The Youth of the Great Elector Part 37

The Electoral Prince had meanwhile arrived with his chamberlain at the castle. No one came to meet them. All the servants had dispersed hither and thither, in pursuit of their own business or enjoyments. They knew, indeed, that Count Schwarzenberg's feast would be continued to a late hour of the night, and who could imagine that the Electoral Prince would return home in so unexpected a manner? The castle was deserted, and the chamberlain must needs summon to his aid the sentinel who was pacing up and down before the castle, in order to lift the Prince from his carriage and into the entrance hall. Now he called aloud for help, since the Prince had become perfectly helpless, and lay senseless upon the stone bench in the hall.

The porter, who was only asleep in his lodge, rushed out, and old Dietrich, the valet, also came hurrying down the steps.

They bore the Prince to his own apartments, put him to bed upon his own couch, and, as the Chamberlain von Gotz saw the old faithful Dietrich standing beside his young master, sobbing and so full of grief, he kindly laid his hand upon his shoulder.

"It is nothing of moment, good old man. The Prince has only taken too much wine, that is all. Be comforted. To-morrow will make all straight again."

Dietrich sorrowfully shook his head. "You are mistaken, Sir Chamberlain; this is not the effect of wine. The Electoral Prince is much too fine and n.o.ble a gentleman for that; he never drinks more than he can stand. Just see how pale and wretched he looks. My dear young master is sick, very sick. They have murdered him, they have killed him, they--"

"Hush, Dietrich, for G.o.d's sake, hush!" interposed the chamberlain, turning pale. "Guard your tongue, that it never again utter such horrible words; guard your thoughts, that they dare not even think anything so dreadful."

"It is true, nevertheless," murmured the old man, and, as he bent over the Electoral Prince and watched him with loving looks, the tears fell hot and fast from his eyes upon Frederick William's pale face. These tears roused the latter, restored him to consciousness.

There was yet one man who loved him, who sympathized with him, who wept when he saw him suffer!

The Electoral Prince opened his eyes, and, on recognizing old Dietrich, nodded to him and murmured softly, "Dietrich, I am suffering fearfully."

"Hear, Sir Chamberlain," said Dietrich; "the dear Prince recognizes me, he has his reason, he knows what he sees and says, so you see it is not wine that--But he says that he suffers fearfully, and I believe it indeed; for what burns his vitals is--I must go for the physician, Dr. White; he must try every means; he must know what ails the Prince--what they have done to him; and he must apply remedies. Stay here, Sir Chamberlain; I will run for Dr. White."

And old Dietrich hastily started to leave the couch, but the Prince's hand was laid upon his arm, and held him fast.

"Stay, Dietrich, stay! You, dear Gotz, go you, I beg, for Dr. White and fetch him here; he must come immediately, for I am really sick. I suffer.

Make haste, dear Gotz. You are younger, brisker than my good old Dietrich; therefore I choose you."

The chamberlain pressed a kiss upon the Prince's burning, trembling hand.

"Dearest sir, as swiftly as a man's anxious heart can move his feet I shall hasten to the doctor and bring him here!"

The chamberlain flew on tiptoe from the apartment, and all was still.

Nothing was heard but the low moans and sighs of the Prince, who lay there with pallid features and shaking limbs, while over him bent weeping his faithful old servant.

After a while the Prince raised himself a little, slowly opened his eyes, and cast a sad, sweeping glance around the room.

"Dietrich, are we alone?" he asked, in a hoa.r.s.e, almost inaudible voice.

"Quite alone, gracious sir."

"Then hear what I have to say to you. Incline your ear close to me, for you alone must hear me. When the physician comes, take good care not to repeat to him what you said just now to the chamberlain. He and all the world must think that it is actually nothing but wine which has made me sick. He will prescribe medicine for me. Have it prepared forthwith. You alone must stay with me. Tell them I have ordered it, and Gotz must return to the banquet and tell them it was nothing but wine. Dietrich, do not give me the medicine, but throw it away. There is only one kind of physic for me--milk, only milk, that is my cordial. Give me milk, Dietrich, milk directly, for the pains are coming on again, so dreadfully, oh, so dreadfully! But do not tell anybody. n.o.body must know what I suffer! It burns like fire! Milk, Dietrich, milk!"

IX.--LOVE'S SACRIFICE.

As if borne on the wings of the wind, Gabriel Nietzel had flown through the streets to his own abode. It lay in a quiet, retired quarter of the town, and, as he turned into the street and looked up to the house, he saw leaning far out of one of the windows a woman, who, her face shaded by her hand, was gazing down into the street. He recognized the form, although he could not see her countenance, and uttered a loud cry of joy. This cry of joy found an echo in the window above, and the form vanished. Gabriel Nietzel rushed into the house and up the steps. On the top step stood a woman with outstretched arms, and again Gabriel uttered a cry of joy and pressed his wife firmly to his breast, as firmly as if he would never let her leave the spot, as if his love would keep and hold her there forever.

He bore her through the open door into their chamber, bore her to the cradle standing in the center of the room, and then sank with her on his knees.

They looked at one another, and then at the child, which lay there quietly with wide-open eyes, in sweet contentment.

"My child! my child!" cried Gabriel; and it was as if now for the first time he saw his boy, as if he had but just been sent him by Heaven, and for a moment, in the blissful consciousness of being a father, he forgot all--yes, _all_. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up the child and hugged and kissed it, lost in rapture and delight. But all at once there came over him the memory of those pale, quivering features, the dimmed eyes, and drooping form. A shudder ran through his whole frame; with a shriek of horror he let the child fall back in its cradle, and clasped both hands before his face.

Rebecca tore back his hands, and her large black eyes gazed searchingly into his countenance. She now for the first time saw how pale he was, and how disturbed his mien. She now for the first time saw that he avoided her look, and that his breast heaved convulsively.

"Gabriel," she said, with firm, impressive voice--"Gabriel, something is the matter with you! Something has happened to you--something shocking, dreadful!"

"Nothing!" he cried, hastily leaping up--"nothing! But we must begone! We are to stay here no longer. We must away immediately--this very hour!"

"I know it," replied Rebecca quietly, her eyes fixed immovably upon her beloved--"I know it, Gabriel, and I have prepared everything, as Count Schwarzenberg himself directed. I have been in Berlin ever since this morning, but feared to come here until you had gone to the banquet. I have made all needful arrangements. I have hired a vehicle, which is waiting for us outside the Willow-bank Gate. The count says we are to go on foot; that no one in the city must see you set out, and give intelligence with regard to your movements. Since you have been gone I have packed up all our effects in boxes, and our kind, faithful friend Samuel Cohen will send them after us to Venice. What is indispensable for present use I have packed up in yonder trunk, which we must take with us.

All is ready, Gabriel, and we can go. Only one thing I know not, have you money enough for our journey?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Jewess in her Bridal Dress]

"Money enough!" repeated Gabriel, with a hoa.r.s.e, mocking laugh. "I have more money in my pocket than I ever had in my whole life put together. I have so much money that we can buy a house in Venice, on the Ghetto; and we shall, too, and I will live there with you, and will become a Jew, and take another name, for my own name horrifies me. I will not, can not hear it again!"

"Why not?" asked she earnestly. "It is a fine name--the name of a painter, an artist. Why would you never again hear your own name, Gabriel Nietzel?"

"Because it is notorious, infamous!" groaned he--"because it is the name of a--"

"Well, why do you hesitate, Gabriel?" asked Rebecca in anguish of soul, while she laid both her hands upon his shoulders, and gazed upon him with wistful glances. He would have avoided her eyes, but could not; his looks must sink deep into those glittering, black eyes. Deep they looked, deep as the sea, and he thought to himself that a secret could be buried there, and rest secure in the bottom of her heart.

"Gabriel Nietzel," asked Rebecca, in a voice at once threatening and tender--"Gabriel Nietzel, what have you done? What lies heavy upon your soul?"

"Nothing, my Rebecca, nothing! Ask no questions! We must begone! Make haste, dearest, take the child, and come; for if we do not hurry, we are lost!"

She slowly shook her n.o.ble, graceful head and stirred not from her place.

She kept Gabriel in his with her hands, which she pressed more firmly upon his shoulders.

"Gabriel, my dear, precious Gabriel, what have you done? Tell me. I demand to know it as my right. When we were married on the Lido, in the solemn stillness of the night, when we joined hands, and both swore in the presence of your and my G.o.d that we would ever love one another, and that death alone should part us, when you said, 'I take you to be my wife,' and I said, 'I take you to be my husband,' then we likewise swore that we would live truly and confidentially with one another, and have no secrets from each other. Gabriel, fulfill now your oath. I demand it of you, by the memory of that hour, by my love for you, by our child. Gabriel, what have you done?"

"I can not tell it, and you may not hear it, Rebecca. For, once uttered, that word will be a two-edged sword, and plunge us both in misery and shame!"

"Shame! There is no shame for the Jewess! Misery! Tell me a form of misery which I have not suffered and endured from childhood up! My mother was stabbed in Venice by a n.o.bleman because she would not break her faith with my father and desert him. My father was known as a sorcerer and vender of poisons. The n.o.blemen used secretly to resort by night to our wretched house upon the Ghetto, and paid him great sums for his drugs, but if he showed himself upon the streets by day, the populace hooted and cast stones after him. And when they saw me, they hissed and mocked, bestowing opprobrious epithets upon me, and even went out of the way to avoid the contamination of my touch, for I was the daughter of a poisoner, a secret bravo--I was a Jewess! But when I was grown, then the young n.o.blemen came to my father, not merely for the sake of his drugs and medicines, but also--hush! Not a breath of it! You were my deliverer--my savior! You rescued me from all distress; you were to me as the Messiah, in whom my people have hoped for a thousand years. I followed you, and I shall go with you my whole life long--go with you to the scaffold, if needs be. I know it, Gabriel, I read it in your countenance; you have committed a crime!"

"A crime! A fearful crime!" said he, shuddering. "Turn your head away, Rebecca, I am not worthy that you should look upon me!"

"I do look upon you, Gabriel, I condemn you not. I am thinking of what we said to one another in the count's picture gallery. I called to you to rescue me at any price. I told you that if I could purchase deliverance thereby, I was ready to commit a crime. That to be with you again I would abjure the faith of my fathers, although I knew I should die of penitence after the perpetration of such a crime."

"And I replied to you, Rebecca, that I, too, was ready to perpetrate a crime for the sake of rescuing you and calling you my own again, and that I would not die of penitence."

"And yet you do repent, Gabriel, you shudder at yourself for you have done it, you have committed a crime. I will have my share in it, half of it belongs to me. In the sight of G.o.d, I am your wife, and you have sworn to share everything with me. Then divide with me, Gabriel; I claim my right.

Share with me your crime, or I shall think that you love me no more, and then I shall go away, and you will never see me more."

"I do love you, Rebecca--I do love you! For your sake I have become a criminal, a murderer! I have purchased you at the price of my soul! Lay your ear close to my mouth, and I will tell you my dreadful secret: Rebecca, I am a murderer, a cursed murderer! I have committed a murder, which will cry out to Heaven against me as long as I live; for him whom I have murdered had never done me harm, but only good, and he confided in me, and trusted to my faith. Rebecca, I am cursed, and my name will be a byword in the mouths of men while books of history last. Rebecca, I have poisoned the Electoral Prince Frederick William!"

She uttered a piercing shriek, and fell back, as if struck by a thunderbolt.