The Youth of the Great Elector Part 17

"He is a splendid young man," sighed the private secretary Muller, shaking his head.

"Yes," echoed Leuchtmar, smiling, "I find it very comprehensible that the Princess Ludovicka should gladly have him as consort. But we must not submit to it, but do everything to prevent it, for it is contrary to policy and reasons of state. And I think, too, such an union would not be for the Prince's welfare, for the Princess--But hush! the Electoral Prince has forbidden me to speak evil of her, and we are here in his room. Let us keep silence with regard to her."

"But where can he be rushing to now--the Electoral Prince, I mean?"

"I fear that I can guess. To her, to the Princess, and to apologize to her with his looks for the injury which my words have done her. He is just an enthusiastic youth, and it is his first love! Believe me, he is hurrying to her!"

IV.--AN IDYL.

Yes, Leuchtmar was quite right. He was away to her--to Ludovicka. To her he was irresistibly drawn by vehement desire. Yes, she was his first love, and the magic of this delicious sensation held his whole being enthralled, and now drove him onward as on the wings of the hurricane. He thought of nothing and knew nothing but that he must see her, must prove to her how pa.s.sionately he loved her, how fervently and devoutly he believed in her.

The horse dashed on furiously, breathlessly, and yet it seemed to the Electoral Prince as if an eternity had elapsed ere he finally reached Castle Doornward. He breathed a glad sigh of relief, threw the reins to the promptly advancing servants, and vaulted from the horse. His beaming eyes were uplifted to his beloved's window, and he saluted her with his thoughts and his smile. He thought she must feel it, and his looks and thoughts must bring her to the window. He stopped and looked up--but Ludovicka did not appear at the window; only an orange-colored ribbon was fluttering there in the sunshine and the wind, and Frederick William smiled joyfully, for he took it as a token of good fortune. Then he entered the castle, reverentially greeted by the lackeys, who ventured not to oppose him, as with rapid bounds, like a young deer, he sprang up the steps. Straight to the apartments of the Princess Ludovicka he strode, through the antechamber into the drawing room. But she was not there; she came not to meet him in her enchanting beauty, with that affectionate smile upon her crimson lips. No, Ludovicka was not there, and the chambermaid who officiously hurried from the adjoining room informed the Prince that her most gracious young lady had already been gone an hour on a visit to The Hague, whence she would not return till the next morning.

But the sharp, cunning eyes of the Abigail, had meanwhile peered through the door, which the Prince had left open, out into the antechamber, and, finding that no one was there, the Prince having come quite alone, she approached nearer to him.

"Most gracious sir," she whispered, "I was, however, to have gone into town and handed something for the Electoral Prince to his valet, to whom I am engaged."

"Now it will be more convenient for you, Alice," said the Electoral Prince cheerfully. "You need no third party. I am here myself. Give to me personally what you would have given to my valet, your respected betrothed, for me."

"Here it is," whispered Alice, drawing from the pocket attached to her girdle by a silver chain a little note, which, with a graceful bow, she handed to the Prince.

"And here is your reward," he said, taking a gold piece from his purse and handing it to her. She took it, blushing with confusion, and bowed down to the earth.

"If it pleases your grace to read here," whispered she, "I will guard the door."

He shook his head and rushed out. No, not in that narrow, close room, not in the neighborhood of that tiresome chambermaid could be read the letter of his beloved--that letter which he believed, nay, knew, contained the last decision for sealing his whole future fate. In the open air, under G.o.d's blue sky, in the warm and radiant autumn sun, would he receive the message of his beloved, would he take to his heart what the angel of his life had to communicate to him. As rapidly as he had stormed up he again sprang down the steps, and through the well-known rooms and corridors took the way leading to the park. He was well acquainted with it, for he had often taken it at the side of his aunt, the unfortunate Bohemian Queen and Electress, who had found a refuge here in Holland at the court of her uncle, the Stadtholder Frederick Henry of Orange, and had her little residence at Castle Doornward. He had often walked it with the princesses, her daughters, and very bright and pleasant hours had he pa.s.sed in that beautiful park with Princess Ludovicka.

On one of those squares, in one of those shady thickets where he had so often sat with her and her sisters, he would now read her message. With hasty step, with glowing cheeks fired by enthusiasm, with head aloft, he strode on, and now entered the woods near the path. They were curtained by festoons of wild grapevine; no one could see how he now took out the little note which he had so long concealed in his hand, how he pressed it to his lips, to his eyes, how he then unfolded it, and again, before reading it, pressed the beloved characters to his lips. The letter contained nothing but the words: "The friends are ready and willing.

To-night about one o'clock in the Media Nocte. From there flight. A worthy asylum is waiting, and the priest stands before the altar to bless the couple."

"To-night she will be mine--to-night we shall be married! To-night we shall make our escape!"

He could think of nothing but this. His heart continually repeated it with loud jubilation, his lips murmured it softly in response, while, knowing nothing, seeing nothing of the outside world, he sped along through the alleys and over the squares of the garden. He knew not whither he went, he had no aim; he only knew that to-night he was to be indissolubly united with his beloved--that he would flee with her. Once he must pause, for the loudly beating heart denied him breath, and once, in the blissful rapture of his soul, he must give a loud shout of joy, otherwise his breast would have burst. A merry, musical laugh rang forth near to him, and as he turned to the side whence the sound had proceeded a lovely and pleasing picture met his astonished gaze. In the midst of the gra.s.splot near which he was stood a great white cow, one of those splendid creatures that are only seen on Dutch pastures. A fine-looking maid, dressed in the national costume of the Dutch peasantry, with the gold-edged cap over the full, luxuriant hair that fell in long braids down her back, sat on a stool beside the cow, and was busied in milking. In melodious, regular cadence the steaming milk flowed over her rosy hands down into the white porcelain bucket which she held between her knees. At her side stood a little girl, in almost the identical costume, only that the wide plaited skirt was of black silk, the bodice of purple velvet trimmed with gold b.u.t.tons and loops, and the white ap.r.o.n of finest linen edged with point lace. Below the short silk skirt, trimmed with purple velvet, peeped forth blue silk stockings with red tops; shoes with high red heels, ornamented with gold buckles, covered the neat little feet. It was altogether quite the costume of a Dutch peasant girl, only the cap was wanting on the head, and in its stead the hair, which fell in long fair ringlets over the child's shoulders, was adorned by a thick wreath of the tendrils of the wild grape, into which, in front just over the brow, were woven two beautiful purple asters. She had been busied, it appeared from the quant.i.ty of leaves and flowers she carried in her ap.r.o.n, in weaving wreaths, but now let the contents of her ap.r.o.n fall to the ground, and only kept the green wreath already finished, which hung upon her arm, while she sprang laughing over the gra.s.splot.

"Cousin Frederick William," she asked merrily, "where do you come from, and why do you scream so fearfully?"

"Have I frightened you, Cousin Louisa Henrietta?" he asked, extending both hands to her in greeting.

"Not me, cousin, but Hulda," she returned, holding out her little hands.

"You must know, cousin, Hulda is very scary, and it comes from her being sad."

"Who is Hulda? The smart dairymaid there?"

"Hey, G.o.d forbid, cousin! How can you think that dairymaid could be scared? No, Hulda is my pretty white cow, and she is sad because she has lost her little calf. I am not to blame for it, and I told my poor Hulda that, too, and as she lowed so piteously I wept with her heartily and comforted her."

"But why did you let them take away her little calf? Why did you suffer it? Is it not your own cow?"

"Understand, it is my own cow," replied the little girl, seriously. "My good aunt, the Electress, has made me a present of it, that I may have some pleasure when I come here to Doornward, and it makes me feel as if I were at home. For you must know, cousin, that I have a regular dairy at The Hague."

"No, cousin, I did not know it," said the Electoral Prince, while he looked kindly into the lovely, rosy countenance of the little Princess Louisa Henrietta of Orange.

"You do not know that?" she cried, clapping her little hands together in astonishment. "Yes, I have a dairy--three cows, who belong to myself alone, and for which papa has had built a stable of their own, which is very grand and splendid. And next to the stable is a room for the milk and b.u.t.ter. O cousin! I tell you, it is splendid! The next time you come to us at The Hague, send for me, and I will show you my cows in their stable, and if you are right good, you shall have a gla.s.s of milk from my favorite cow."

"Many thanks!" cried the Electoral Prince, laughing. "But I am no friend of warm milk, and understand nothing whatever of farming."

"Well, why should you?" said the Princess gravely. "You are a man, and men have something else to do; they must go to war and govern countries. But women must understand management and know how to keep house."

"So? Must they that?" laughed the Prince. "Common women, indeed, but you, Louisa, you are a Princess."

"But a Princess of Holland, cousin, and my mother has told me that the Princesses of Holland must seek their greatest renown in becoming wise and prudent housewives, and understanding farming thoroughly, in order that all the rest of the women of Holland may learn from them. My mother says that a Prince of Holland should be the first servant of the Sovereign States, but a Princess of Holland should be the first housekeeper of the Dutch people, and the more skillful she is the more will the people love her. And therefore I shall try to be right skillful, for I shall be so glad if our good people would love me a little."

"Would you, indeed?" asked the Electoral Prince, quite moved by the lovely countenance and the heartfelt tone of the little girl. "Would you be glad if the people loved you a little? Well, I promise you, Cousin Louisa Henrietta, they will love you, and whoever shall look into your good, truthful eyes will feel himself fortunate and glad, just as I do now. Keep your beautiful eyes, Louisa, and your innocence and harmlessness, and be a good housewife, then your people will love you very much. But tell me, cousin, for whom is that wreath which is hanging on your arm?"

"For my beautiful cow; but if you will have it I will give it to you, and--no," she broke off, abashed and reddening, "no, forgive me, dear Cousin Frederick William; I shall not give you a wreath which I destined only for an animal. I shall fix it so," she cried, with a lovely smile, "I shall take this wreath to my Hulda, and to you, cousin, I shall give my own wreath."

She hastily tore the wreath from her own locks, and raising herself on tiptoe tried with uplifted arm to place it on the Prince's head, but he stayed her hand.

"No, cousin," he said; "that must be done properly. You are a lady, a Princess, and if you crown a knight, then let him bow the knee before you."

And he bent his knee before her, and looked up at her smilingly and joyously. "Crown me, Cousin Louisa Henrietta," he said, with ceremonial pathos--"crown me and give me a device."

The little maiden held the crown thoughtfully in her hand, her large blue eyes fixed upon the smiling countenance before her with an earnest, meditative expression.

"Well," he said, "why do you not give me the wreath? And what are you thinking of?"

"Of a motto, cousin," she replied seriously; "for you told me I must give you a device. But I am only a silly little girl, and you must bear with me. Mother said yesterday to me that the best motto she could give for everyday use is this, 'Be a good woman.' Now I think, if it were rightly changed and turned, it would suit you."

And with charming determination she pressed the wreath upon the Prince's dark locks, and then laid both her hands upon his head.

"Be a good man," she said, "yes, Electoral Prince Frederick William, be a good man."

The smile had suddenly vanished from the Prince's countenance, and given place to a deep earnestness. "Yes," he said solemnly, "I promise you I shall be a good man." And just as he said this the cow bellowed aloud, and Princess Louisa turned her looks upon her and nodded pleasantly.

"Look you, cousin," she said, "Hulda, too, gives you her blessing, and do not laugh at it, for G.o.d speaks in all that live; the flowers and beasts emanate from him as well as men. And if man does not do his duty, and is not good and diligent, then G.o.d does not love him, and the flower which blooms and the cow that gives milk are dearer to him, for they do their duty. But see, the milkmaid is ready, and now, Cousin Frederick William, now I must go to the milkroom and measure the milk into the pans, and I will tell you, but n.o.body else shall know, I secretly take a quart cup full of milk, and take it to the calves' stable to the calf, from my Hulda. It ought not, indeed, to drink milk any longer, but be an independent creature, eating hay and chewing the cud, but it will just feel that the milk comes from its own mother, and be glad. Farewell, Cousin Frederick William, I must be gone."

She was about to slip away, but the Electoral Prince held her fast. "No,"

he said, "not so cursory shall be our leave-taking, my darling little heavenly flower. Who knows when we shall meet again?"

"You are not going away yet, cousin?" she asked, stroking his cheeks with both her little hands. "Ah! they told me that your father would by no means allow you to remain here any longer, and I was so sorry that it made me cry."

"Why did it make you sorry, Cousin Louisa?" asked the Electoral Prince, drawing the little maiden to himself.

She leaned her little head upon his shoulder. "I do not know," she said, looking at him with her great blue eyes. "I believe I love you so much because you are always so good and friendly to me, and have often talked and played with me, and not laughed at me when I told you about my animals. I thank you for it, my dear, good cousin, and I shall love you as long as I live."

"And I, my dear, good cousin, I thank you for the motto which you have given me, and I shall think of it and of you as long as I live. Yes, my dear child, I will be a good man, and do you know, little Louisa," he continued, smiling, "whenever I am in trouble and danger, I shall think of you and pray, 'G.o.d and all ye innocent angels on high, have pity on the innocent and good! Amen!'"

He pressed a fervent kiss on the child's forehead, nodded smilingly to her, took the wreath from his head to conceal it in his bosom, and then strode away with light, quick steps. The child looked thoughtfully after him with her large blue starry eyes, as if lost in thought, until the slender, athletic form of the young man had vanished behind the trees.