, driven to despair. We can no longer bear the frightful burden of war. Have compassion upon our affliction; make peace with the Swede, that he may not advance upon Berlin, that we may not be forced to appeal to foreigners for our defense.”

“Make peace!” cried the burghers, stretching out their hands imploringly toward the Stadtholder, their eyes filled with tears. “O sir! we have borne sorrow and wretchedness for so many long, bitter years! Our hearts are crushed and desperate! Our souls are faint! Make peace, that we may see some end to our trials! We have no nourishment, no money, not even a shelter for our heads. The Swedes plundered us; the Imperialists took from us what the Swedes left; and now our own soldiers drive us out of our bare and empty dwellings, make sport of our calamities, mock the burghers, insult our wives and daughters, and quarter themselves in our houses, while we wander homeless about the streets, not even being able to procure shelter in our churches because the cavalry have taken possession of these with their horses, and converted the temples of God into filthy barracks! Make peace, Sir Stadtholder, make peace!”

“I have not power to do so,” replied Count Schwarzenberg haughtily, “neither the power nor the will! The Swede is the enemy of our country, and we must resist him with all the means at our command. Cease your howling and shrieking, for it will be but in vain. War is upon us, and we can not as cowards retreat before it. Shame upon you for your pusillanimity and cowardice, since your men are still capable of bearing arms!”

“Sir, our men have no more strength for fighting. Our hands are too weak to hold a weapon.”

“Oh, you will be forced to handle them!” cried Schwarzenberg, laughing scornfully. “When your houses are on fire, and you see your wives and children dragged off by soldiers, then these cowards will be turned into valiant warriors, who can at least defend their lives and the honor of their families! I tell you, though, it will come to that. Extremity is before you, and calls for terrible resolutions.”[42]

The burghers broke into loud lamentations, a few threw themselves on their knees, others wept and wailed, while the lords of the magistracy approached nearer to the count in order to make confidential representations of the utter hopelessness and despondency of the two unhappy cities of Berlin and Cologne.

Schwarzenberg, however, turned away from these representations with stern composure. “I have not peace but war in hand,” he said. “Why do you apply to me now when you think, nevertheless, that you can receive no good save from the Elector himself, who is your guardian angel, while I am the destroying one. Wait and see what news the deputation of the States will bring you from Koenigsberg. You besought the States in your time of trouble to appeal to the Elector himself. Well, be patient and await their return. However, I can tell you beforehand that they will bring you a refusal, for the Elector wishes war, and has given me orders to that effect. He has confirmed me in all my offices and dignities. He has most condescendingly assured me of his unlimited confidence, and empowered me to act according to my own unbiased judgment, and to guide the reins of government as I shall choose. I hold them tight, and shall not he turned out of my way by your whining and complaining. War is upon us, and should I have to lay Berlin in ashes to avoid giving a shelter and asylum to the Swedes, it shall be done, rather than conclude peace with them, yield to their degrading conditions, and give up Pomerania to them! I therefore advise you to be on good terms with the soldiers, to receive them kindly into your houses, to entertain them well–“

“Sir,” interrupted the first burgomaster, with a bitter cry of distress–“sir, we have nothing with which we could entertain them, we–“

“Silence!” called out the Stadtholder, in a thundering voice–“silence! I have heard you out, and it is my turn now to speak, and yours to listen silently. Go and take your measures accordingly, and act as becomes obedient subjects.”

He turned upon his heel and with proud bearing re-entered his cabinet, while the burghers sorrowfully slunk away, to spread throughout all Berlin the dreadful news that all their entreaties had been in vain, and that the war was to be prolonged.

“Yes, the war is to be prolonged,” repeated Count Schwarzenberg, when he again found himself alone in his cabinet. “We approach the _denouement_, and if I could only get decisive tidings from my son, I would hurry on a crisis and begin open war. He keeps me waiting for such tidings a very long while,” continued the count, dropping into the armchair in front of his writing table. “He has only written once to me from Regensburg, and then he could only inform me that he had commenced operations, and–Ah!” he interrupted himself, as his glance fell upon his table, “there are papers and dispatches, which must have come in my absence. Perhaps there is among them a letter from my son.”

He hastily snatched up the letters and examined one after another. No, there was no letter from his son, only official documents from the Elector’s cabinet.

He opened the first of these, and a shudder ran through his whole frame as he read. In this paper the Elector commanded the Stadtholder in the Mark to send back to him the blank charters, intrusted to him by the Elector George William on his departure for Koenigsberg; he must, moreover, render a distinct and exact account of the manner in which he had disposed of the charters no longer in existence. _He_, Schwarzenberg, the mighty Stadtholder in the Mark, the Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, the Director of the War Department–_he_, to be called to account as a servant by his master! He was expected to answer for what he had done in the plenitude of his power, and–worse than that–he must suffer that power to be limited! He would do nothing of the sort; he would not give up the blank charters not yet appropriated and send them back to the Elector!

That was to curtail the privileges of his high position, to dethrone him, and, after having been an absolute master, to make him a dependent servant! These blank charters had been the princely prerogative of the Stadtholder, the scepter with which he ruled! These papers, on which nothing was written, but at the lower corner of which stood the Elector’s sign manual–these papers had made him absolute monarch of the Mark. In free plenitude of power, with unfettered will, had he filled up the vacant sheets, bestowing by their means honors and benefits, inflicting punishments, imposing taxes, and the Elector’s signature had legalized his decrees, and imparted the force of law to his will.[43]

And these blank charters, before which his enemies trembled, which had struck his partisans and friends as a precious attribute of his power–these blank charters he was now called upon to resign!

“I shall not do it,” he exclaimed, in a loud, determined voice–“no, I shall not do it! I shall not be such a fool as to lessen my own power. No; the blank charters are mine, I shall know how to hold them fast!”

He threw the rescript aside and seized another letter. Again from the Elector’s cabinet–again a command from him to the Stadtholder in the Mark!

He broke open the seal, unfolded the paper with trembling hands, and again shuddered as he read; and a momentary pallor overspread his cheeks. This writing contained the Elector’s orders to suspend hostilities, and to refrain from any attack upon the Swedes and the places occupied by them, and most rigidly to confine himself to the defensive until an abiding peace could be concluded with Sweden.[44]

“You assail me, little Elector!” he said, with smothered, threatening voice. “You bring out your reserves against me, and would cause the proud edifice of my power to crumble away stone by stone! You fear lest if the great Colossus falls at once it might crush you, and therefore you would destroy it piecemeal, a little at a time! You shall not succeed, though, little Elector; the Colossus will rear its head on high, and you alone will fall!”

At this moment loud, angry and excited voices made themselves heard from the antechamber, and a lackey tore open the door.

“Your excellency, the Commandants von Rochow, von Kracht, and Colonel von Goldacker request an audience.”

But the three gentlemen did not wait for the granting of this audience. With unseemly haste they rushed into the cabinet, unceremoniously thrust out the lackey, and closed the door behind him.

“Most gracious sir, do you know it?” screamed Rochow, the commandant of Spandow.

“Do you know, your excellency, what things are going on?” growled Kracht, the commandant of Berlin.

“Have you learned what bold steps the Elector is taking?” thundered Colonel Goldacker, shaking his fist in a most menacing way.

“I know nothing, gentlemen, have heard nothing! Speak, tell me what has happened!”

“It has happened that the Elector has sent commissioners to all our fortresses!” cried Herr von Rochow. “Two hours ago such a cursed fellow came to me at Spandow, and when he had delivered me his message I left the fool standing there without any answer, threw myself on my horse, and galloped off to confer with your excellency.”

“And such a confounded popinjay has been with me, too!” growled Herr von Kracht. “He also imparted to me his Electoral message–command, the fellow called it. I did just like Commandant von Rochow, left him standing while I hurried off to your excellency.”

“An Electoral mandate reached me also!” cried Colonel Goldacker, laughing. “I simply showed the jackanapes the door, laughed him to scorn, and am come to get my orders from your excellency!”

“But, gentlemen, with all this I know nothing and can not find out what has happened. Sir Commandant von Rochow, inform me. What is the matter?”

“The matter is, your excellency,” said Herr von Rochow, gnashing his teeth, “that a commissioner from the Elector has come to me with his master’s orders, to require an oath of allegiance to the Elector from myself and the whole garrison.”

“A like order has the Elector’s deputy handed to me!” cried the commandant of Berlin; “the fellow wanted to swear me and my men into the Elector’s service.”

“I, too, must give such an oath to the commissioner!” screamed Goldacker, “and my troops as well. What do you say to that, Sir Stadtholder in the Mark?”

Just now, however, the Stadtholder said nothing. He turned pale and tottered backward, until his hand rested upon a chair into which he sank. His head swam, a sudden dizziness seized him, and he was obliged to put his hand over his eyes, for everything was turning and whirling in a circle around him. In the vehemence of their own excitement the three gentlemen hardly observed this, and the count, with the energy of his strong will, speedily recovered his composure and presence of mind.

“Your excellency!” cried Commandant von Kracht, “do you not agree with us? Do you not find the Elector intolerably assuming?”

“I was silent because I was reflecting, gentlemen,” said the count, drawing a deep breath. “This appearance of the commissioner empowered to administer to you your oaths of office is a challenge, thrown down to me by the Elector, for I am Director of the War Department, and to me alone should that duty have been committed of again binding the troops in the Mark to him by oath. He insults me, and thereby insults the Emperor, for you all know that the Emperor is your commander in chief, and that you dare never break the oath to the Emperor, which I took from you after the conclusion of the peace of Prague. You swore to do your duty for Emperor and Elector, and for this reason, on the recent accession of the present Elector, I only required the colonels to give me their hands in token of their obligations already assumed, for an oath is an oath, and you can not swear to serve one to-day and another to-morrow.”

“We can not and will not, either,” shouted Colonel Goldacker furiously. “I have given my word to the Emperor. I remain true to the Emperor, and the Emperor will protect us against the insolence of the little Elector.”

“Yes, the Emperor will protect us,” cried Colonel von Rochow. “I shall take no new oath, for I have sworn to the Emperor, and not until the Emperor has released me from the oath, and I have made a new agreement with the Elector, can I swear to him. Until that time the oath which I have taken to the Emperor remains binding.” [45]

“I, too, have sworn to serve the Emperor, and shall abide by my oath,” said the commandant of Berlin, as if weighing each word. “No one has a right to command here but the Emperor and the Stadtholder in the Mark, whom the Elector himself appointed. What that vagabond of a commissioner says is nothing to the purpose–it signifies nothing to us.”

“No, it signifies nothing to us,” repeated the other gentlemen. “From you alone, Sir Stadtholder, can we receive orders, for you are Director of the Council of War, the representative of the Emperor and Elector. To you alone we belong. Give us your orders; we are here to receive them!”

“Gentlemen,” said the Stadtholder, pointing with his finger to a sealed packet, lying on the writing table before him–“gentlemen, you interrupted me by your entrance in the perusal of important dispatches, which had just arrived for me from the Elector’s cabinet. See, there lies an unopened writing with the Electoral seal. Allow me to read it, for it contains the Elector’s commands, which may harmonize with those of his accredited commissioner, or at least enter into particulars with regard to them.”

The three officers bowed and reverentially retreated a few steps; but their eyes rested with intense interest upon the count, who now broke the seal and unfolded the paper. A deep silence followed. The piercing glances of the three warriors rested on the count’s countenance, which maintained steadfastly its grave, serious expression. But now a scornful laugh burst from him, ‘and for a moment an expression of wild joy illuminated his features. He rose, and with the paper in his hand approached the soldiers. “Gentlemen,” he said quietly, “I have a piece of news to communicate to you, which I fear will incommode you and your men a little, and is not calculated to heighten the love of the military for their chief. The Elector commands me, until further notice, to put the troops upon summer allowance, and the payment now in arrears is regarded as coming under the same regulation. I beg you will inform your troops of this.”

“That is shameful! That is contemptible! That will put the soldiers in a perfect fury!” screamed the three officers together.

“I do not mean to tell my men!” exclaimed Herr von Rochow–“no, I shall not tell them, for the fellows would be frantic, and in their desperation might commit shameful acts!”

“I shall tell my men on the spot!” grumbled Herr von Kracht. “I shall tell them on purpose to make them desperate, to make them rave! As far as I am concerned, they are welcome to vent their spleen upon all Berlin, upon the whole region round about. Let them go around, plundering and laying the country under contribution; they are justified in doing so, for the fellows can not subsist in winter on summer allowance, and therefore must rob and plunder.”

“I shall tell my soldiers directly, too,” shouted Herr von Goldacker. “Not but that it will give rise to a pretty tale of murder, a devilish scandal. There will result a military out-break, and the burghers of Berlin and Cologne may look to themselves; but the Elector has so willed it–the Elector excites us as well as our subordinates to open insurrection. Let him work his will now; it will only convince him that we are not to be ruled by scraps of paper and decrees scribbled by feather-headed clerks, and that he is not the irresistible lord, to whose piping we dance. The little Elector shall be made to know that the Emperor alone is our supreme officer, to him we have sworn fealty, and to him we cling despite the Elector and all his deputies. I am going on the spot to give my commissioner his dismissal–to tell him that I shall not swear, and then to carry to my soldiers the news of their having been put upon summer allowance!”

“I will go with you,” cried Herr von Kracht. “I will also put my commissioner out of the door, and convey the glad tidings to the garrison of Berlin.”

“And I,” said Herr von Rochow, “will forthwith dispatch a courier to Spandow, to tell my lieutenant that he must send the commissioner out of the fort, and tell the garrison that they are put on summer allowance. It will stir up a fine hub-bub, I am sure of that.”

“I, too, believe that the end will not be perfect peace,” said the Stadtholder, smiling. “Let the Elector learn that governing is not such an easy matter as he supposes, but that a man may know a good deal, and yet be an unskillful ruler. Go then, gentlemen, issue your orders, but forget not that in an hour our entertainment begins, and that we must not allow our feast to be disturbed by such little follies of the new _regime_.”

“No, we will not allow ourselves to be disturbed!” cried Herr von Rochow. “In one hour expect us here again, and you shall see, most gracious sir, that we have brought with us our cheerfulness, our fine appetites, and our thirst.”

“Yes, yes, your excellency, guard well your keys and bottles; we shall take the field against them.”

“Do so, gentlemen,” said the count. “But go now, to return the sooner.”

He nodded kindly to the officers and followed them with his eyes until the door closed behind them. Then the composure of his features, the smile on his lip, vanished, and his whole being seemed to express agitation and bitterness of wrath.

“He will insist upon war,” he said fiercely. “He smiles upon and strokes me with one hand, while with the other he stabs me, inflicting wound upon wound. Yes, yes, stone by stone he would crumble to dust the tower of my strength, and thinks to crush me to atoms, supposing that I will voluntarily bend to avoid being bent by him. Oh, you are mistaken, little Elector; I am not afraid of you, I shall not bend before you! The Emperor alone I serve, to him alone I am subject. But to me the Emperor is a gracious master. He will ruin you and exalt me; he will protect me against your arrogance. To me belongs the future, presumptuous young Prince! who would rule here, where I have held undisputed sway for twenty years. To me alone belongs the Mark, and I shall hold it for my lord and Emperor! The crisis has come, and finds me prepared and resolute. The troops will revolt, and then shall I step out among them, appease them in the Emperor’s name, with lavish hand scatter money among them, and again bind them by oath to the Emperor! Oh, my heart leaps for joy, for the hour of action has come. Only one thing I lack. I would just like to have certain news from my son, to be sure that the Emperor approves of my plan, that he will lift me up where the Elector would cast me down. But this, too, will come, this wish will also be gratified. For I am a son of good fortune, and all goes in accordance with my wishes! Away then with all sad and gloomy thoughts! I would present a cheerful countenance to my guests–I would appear before them in the full splendor of my glory!”

He repaired to his dressing room, where his valets arrayed him in the magnificent habit of a Grand Master of the Knights of St. John, and upon his breast shone the cross of the order set with sparkling brilliants. Having completed his toilet, he went to the great mirror and, casting a cursory glance therein, said to himself with some satisfaction that his person was still stately and distinguished, well suited to a reigning prince and fitted for wearing a crown! This thought lighted up his countenance with joyful pride, and with high head he returned to his cabinet. Chamberlain von Lehndorf entered, to inform his most noble master that the guests were already assembled in the great reception room, and longingly awaited his appearance. The chamberlain handed the count his ermine-tipped velvet cap, with its long white ostrich plumes, and then flew before to open for him the doors leading to the small antechamber, where were assembled all the officers of the count’s household, waiting to follow their master into the hall.

Lehndorf stood at the door of the antechamber, and the Stadtholder smiled upon him as he passed.

“No letters and dispatches from my son at Regensburg, Lehndorf?”

“None, most gracious sir.”

“If a courier comes, let me know of it without delay,” continued the count, moving forward. “Anything else new, Lehndorf?”

“Nothing new, your excellency.”

“What noise was that just now in the antechamber, while the commandants were in my cabinet?”

“Most gracious sir, an insolent soldier–one of those Saxons who marched in yesterday–forced himself into the antechamber, and with real importunity begged to speak to your excellency.”

“Why did you not bid him wait until the gentlemen had, gone, and then announce him?”

“He would not consent to wait by any means, and with brazen face demanded to see your excellency on the spot. The fellow was drunk, it was plain to see, and in his intoxication: kept crying out that he must talk with your excellency about an important secret; if you would not admit him directly, he would go to Prussia and tell your secret to the Elector, which would bring your honor to the scaffold. It was positively ridiculous to hear the fellow talk, and the lackeys, instead of getting angry, laughed outright at him, which only enraged him the more; he worked his arms and legs like a jumping jack and made faces like a nut-cracker. However, when he again presumed to abuse your grace, our people made short work of the drunken knave, and thrust him out of doors.”

“Well, I hope his airing will do him good,” said the count, smiling, “and that he came to his senses on the street.”

“It seems not, though,” replied Chamberlain von Lehndorf, making a signal to the halberdiers stationed on both sides of the doors of the grand reception hall that they should open the door–“no, it seems that the airing did the drunken soldier no good. For, only think, gracious sir, just now, as I passed through the front entry to get to your apartments, there the man stood, and as soon as he saw me he sprang at me, seized my arm, and whispered: ‘Chamberlain von Lehndorf, I _must_ speak to the Stadtholder. Only tell him my name, and I know that he will receive me.'”

“And did he tell you his name, Lehndorf?” asked the count, as he walked forward.

“Yes indeed, noble sir,” laughed the chamberlain; “with monstrously important air he whispered his name in my ear, as if he had been the Pope in disguise or the Emperor himself. I laughed outright, and left him standing.”

The count now stood close before the wide-open doors which led into the grand reception hall. The halberdiers struck upon the ground with their gold-headed staves; in the spacious, magnificently decorated hall appeared a dense throng of army officers in their glittering uniforms and civil dignitaries in their ceremonial garbs of office. Six pages, in richly embroidered velvet suits, stood on both sides of the door, while in the raised gilded balcony opposite the musicians arose and began to pour forth a thundering peal of welcome as soon as they caught sight of the Stadtholder.

Count Schwarzenberg, however, took no notice of this; he stood upon the threshold of the door, and his smiling face was still turned upon his chamberlain.

“What name did the fellow give?” asked he carelessly.

“Oh, a very fine name, gracious sir. He had the same name as the blessed archangel–Gabriel!”

“Gabriel?” echoed the count hastily and at the top of his voice, for the musicians played so loud that a man could hardly hear his own voice, even though he shouted. “Only Gabriel, nothing further?”

“Yes, most gracious sir,” screamed the chamberlain, “he did call a second name; but I confess _I_ did not pay much attention to it. I believe, though, it was Nietzel. Yes, yes, I am quite sure he said Gabriel Nietzel!”

He shouted this out very loud, not observing, as he pronounced his last words, that the music had ceased; the name Gabriel Nietzel, therefore, rang like a loud call through the vast apartment, and the brilliant, courtly assemblage laughed, although they understood not the connection between the loud call and the hushing of the music. Chamberlain von Lehndorf laughed too, and turned smiling to the count to apologize for his involuntary transgression.

But Count Schwarzenberg did not laugh; he looked pale, and with trembling lips addressed his chamberlain: “Lehndorf, hurry out and conduct the soldier to my antechamber. Tell him I will come to him directly. Do not let the man get out of your sight, watch him closely. In five minutes, as soon as I have welcomed my guests, I will come to the antechamber and speak to the fellow myself. Go!”

The chamberlain flew off to obey this behest, and the Stadtholder entered the hall. Behind him were ranged the twelve pages in their glittering clothes, then followed the officers of the household in splendid uniforms. Again the trumpets of the musicians sent forth their animating peals, and, ranged around the hall in a wide circle, the staff officers, high dignitaries, lords of the supreme court and of the magistracy, all with the insignia of their rank, bowed reverentially before the almighty lord, who now made his progress through the hall amid the clashing of trombones and trumpets. He passed along the brilliant rows of guests with quick, hurried step, but while his lips wore a smile, he thought to himself, “When this abominable ceremony is over and I have completed the circuit, I shall absent myself; I shall see if it is the veritable Gabriel Nietzel, the–“

Just at this moment Chamberlain von Lehndorf approached him, and bent close to his ear. “Most gracious sir!” he cried amid the clash of trumpets–“most gracious sir, the man is no longer there. He has gone and can no longer be seen in the street!”

The Stadtholder gave a slight nod of the head, and proceeded to bid his guests welcome.

VI.–REVENGE.

Sumptuous was the feast, choice were the viands, and costly the fragrant wines. The guests of the Stadtholder in the Mark were full of rapture, full of admiration, and their lips were lavish in praises of the noble count, while their eyes shone brighter from partaking of the generous wine. The lackeys flew up and down the hall, waiting upon the guests, the pages stood behind the count’s chair, and offered his excellency food and drink in vessels of gold. At first they sat at table with grave and dignified demeanor, but gradually the delicious viands enlivened their hearts, the glowing wine loosened their tongues, and now they laughed and talked merrily and gave themselves entirely up to the pleasures of the table. Louder swelled the hum of mingled voices. Peals of laughter rang through the banquet hall, until in their turn they were drowned by bursts of dashing music, whose inspiring strains blended with the animated tones of the human voice. Count Adam Schwarzenberg, who sat at the upper end of the table under a canopy of purple velvet, heard all this, and yet it seemed to him like a dream, and as if all this bustle, laughing, and merrymaking came to him from the distant past. He heard the confusion of voices, the clangor of the music, but it sounded hollow in his ear, and above all rang fearfully distinct the name which Lehndorf had pronounced–Gabriel Nietzel! His guests sang and laughed, but he heard only that one name–Gabriel Nietzel!

Round about the long table he saw only glad faces, beaming eyes, and flushed cheeks, but he saw them vanish and other faces arise before his inner eye, faces of the past! There sat the Elector George William, with his easy, good-natured countenance. He nodded smilingly at him, and his glance, full of affection, rested upon _him_, the favorite. Yes, he had loved him dearly, that good Elector! Out of the little, insignificant Count Schwarzenberg he had made a mighty lord, had exalted him into a Stadtholder, into the most powerful subject in his realm! And how had he requited him?

“Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!” He heard the maddening words ringing clearly and distinctly above the din of music, song, and laughter–“Gabriel Nietzel!”

There he stood in page’s dress, across there, behind the chair of the young Electoral Prince, whose pale, noble features had just begun to quiver convulsively–there he stood and cast a look of intelligence at _him_, Count Schwarzenberg.

“Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!”

Ever thus rang the echo through the hall, and however varied the medley of sounds, to him all was embodied in that name. For long months he had caused search to be made for him, but nobody had been able to bring him any tidings of Gabriel Nietzel’s whereabouts. So, gradually, he had forgotten him, and his anxiety about him had died away. Why must this dreaded name make itself heard again to-day, just to-day, when he was inaugurating the bright days of his future with this splendid feast? Why must that hateful name mingle with the rejoicings of his merry guests?

He would think of it no more, no more allow himself to be haunted by phantoms of the past! Away with memories, away with that unhappy name! Vehemently, indignantly he shook his lofty head, as if these memories were only troublesome insects to be driven away by the mere wrinkling of his brow. He even called a smile to his lips, and with a proud effort at self-control arose from his armchair and lifted the golden beaker on high, in his right hand.

If he spoke himself, he would no longer hear that perpetual ringing and singing within his breast–“Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!”

He lifted the golden beaker yet higher and bowed right and left to his guests, who had risen to their feet and looked at him full of expectancy.

“To the health of the Emperor Ferdinand, our most gracious Sovereign and lord!”

The musicians struck their most triumphant melody; with loud huzzas and shouts the guests repeated, “To the health of our most gracious lord and Emperor!”

“Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!” Still it rang in Schwarzenberg’s ears, and he sank back in his armchair and felt a sense of helpless despondency creep over his heart.

The guests followed his example and resumed their seats. A momentary silence ensued. All at once Chamberlain von Lehndorf rose from his place, took his glass with him, and went along the table to the Counselor of the Exchequer von Lastrow, who was carrying on an earnest conversation in an undertone with the burgomaster of Berlin. The chamberlain’s face was flushed with wine, his eyes sparkled, and his gait was so wavering and unsteady that even the goblet in his hand swung to and fro.

“Counselor von Lastrow,” he said, with loud, peremptory voice, “you refused to drink the health proposed by his excellency the Stadtholder in the Mark. The toast was to his Majesty our lord and Emperor. You did not lift up your glass, nor touch that of your neighbor. Wherefore was this? Why did you not drink to the welfare of our lord and Emperor?”

“I will tell you why, Chamberlain von Lehndorf,” replied Herr von Lastrow, leaping up and confronting the chamberlain in his gay uniform, with dagger dangling at his side–“I will tell you why I did not accept the Stadtholder’s toast, and may all his guests hear and ponder. I thank you, Sir Chamberlain, for affording me an opportunity of expressing myself openly and candidly on this subject. Permit me, gentlemen, to answer in the hearing of you all the question which the chamberlain has addressed to me.”

As the counselor thus spoke his large black eyes surveyed both sides of the long table. All present were silenced, all eyes were directed to the lower end of the table, and each one listened with strained attention to hear the answer of Herr von Lastrow.

Count Schwarzenberg had risen from his chair and given the rash chamberlain a look of displeasure. Yet he felt so embarrassed by his own anxiety that he dared not call him.

“Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!” rang ever in his ears, frightening away all other sounds, until they seemed to reach him only as dim and hollow echoes from afar.

“Gentlemen!” cried Herr von Lastrow now, in a loud voice, “I did not drink the Stadtholder’s toast because it would have been contrary to my duty and my oath. Ferdinand is Emperor of the German Empire, and as such we owe him reverence and respect, but when the toast styles him our lord and Emperor I can not respond to it, for Ferdinand is not my lord! No, the Elector Frederick William is my master, and now I lift my glass and cry, ‘Long live Frederick William, our lord and Elector!'”

“Long live Frederick, our lord and Elector!” shouted voices here and there at the table, and all followers of the Elector sprang from their seats, held aloft their glasses, and shouted again and again, “Long live Frederick William, our lord and Elector!”

“Strike up, musicians!” called Herr von Lastrow to the balcony, where the musicians sat, who lifted their trombones and trumpets and put them to their lips. But before a note was struck, Lehndorf shouted fiercely up to them: “Silence! Dare not to blow a single blast! I forbid you in the name of our master, the Emperor!”

A wild yell of indignation from the Electoralists and a loud burst of applause from the Imperialists followed these words. Nobody remembered any longer that he was there as the guest of Schwarzenberg, the proud count and Stadtholder. All prudence, all sense of respect was swallowed up in the storms of political passion. With threatening aspect and flashing eyes stood the Electoralists and Imperialists opposite each other, and, while the former lifted up their glasses, to touch them in honor of their Sovereign and Elector, the latter knocked their glasses tumultuously on the table, and broke out into loud laughter and deafening imprecations. No one any longer paid honor to the master of the house–no one thought of him, in fact. He had risen from his seat with the intention of going to the other end of the table, where now a furious duel of words was progressing between his chamberlain and Herr von Lastrow. He desired to pacify them, to smooth over the contention; but it was already too late, for ere he had reached the middle of the hall, a catastrophe had occurred between the contending parties. Counselor von Lastrow raised his arm, and administered to Chamberlain Lehndorf a sounding box upon the cheek.

One unanimous shriek of rage from the Imperialists, and they rushed toward Lehndorf and drew their swords. Behind Lastrow the Electoralists ranged themselves, and they, too, laid bare their weapons.

Count Schwarzenberg tottered back. He perceived that it was too late to pacify now, that all temporizing had become impossible. He had a feeling that he must flee away, that it did not comport with his dignity to stand there powerless and inactive between two factions. In this moment of weakness and indecision his confidential valet approached him.

“Most gracious sir,” he whispered, “a courier from Regensburg, from Count John Adolphus, has just arrived. I have already laid the letter upon your excellency’s writing table. It is marked ‘urgent.'”

Count Schwarzenberg turned to hurry from the hall, to escape the wild tumult, to take refuge in his cabinet, and, above all things, to read the long-expected letter from his son.

The uproar in the hall waxed ever fiercer, weapons clashed and wild battle cries resounded. He quickened his pace, and opened the door of the hall. Behind him rang out a piercing shriek, a death cry! Quivering in every fiber of his being the count turned round to–Once more that piercing shriek was heard, and Herr von Lastrow, with Lehndorf’s dagger in his breast, fell backward into the arms of his friends with the death rattle in his throat.[46]

Count Schwarzenberg, seized with horror, rushed on through the deserted, brilliantly lighted apartments–on, ever on. But that fearful shriek went with him, ringing ever in his ears. It drove him onward like a fury, and his hair stood on end and his heart beat to bursting.

He had heard it once before, that death cry!

In the stillness of night it had sounded that time in the castle of Berlin, when a pale woman had knelt at his feet and pleaded for her life! Often had he heard it since; it had awakened him from sleep, it had often startled him when engaged in merry conversation with his friends; at the festive board it had drowned the music as far as he was concerned, this death cry, this Fury of his conscience!

At last he reached his cabinet. He threw himself into a chair. God be thanked, he was alone here! He had quiet and solitude here!

He surveyed the room and an infinite feeling of relief and security came over him.

Alone!

“Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!” was whispered in his heart, and he looked timidly around, as if he feared to see him in each corner. Then a shriek resounded in his ear–that death cry!

It had penetrated into his quiet cabinet, she stood behind him, she screamed in his ear, “Gabriel Nietzel! Rebecca!”

Perfectly unmanned, the count leaned back in his easychair, the sweat standing in great drops upon his brow. He no longer even remembered that he had come there to read his son’s important letter! His soul was shattered in its inmost depths. Gabriel Nietzel was there again! A murder had been committed in his house–at his table! Committed, too, by his own servant, his favorite, his friend! He durst not pardon him; he must punish the murderer according to the law. He must pronounce sentence of death on him, who had slain his fellow-man! He foresaw this in the future! He saw himself as judge, the viceregent of God and justice, opposite the pale criminal, his servant, his friend, upon whom he pronounced sentence!

He! Would his lips dare to utter a sentence of death? Dared the murderer condemn?

“Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel! Rebecca! Rebecca!” screamed the voice behind his chair. But hark! what noise is that? What means that confused jumble of groans and yells and shouts–that howling as of fierce and sweeping winds, that roar as of the mighty deep? What is that so like the rolling of thunder? Are those wolflike howls the voices of men? Is that the tramp of human feet? Before his windows it surges and dashes, howls and roars!

With difficulty Schwarzenberg rises from his chair, and, creeping to the window, conceals himself behind the hangings and cautiously looks out upon the street. A dense throng of soldiers surges beneath his windows; the whole street, the whole square is packed with them. Angry faces, the voices of furious men, hundreds upon hundreds of uplifted fists and portentous growls!

“He shall pay us our money! He wants to cheat us out of our pay! He wants to put us upon summer allowance and pocket the rest of the money! It is said this is done by the Elector’s command. But it is a lie, an abominable lie! Schwarzenberg lets nobody command him. He is master here. He wants us to starve that his own riches may be increased. We will not suffer it! He shall pay us for it! Hurrah! Storm the house!”

“A mutiny!” muttered Count Schwarzenberg. “They were to have rebelled, and so they do. But they rebel against me! I flung down the sword, and its point is turned against myself. So the spirits of hell grant what they have promised us–what we have purchased at the price of our souls! They give the reward, but even while they are paying it out to us it becomes a curse and ruins us!”

How they storm and rage and roar without! How they beat and hammer against the locked doors! Count Schwarzenberg stands behind the window and hears them! He hears other voices, too–Goldacker, Kracht, and Rochow endeavoring to calm them, exhorting them to be patient.

Futile efforts! Ever louder grow the knocking and thundering against the house. Stones are hurled against the walls, the window shutters rattle and are shivered to pieces, the doors creak and give way.

“If they attempt to murder me, I shall not stand on the defensive,” murmurs Count Schwarzenberg to himself, as he retires from the window, slowly traverses the apartment, and again sinks down upon the chair by his writing table. The door of the cabinet is violently torn open, and in rush the Commandants von Kracht and von Rochow, followed by the captains of their regiments.

“Gracious sir, it is impossible to calm these madmen. They no longer heed orders. They are beside themselves with rage. They have already broken open the doors and forced their way into the entrance hall. They will plunder and despoil the whole palace! We can save nothing more, prevent nothing more! You are lost, so are we, and all Berlin!”

“Be it so!” says Schwarzenberg loftily. “Let the whole earth fall down and overwhelm me in its ruins. I shall but be buried beneath them!”

“Gracious sir, only hear! The howling and yelling come ever nearer, and are continually gaining in strength! Gracious sir, have pity upon us, upon yourself! Save us all!”

“Save? How can I save any one? Will those savage hordes obey me, when they refuse submission to you, their officers?”

“Gracious sir, they demand their pay! They demand money! Nothing will appease them but money, and assurances that they shall have their winter allowance. Give us money to quiet that raging host! Money–money!”

“How much would you have? How much is needful to tame that fierce, wild horde?”

“Three hundred dollars!” calls out Herr von Kracht.

“No; four hundred dollars!” shouts Herr von Rochow.

“Five hundred dollars!” growls Herr von Goldacker. “No, give us six hundred dollars, which would do the thing thoroughly.”

“Well, be it six hundred dollars then,” says the count, with an expression of contemptuous scorn. “Stay here, gentlemen; I will return directly. I am only going to fetch the money.”

He left the cabinet and entered his sleeping apartment, where, at the side of the bed, stood the great iron chest to which he alone had the key. After a few minutes he rejoined the officers in his cabinet. He had six rolls of money in his hand, two of which he handed to each of the three gentlemen.

“Here, gentlemen,” he said, with bitter mockery, “here are the commandants who have authority to bring their troops to order. Go and show them to your men, and order them to follow these commandants to the cathedral square, and there distribute the money among them.”

The gentlemen wished to thank him, but with a wave of his hand he pointed them to the door, and they hurried out to their soldiers.

Schwarzenberg looked after them, and listened to the rumbling and roaring without in the entrance hall of his house. Suddenly it became gentler, and finally ceased altogether. Then, after a pause, rang forth a loud shout of joy, and again the street filled with soldiers, again was heard the loud tramp of feet, the uproar and confusion of many tongues. “The wretches have marched off,” murmured Count Schwarzenberg to himself. “Yes, yes, with money we buy love, with money hatred and–“

“Hurrah! Long live Count Schwarzenberg!” sounded below his windows. “Long live the Stadtholder in the Mark!”

“That shout costs me six hundred dollars,” said he, shrugging his shoulders. “To-morrow, most likely the mob will come again to threaten me, that I may again purchase a cheer from them. Well, for the present at least I have rest. Nobody shall disturb me. Nobody shall intrude upon me.”

He stepped to the doors leading into his sleeping room and antechamber, and bolted them both. He did not think of the secret door which led to the little corridor and thence to the private staircase, and did not bolt that. Why should he have done so? The steps were so little used, so few knew of them, so few, of the existence of the little side door which led to them. It was not necessary to lock that door, for no one would come to him in that way.

He was alone, God be praised, quite alone! And now again he remembered the important letter, which he had forgotten while the soldiers’ riot was in progress. There lay his son’s letter, on his writing table. He hastened thither and seated himself in the armchair, taking up the letter and examining its address. The sight of his son’s handwriting rejoiced his heart, as a greeting from afar.

He drew a deep sigh of relief. All anguish, all cares had left him as soon as he took his son’s letter in his hand. Even the warning voice in his heart had hushed, even the Fury no longer stood behind his chair; he no longer heard her death cry. All was silent in that spacious apartment behind him, on which he turned his back.

He took the letter, broke the seal, and slowly unfolded the paper. But now he put off reading its contents for one moment more. This sheet of paper contained the decision of his whole future, it would either exalt him into a reigning prince by bringing him the Emperor’s sanction, or lower him into an underling of the Elector, making him a nobody, if–But no, it was impossible! The Emperor would not disavow him! It was folly to think of such a thing!

He fixed his eyes on the paper and began to read. But as he read, his breath came ever quicker, his cheeks became more pale, his brow more clouded. His hands began to tremble so violently that the paper which they held rattled and shook, and finally dropped on the table.

Motionless and gasping for breath the count sat there, staring at the letter. Then its contents flashed through him like a sudden shock, and, collecting his faculties, he once more snatched up the paper.

“It is impossible!” he cried aloud, “I read falsely! That can not be! My eyes surely deceived me! My ears shall lend their evidence! I will hear my sentence of condemnation!”

And with loud voice, occasionally interrupted by the convulsive groans which escaped his breast, he read: “I am grieved to announce to you, beloved and honored father, that our affairs have not prospered, as we hoped and expected. Through the intercession of good Father Silvio, I had a long interview yesterday with the Emperor. And the result of it is this: The Emperor loves you, it is true; he calls you his most faithful servant, and promises ever to be a gracious Sovereign to you, but he will never further your projects of becoming an independent ruler, and will not assist you to effect the Elector’s ruin, that you may usurp his place. He rather wishes you to remain what you are–Stadtholder in the Mark–and to exert all your energies in maintaining that position, since the Emperor relies upon your good offices for securing him an ally in the Elector. The Mark is to remain Frederick William’s domain, but the Elector must become an Imperialist. Such is the will and pleasure of the Emperor. He urged me to beg you to evince more complaisance and deference for the Elector, that you may acquire influence over him. The Emperor had been much shocked by the news sent him from Koenigsberg by Martinitz. It appears certain from this information, my dear father, that the Elector is much set against you, and that he only makes use of your continuance in office as a mask, behind which he may, unseen, direct his missiles against you. The Elector has taken your refusal to come to Koenigsberg upon his invitation in very ill part, and it has excited his highest displeasure. We have played a dangerous game, and I fear we have lost it.”

“Lost!” screamed the count, crushing the paper in his hand into a ball and dashing it to the ground. “Yes, I have lost and am ruined! The end and aim of my whole life are defeated! I aimed at the summit, and when I have nearly reached my goal an invisible hand hurls me back, and I am plunged into an abyss!”

“As serves you right, for God is just!” said a solemn voice behind him, and a hand was laid heavily upon his shoulder.

Count Schwarzenberg uttered a shriek of horror and turned round. A soldier stood behind him–an Imperial soldier in dirty, tattered garments, a poor, miserable man. And yet the count sprang from his chair, as if in the presence of some prince or superior being before whom he must bow with reverence. With bowed head he stood before this soldier, and dared not look him in the face!

Yes, it was a prince, it was a superior being before whom he bowed! He stood before his judge, he stood before his conscience! He knew it, he felt it! A cold hand was laid upon his heart and contracted it convulsively; it was laid upon his head and bowed it low. Death was there, and his name was Gabriel Nietzel!

“Gabriel Nietzel!” murmured his ashy pale lips, “Gabriel Nietzel!”

“You recognize me, then?” said the soldier quietly and coldly. “Look at me, count, lift your eyes upon me! I want to see your countenance!”

With a last effort of strength Count Schwarzenberg resumed his self-control. He raised his head, affecting his usual proud and self-satisfied air. “Gabriel Nietzel!” he cried, “Whence come you? What would you have of me? How did you come in here?”

“How did I come in?” repeated he. “Through yon door!”

And he pointed at the door opening upon the secret staircase. “I came twice and begged to be allowed access to you, but was refused. This time I admitted myself. You once sent me down the secret stairway, and pointed out that mode of exit to me yourself, when your son was coming to visit you. What do I want? I want you to give me my wife, my Rebecca; and if you have murdered her, I want _your life_!”

“Would you murder me?” exclaimed the count in horror, while moving slowly backward. Keeping his eyes fixed upon Gabriel Nietzel, he sought to gain the door to his bedchamber. But Nietzel guessed his design and disdainfully shook his head. “Do not take that trouble,” he said. “I have abstracted both keys and put them in my pocket. You can not escape me.”

Count Schwarzenberg’s eyes darted a quick, involuntary glance across at the round table on which stood his bell. Nietzel intercepted this glance and understood that the count meant to call his people. He took up the bell and thrust it into his bosom.

“Give up your efforts to evade me,” he said. “God sends me to you. God will punish your crime by means of this hand, which you once bribed to commit a murderous deed. Count Schwarzenberg, you have acted the part of the devil toward me! You have robbed me of my soul! Give it back to me! I demand of you my soul!”

“He is insane,” said Count Schwarzenberg, softly to himself. But Nietzel caught his meaning.

“No,” he said sorrowfully–“no, I am not insane. God has denied me that consolation. I know what has been, and what is. There was a time–a glorious, blessed time–when I forgot everything, when all pain was banished, and I was happy–ah, so happy! They said, indeed, that I was mad; they called it sickness, forsooth, and locked me up, and tormented me. But I was so happy, for _I_ saw my Rebecca always before me, she was ever at my side and–Count, where have you left my Rebecca? Where is she? Give her to me! I will have her again, my own Rebecca! Give her back to me, directly, on the spot!”

He seized him with both his arms, his hands clutching his shoulders like claws. “Where is Rebecca–my Rebecca?”

Gabriel Nietzel stared at the count with frenzied fury, with devouring grief. Schwarzenberg cast down his eyes, a shudder passed over his frame, and terror-stricken he turned his head. It seemed to him as if, while Gabriel pressed upon his shoulders in front, some one came stealthily up to him from behind. He heard a cry–a death cry! The Fury was there again! He could not escape her now!

“Let me go, Gabriel Nietzel,” he said feebly. “Quit your hold, go away. I will give you treasures, honors, distinctions, if you only quit your hold and go away!”

“What will you give me, if I let you go?” screamed Gabriel Nietzel, tightening his grasp and shaking him violently. “What will you give me?”

“I will give you a fine house, I will give you thousands, I will give you rank and titles. Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you!”

“Give me Rebecca! I want _her_ and her alone! Tell me where she is or I will kill you!”

“She is in my house at Spandow,” said the count hastily. “Come, we will go away. You shall have your Rebecca again. Come, let us go! Rebecca is longing for you! Come!”

“You are deceiving me!” laughed Gabriel Nietzel. “I see it in your eyes, you are deceiving me. You want me to open the doors, and then you will call your people. There is no truth in what you say. Rebecca is not at Spandow; I know that, for I have been there. I stood many hours before the windows of your palace and called upon her name. She would have heard if she had been there; she would have come to me–she would have freed me from all my sufferings. For, you must know, my Rebecca loved me! Because she loved me, that she might expiate the crime which you had tempted me to commit, that she might lift the weight of sin from my head, she went back to Berlin and bade me go on with our child. I had solemnly sworn that to her, and I kept my oath. I went on, following the route we had agreed upon together. I waited for her at every resting place, and always waited in vain. I came to Venice, and went to the house of Rebecca’s father; but she was not there. I wanted to go in search of her, but they held me fast, they imprisoned me in a dark dungeon. And there I sat a whole century, and yet was patient, ever waiting for the moment when I might escape from them and go to look for my Rebecca. And at last the moment came. The jailer entered to bring me my food; we were quite alone, and they had taken off my chains, for I had been harmless and gentle for some months past. I seized him, choked him, so that he could not scream, took his keys, and fled. God helped me; he always pities the poor and unfortunate–he knew that I wanted to search for Rebecca. I came to Germany; I enlisted as a soldier, for I durst not die of hunger, else I could not reach Berlin and find my Rebecca. But now I am here, and ask you in the name of God and in view of the judgment day, where is Rebecca?”

“I do not know,” murmured Count Schwarzenberg, whom Gabriel Nietzel still held closely pinioned in his grasp.

“You do not know?” shrieked Gabriel Nietzel. “I read it in your face, you have murdered her. Yes, yes, I see it, I feel it–you have murdered her! Confess it, wretch! fall down upon your knees and confess that you have murdered Rebecca!”

Schwarzenberg would have denied it, but he could not; conscience paralyzed his tongue, so that it could not utter the falsehood. He wanted to make resistance against those dreadful hands which held him fast, but he had no more power. Everything swam before him, there was a roaring in his ears, his knees tottered and shook, and the perspiration stood in great drops upon his brow.

“Mercy,” he murmured, with quivering lips–“mercy! I will make good again, I–“

“Can you give me Rebecca again?” asked Gabriel, who now suddenly passed from the extreme of wrath to a cold tranquillity. “Can you undo and make null your evil deeds? Can you take from me the guilt you brought upon me? _No_, you can not, and therefore you must die, for crime must be expiated! You murdered my Rebecca, and therefore I shall murder you. Adam Schwarzenberg, pray your last prayer, for I am here to kill you!”

“No, you will not!” cried Schwarzenberg. “No; you will be reasonable–you will accept my offers! I promise you wealth and consideration, I–“

“Silence and pray, for you must die! Death is here, Adam Schwarzenberg, for Gabriel Nietzel is here!”

He saw it, he knew that Gabriel spoke the truth. He knew that this man, with the pale, distorted, grief-worn face, with those large eyes flaming with the fires of insanity, was to be his murderer. Death had come to summon him away–death in the form of Gabriel Nietzel!

And so, he was to die! He, the mighty, the rich, the noble Count Schwarzenberg! _He_ whose name all Germany revered, _he_ before whom all bowed in humility, who had had control over millions! _He_ was to die by the hand of a madman, to die alone, unwept! If his son were only with him, his dear, his only son, who loved him, who–“Have you prayed?” asked Gabriel Nietzel, who had been waiting in silence.

“No,” said Schwarzenberg, startled out of his train of thought–“no, I have not prayed! Why do you ask that?”

“Because you must die!” replied Gabriel Nietzel, grasping him more firmly with his left hand, and with his right drawing forth a dagger from his breast. The count profited by this moment, tore himself loose, jumped back, and rushed toward the open door of the secret passage. But Nietzel sprang past him, and already stood before the door, confronting him again! As he saw the dagger glitter in the air, he remembered, with the rapidity of thought, the instant when he had stood before Rebecca, with the drawn dagger in his hand.

She had cried “Mercy! mercy!” He wanted to cry so, too, but could not! Like a flash of lightning it darted across his eyes, like a crushing blow it fell upon his brain. He uttered a piercing shriek, tumbled backward, and fell upon the ground, with rattling in his throat and with dimmed eyes!

Gabriel Nietzel bent over him and looked long into that convulsed countenance, and into those eyes which were fixed upon him with a look of entreaty! Nietzel understood that look. “No,” he said roughly–“no, I do not forgive you, I have no pity upon you. Be you cursed and condemned, and go to the grave in your sins! God has been gracious to me; he has not willed it that I should be stained with your blood. He has laid his own hand upon you and smitten you. You will perhaps have long to suffer yet. Suffer!”

He put up his dagger, strode through the apartment, stepped out upon the secret passage and closed the door behind him.

“And now,” he said, when he found himself outside–“now I shall go and acknowledge my sins to the Elector. He will be compassionate, and allow me to mount the scaffold. I shall then have atoned for all, and will once more be united to my Rebecca!”

Was it possible that this wretched, sobbing, deathly pale something, lying there on the floor of the cabinet, was but a few hours since the proud, the mighty, the dreaded and courted Count Adam von Schwarzenberg, the Stadtholder in the Mark? Now he was a poor dying beggar, longing for a drink of water, and with no one near to hand him the refreshing draught; who longed for a tear, and had no one to weep for him; who longed for forgiveness, and God himself would not forgive him! Hours, eternities of anguish went by, and still he lay helpless and solitary upon the floor! He plainly heard how they came and knocked, and then moved softly away, because they supposed that he had shut himself up to work. He heard them, but he could not call, for his tongue was palsied! He could not move, for his limbs were paralyzed!

Hours, eternities of anguish went by. Then his old valet came through the secret door, creeping softly in, and found him, that pitiable creature, on the floor, and screamed for help. Then the doors were broken down, and the servants came and the physicians. They lifted him up and bore him to the divan. He breathed, he lived! Perhaps help might not yet be impossible!

Everything was tried, but all in vain. He still lived and breathed, but he was paralyzed in all his limbs, and soon the inner organs, too, refused to exercise their functions. They removed the invalid to Spandow because the mutinous regiments were perpetually threatening to renew their attack upon the count’s palace, and might disturb the repose of the dying man. There he lay in his castle, a living corpse for four days more, with open eyes, giving token that he heard and understood what was passing about him. Finally, at the end of four days, on the 4th of March, 1641, Count Adam von Schwarzenberg closed his eyes, and of the haughty, powerful, dreaded Stadtholder in the Mark, nothing was left but cold, stiff clay![47]

VII.–THE SEALING OF THE DOCUMENTS.

A courier, sent to Regensburg by Herr von Kracht, commandant of Berlin, immediately upon the decease of Count Adam Schwarzenberg, had prompted his son Count John Adolphus to expedite his departure from that place, and to journey by forced stages to Berlin. He repaired first to Spandow. and had his father’s embalmed remains interred with great pomp in the village church. After having thus discharged this first filial duty, he proceeded to Berlin to take possession of the inheritance left him by his father.

The whole inheritance! Not the smallest part of it should be abstracted from him! In his father’s lifetime he had been appointed his coadjutor in the Order of the Knights of Malta; now, since his father was dead he must be his successor, must be Grand Master of the Order of St. John. He sent orders to Sonnenberg, summoning a solemn chapter of the order to hold its sitting, and to send in the oath of service due him. In his father’s lifetime he had been his associate in the office of Stadtholder; now, his father being no more, he claimed the stadtholdership in the Mark as his lawful heritage. And his friends and adherents strengthened the ambitious young count in these pretentions. As soon as John Adolphus had taken up his residence in Berlin, Commandant von Kracht placed guards before the gates of his palace, and every evening demanded a watchword from the young nobleman.

Commandant von Rochow of Spandow placed himself and his garrison wholly at the disposal of the “young Stadtholder,” and Colonel von Goldacker swore that he would obey the orders of none other than Count John Adolphus, Grand Master of the Order of St. John and Stadtholder in the Mark.

Count John Adolphus allowed himself to be rocked in these olden dreams of power and ambition, believed in their realization, and was firmly determined to do everything to prove their truth. He accepted the guard, gave the watchword, and sent orders to Sonnenburg, as if he were already elected grand master; he required an oath of fealty from all those places which had been pledged to his father by the Elector George William. He also issued his mandates in Berlin, and toward magistrates and judiciary he assumed the attitude of Stadtholder in the Mark. And nobody ventured to contradict him, no court had the spirit to oppose him, for the young count stood at the head of a host of powerful and influential friends; the courts were weak and powerless, and as yet no instructions had been received from the Elector at Koenigsberg.

Count John Adolphus husbanded his time well. He sent messengers in all directions, corresponded with all his father’s friends and adherents, summoning them to rally around him, and to come sword in hand. He held correspondence also with the father confessor Silvio at Vienna, nay, even with the Emperor himself. Restlessly active was he from morning till night, his whole being absorbed in this one effort–to ruin the Elector, and to win for himself his rank and power! His friends seconded him in striving to attain this great end. Everywhere they were active, everywhere they sought to work for him and to procure him adherents. At Spandow and Berlin the Commandants von Kracht and von Rochow declared themselves ready to place garrison and fortress entirely under his direction; Colonel von Goldacker, commandant of Brandenburg, had betaken himself to his post, and only awaited the count’s word to sound the tocsin of war. In Koenigsberg the Court Marshal von Waldow was most energetically massing the friends of Schwarzenberg, and his brother, Sebastian von Waldow, traveled from place to place, to gain friends and partisans for Count John Adolphus, and to ask them to come to Berlin, that, in case of danger, the count might be prepared to make a bold front against his foes. His friends everywhere led a life of bustle and stir, and all proclaimed themselves ready joyfully to unsheathe their swords in behalf of the young count, and to do battle for him if the Elector should refuse to confirm him in all his father’s appointments.

“He will not refuse,” said John Adolphus to himself, when he had just finished reading the report of his agent, Otto von Marwitz, which had only that morning reached him, “No, the weak, impotent Elector will not dare to refuse to acknowledge me as my father’s successor; for he must be well aware that I am even now more powerful in the Mark than himself, and enjoy, moreover, the favor and protection of the Emperor. He will not dare to attack me. I shall be sustained by him in my position of Stadtholder in the Mark, and then–from Stadtholder to independent Sovereign requires but one step, which I mean to take, and–“

The door was violently burst open and Sebastian von Waldow rushed in.

“Count!” he cried, gasping for breath–“Count, we are lost!”

“What is the matter? Say, what is the matter?”

“Conrad von Burgsdorf has captured the letters sent to you and myself, from Koenigsberg, by my brother, the marshal, in which was a full statement of a plan for open war.”

“For God’s sake, who says so? How do you know that?”

“One of our secret friends, who keeps his eye upon Burgsdorf, came to tell me, that I might have opportunity of warning you. In the course of a ride taken by Burgsdorf and his men in the environs of Berlin, they captured the servant whom my brother had intrusted with dispatches for you and myself.[48] The dispatches he sent forthwith by a courier to Koenigsberg, and the servant was hurried off to the fortress of Kuestrin, that he might be unable to communicate with us.”

“That is bad news indeed,” said John Adolphus thoughtfully. “It also explains to me why Burgsdorf and his men have taken up their abode here, and frequently talk so captiously and insolently when excited by wine. It is palpable that he has been commissioned to watch and, if need be, arrest us. We must therefore be on our guard, too, and render him harmless; that is to say, we must imprison him, so that he can not imprison us.”

“If I only knew the contents of the package,” murmured Sebastian von Waldow. “In the last letter which I received from my brother he stated that he hoped soon to be able to announce with certainty whether the Elector would nominate you Stadtholder or select some one else. Now this very letter has been intercepted, and we are left in utter darkness and uncertainty.”

“Gracious sir,” proclaimed an advancing lackey, “an officer from Commandant von Kracht begs to be admitted, as he is charged with a verbal message from the commandant.”

“Admit him,” ordered the count, going hastily to meet the officer, who was just stepping into the room.

“Sir Count, I have bad news for you. Colonel von Kracht has just been arrested. He commissioned me to convey the tidings to you as he was led away.”

Count John Adolphus grew slightly pale, and exchanged a rapid glance of intelligence with Sebastian von Waldow. “Who arrested Colonel von Kracht?” he asked.

“Colonel Conrad von Burgsdorf, most gracious sir. He showed Herr von Kracht his orders, signed by the Elector himself, and, as he came with a strong posse, the colonel could not resist, but was obliged to submit.”

“It is well; I thank you,” said John Adolphus quietly, and the officer took his leave. “Well, Sebastian,” he said, turning to his confidant, “you were right, the captured papers must have been of dangerous import, for we already see the results. Our enemies are active, and I like that, for thereby the _denouement_ will be hastened and our victory brought nearer. For conquer we will!”

“Conquer or die!” sighed Sebastian von Waldow.

Again was the door thrown open violently, and the count’s high steward hurried in, trembling and pale as a sheet. “Your grace, Colonel von Burgsdorf, Colonel von Burgsdorf,” stammered he.

“What of him?” inquired the count hastily. “Speak, answer me, Wallenrodt, what of Colonel von Burgsdorf?”

“Nothing further than that he ordered your high steward to conduct him hither and announce him to you,” said a rough, mocking voice behind the count.

It was Conrad von Burgsdorf who thus spoke. He had just entered the apartment, and strode forward without apology or more formal salutation.

“Count John Adolphus von Schwarzenberg,” continued Burgsdorf, approaching close to the count, “I have come to do what should have been done long before, to seal the papers of the late Stadtholder in the Mark, and to take them with me.”

“Very fine,” returned the count contemptuously. “Will you have the goodness to tell me whether my revered father imparted any such instructions to you before his death, and if so, show me the written order, for otherwise I would not be inclined to give you credence.”

“Have received no orders from the deceased count,” replied Burgsdorf, shrugging his shoulders. “Would have received no orders from him, for there is only one under whom I serve, and that one is my master, the Elector Frederick William. He ordered me to affix his signet to all the papers left by Count Adam Schwarzenberg, and I have therefore come to obey these orders.”

“Where is the written order?”

“Have no written order, but obtained a verbal one just a half hour ago.”

“Ah, it pleases you to jest,” cried Count Adolphus scornfully. “You have come from Koenigsberg here in a half hour? If you will condescend to receive no commands save from the Elector, then you must have spoken with him, and, as far as I know, the Elector is at Koenigsberg.”

“Your knowledge goes not far, my pretty sir,” said Burgsdorf contemptuously. “You are in everything a very unadvised and ignorant young gentleman. The Elector is indeed at Koenigsberg, but, nevertheless, he has made known his will to me through the newly appointed Stadtholder in the Mark, who arrived here, _incognito_, early this morning.”

“Stadtholder in the Mark!” cried Count John Adolphus defiantly. “I know no one who can lay claim to that title but myself alone!”

“But I know some one who has not merely the title but the office itself, and that person is the Margrave Ernest von Jaegerndorf. Herr von Metzdorf, come in!”

In answer to Burgsdorf’s loud call a young officer advanced through the door leading from the adjacent room, which had been left ajar, and stood on the threshold awaiting further orders.

“Hand Count Adolphus von Schwarzenberg the Stadtholder’s printed manifesto,” said Burgsdorf. Lieutenant von Metzdorf drew near the count, extending toward him a huge sheet of paper. “Read, my dear little count!” cried Burgsdorf. “Only read! Yes, yes, it contains very interesting intelligence. Margrave Ernest informs the citizens of Berlin and Cologne that he has been nominated by our gracious Elector Stadtholder in the Mark, and has entered upon the duties of his new office. He further informs the good folks of Berlin, that his Electoral Grace has been pleased to appoint Conrad von Burgsdorf superintendent of all the fortresses within the Electorate and Mark of Brandenburg. Colonel Conrad von Burgsdorf am I, and in my province as superintendent of all the fortresses I shall have all those arrested who refuse to swear allegiance to their Sovereign and Elector. Colonel von Kracht has experienced this, and his confederates shall soon enough acquire like knowledge. Count von Schwarzenberg, will you have the goodness to let me proceed to seal the papers, or must I use force by virtue of my right and authority?”

“You are the stronger,” replied the count, shrugging his shoulders, “or, rather, brute force is on your side, and against this ’twere irrational to contend. Do what I can not hinder. Seal up my father’s papers. I should think, however, that my own papers would be exempt from this procedure, and I hope the contents of my own desk will be respected.” As he spoke he cast a furtive glance upon his steward von Wallenrodt, who, nodding almost imperceptibly, slowly retreated to the door.

“I shall seal indiscriminately all the papers and desks found in the palace,” exclaimed Colonel von Burgsdorf. “This whole palace, with all it contains, belonged to Count Adam Schwarzenberg, and my orders are to seal and remove all papers left by that gentleman. You see that I can not and will not make distinctions as to what is yours and what your deceased father’s.”

“I believe, indeed, that the art of reading is for you difficult, nay almost impossible, Colonel von Burgsdorf!”

“You believe so? You are mistaken, my young sir. I can even read what is written upon men’s faces, and read upon your brow that you are not merely puffed up with self-importance, but that you are likewise forging wicked and dangerous plans, and have been led away by your ambition to desire things unsuitable for you. Come now, count, and accompany me into your father’s cabinet.”

“No!” cried the count–“no, I will do no such thing! It shall not be said that I voluntarily submitted to treason and brutal violence!”

“Well, my little count,” cried Burgsdorf, laughing, “if you will not act as guide of your own accord, you must be forced to do so _nolens volens_. You need not show us the way, for we will merely go from chamber to chamber and affix our seal to all the papers we can find. But the law requires your presence, and your presence we shall have. Lieutenant von Metzdorf and Lieutenant von Frohberg, each of you give an arm to Count von Schwarzenberg. Sustain and support him well, for the young gentleman feels a little unwell and can not go alone.”

The two officers approached the count, who looked at them with threatening mien. “Do not dare to touch me!” he cried angrily. “I will not follow you! I will not go!”

“You will not go, will you not? Not even when my officers offer you their arms?”

“I will not go, but I shall complain to the Emperor of the violence done me, and he will procure me satisfaction.”

“Well, we shall bide our time,” said Burgsdorf placidly. “For the present it only concerns us to obtain your honored companionship. Since, however, you declare that you can not go afoot, I shall carry you!”

And before the young count could prevent it, Burgsdorf had seized him in his gigantic arms and lifted him up.

“Forward now, gentlemen,” he said, stepping briskly a few paces in advance, bearing the count as lightly and easily in his arms as if he had been an infant.

“Let me descend from the wine cask, Colonel von Burgsdorf,” said Count Adolphus, smilingly and composedly. “I have attained my end. I only wanted to defer the sealing for a few minutes. Having succeeded in effecting this, I shall no longer oppose any obstacle to your progress.”

“So much the better,” cried Burgsdorf, setting him on the ground. “For, even if you were as light as a feather, I would rather have free use of my arms and hands; and, besides, do not like such close contact with any birds of your plumage. Now, Sir Imperial Counselor, let us to work and commence the process of sealing.”

“Well and good,” said Count John Adolphus, “only permit me to ask one question. To what end this sealing, and when will the signet be removed? I am my father’s sole heir; already I have had the will opened and read in the presence of competent witnesses, and in accordance with my father’s expressed desire entered into possession of the whole inheritance. The affixing of the seal appears to me, therefore, to be superfluous. If done at all, it should have been attended to before the opening of the will.”

“It has been delayed, alas!” replied Conrad von Burgsdorf, “and it has resulted from the fact that since the Stadtholder’s death there has been nobody to issue orders or defend the right. But now, as we have once more a Stadtholder in the Mark, all will be different, and those who put themselves in opposition may be on their guard, for we seal not merely papers, but men. As regards your question, count, the sealing affects your inheritance only in so far as you have presumed to include among your estates several districts and domains pertaining to the Elector, and have been in indecent haste to take possession of them.”

“These domains were given in pledge to my father, and never redeemed.”

“That remains to be decided, and, for the purpose of setting this as well as many other matters, the Elector has ordained that a judicial court shall sit. He himself named the gentlemen who were to constitute this board of investigation, which will enter upon its duties early to-morrow morning, and begin by removing the seal from the papers which I am to make myself master of to-day. The chairman of this committee is the president of the privy council, von Goetze.”

“I know of no President von Goetze.”

“Yes, yes, your father deprived Herr von Goetze of his office because he would not dance to the Stadtholder’s piping, and was not his devoted servant to say yes to everything. But for that very reason our young Elector has installed him again in his office, and given orders, moreover, that he be the president of the committee of investigation. And now, as I have answered all your questions with praiseworthy patience and to my own satisfaction, let us at last proceed to sealing, and make a beginning in this very room. Shut the doors, Lieutenant von Metzdorf, and allow no one to go out who was here at our entrance.”

“Colonel,” replied the lieutenant, “the high steward von Wallenrodt left the room a while ago, but, as you had given no orders to that effect, I could not detain him. He went out just when you took the count up in your arms.”

“Humph! That is the reason why the count wanted to divert my attention for some minutes, that his steward might have time to execute his secret commission!” cried the colonel stamping his foot passionately. “We ought to have reflected that we had sly foxes to deal with, and guarded every outlet beforehand. Lieutenant von Metzdorf, place a man at every door and let no one out. Lieutenant von Frohberg, take with you four soldiers, and search the whole palace; if you find von Wallenrodt, arrest and search him.”

“Colonel, that is going too far!” cried Count John Adolphus, pale with rage and excitement. “You have no right to arrest and search my servant. I interpose my protest, and will bring you to account before his Majesty the Emperor.”

“I shall take care of that,” replied the colonel composedly. “If I have done wrong, let the committee of investigation call me to account. The Emperor in Vienna has nothing to do with me, and has no right to meddle in the administration of justice among us.”

“We shall see about that!” cried the count, with a threatening gesture.

“Yes, we shall see! But first we must see where the papers are, which we are to seal and carry off. Open that table drawer, count, and let us see what it contains.”

Count Adolphus had to submit to having every desk and table searched, and wherever papers were found, the great seal of the Electoral privy council was affixed, and they were then removed. He had also to submit to having the whole palace ransacked from garret to cellar in search of the steward von Wallenrodt. The sealing he could not prevent, but he had the satisfaction of seeing the soldiers fail in discovering the hiding place of his steward after making the strictest possible search, as well as of witnessing Colonel Burgsdorf’s disappointment on opening Count Adolphus’s own writing desk to find it perfectly empty.

“I said so,” growled Burgsdorf. “We forgot that we were dealing with sly foxes, and barred the doors too late. Count John Adolphus von Schwarzenberg, the sealing is over. Now comes the performance of my second duty. I have to announce to you on the part of Margrave Ernest, Stadtholder in the Mark, that you are under arrest in your own house until further notice, and are on no account whatever to be allowed to leave the palace. Here is the warrant, that you may not say I am acting without orders.”

He drew forth a paper, unfolded it, and handed it to the count, who rapidly glanced over it.

“I see,” said he, with proud composure, “you are acting under authority, and are merely your master’s faithful beadle. May I keep this warrant?”

“Why so?”

“To hand it to the Emperor, and show him with what disrespect they have dared to act against his counselor and chamberlain.”

“Keep the bill of indictment,” said Burgsdorf quietly. “I shall be much surprised if you shortly find yourself in a condition to present it to the Emperor in person. Certainly not just now, for you are under arrest, and can not have control of your own movements. You will therefore have the gratification of having a guard at your door, although you are not the Stadtholder. Farewell, Count John Adolphus!”

Bowing to the young count, who with a scornful laugh turned his back upon him, he left the apartment, followed by his officers.

“Metzdorf,” he said outside to the young officer in the antechamber, “to you I intrust the guarding of the palace. I know you are incorruptible, and will not allow the young gentleman to escape. Go round the palace on the outside, and before each door station two soldiers, who are to leave their posts neither by day or night. Relieve them every four hours. The Stadtholder, alas! did not order us to guard the inner doors of the house, so we must only be watchful and circumspect outside. I commit the guarding to you, and if he escapes, the responsibility rests upon yourself.”

“Unless he is a magician who can vanish through the air, he shall not escape me, colonel,” said the young officer, smiling. “I will stake my head upon his not going by ordinary means through the doors.”

“Very well, lieutenant; but hark! Place two more sentinels at the garden railing opposite the palace. They are to watch the windows night and day, sounding an alarm as soon as they observe anything suspicious. Come now. Reconnoiter the outer doors and post the sentinels. I am going to report to the Stadtholder.”

Colonel Burgsdorf left the count’s palace, and repaired to the Electoral castle, where the Margrave Ernest von Jaegerndorf had taken up his residence.

Count John Adolphus had stood listening at the door, and heard every word spoken by Burgsdorf to his lieutenant, and then listened to his heavy, retreating footstep. Now he heard the slamming of the front door, and rushing to the window, saw Burgsdorf mount his horse and ride off, followed by his companions and a wagon loaded with the papers which had been seized.

“Waldow!” cried the count, springing back from the window, “he has gone, and we have, God be thanked! no guard inside the house. We are unobserved.”

“What good will that do us, Sir Count,” sighed Waldow. “We can not leave the house, and your papers have been seized.”

“Not my papers, Waldow! No, God be praised! not my papers!” exulted the count. “Did you not see that my writing desk was empty?”

“And what does that signify?”

“It signifies that my trusty steward von Wallenrodt understood my hint, and, while I detained Burgsdorf, abstracted and concealed my papers.”