CHAPTER XXXVI.
A WINGLESS CUPID.
That was a dreary procession that a little before noon on the 25th ofAugust wound its way back into Nuremberg. The King, repulsed but notdefeated, remained in his camp beyond the Rednitz, and with trumpetssounding and banners displayed, strove vainly to tempt his wilyantagonist into the plain. Those who returned on this day, therefore,carrying with them the certain news of ill-fortune, were the woundedand the useless, a few prisoners, two or three envoys, half a dozenhorse-dealers, and a train of waggons bearing crippled and dying mento the hospital.
Of this company I made one, and I doubt if there were six others whobore in their breasts hearts as light, or who could look on the sunnyroofs and peaked gables of the city with eyes as cheerful. PrinceBernard had spoken kindly to me; the King had sent for me to inquirewhere I last saw General Torstensohn; I had stood up a man amongstmen; and I deemed these things cheaply bought at the cost of a littleblood. On the other hand, the horrors of the day were still so freshin my mind that my heart overflowed with thankfulness and the love oflife; feelings which welled up anew whenever I looked abroad and sawthe Rednitz flowing gently between the willows, or looked within andpictured the Werra rippling swiftly down the shallows under cool shadeof oak and birch and alder.
Add to all these things one more. I had just learned that CountLeuchtenstein lived and was unhurt, and on the saddle before me undera cloak I bore his son. More than one asked me what booty I had taken,where others had found only lead or steel, that I hugged my treasureso closely and smiled to myself. But I gave them no answer. I onlyheld the child the tighter, and pushing on more quickly, reached thecity a little after twelve.
I say nothing of the gloomy looks and sad faces that I encountered atthe gate, of the sullen press that would hardly give way, or of thethousand questions I had to parry. I hardened my heart, and,disengaging myself as quickly as I could, I rode straight to my lady'slodgings; and it was fortunate that I did so. For I was only just intime. As I dismounted at the door--receiving such a welcome from Steveand the other men as almost discovered my treasure, whether I would orno--I saw Count Leuchtenstein turn into the street by the other endand ride slowly towards me, a trooper behind him.
The men would have detained me. They wanted to hear the news and thedetails of the battle, and where I had been. But I thrust my waythrough them and darted in.
Quick as I was, one was still quicker, and as I went out of the lightinto the cool darkness of the entrance, flew down the stairs to meetme, and, before I could see, was in my arms, covering me with tearsand laughter and little cries of thanksgiving. How the child faredbetween us I do not know, for for a minute I forgot it, my lady, theCount, everything, in the sweetness of that greeting; in the clingingof those slender arms round my neck, and the joy of the little facegiven up to my kisses.
But in a moment, the child, being, I suppose, half choked between us,uttered a feeble cry; and Marie sprang back, startled and scared, andperhaps something more.
'What is it?' she cried, beginning to tremble. 'What have you got?'
I did not know how to tell her on the instant, and I had no time toprepare her, and I stood stammering.
Suddenly,'Give it to me!' she cried in a strange voice.
But I thought that in the fulness of her joy and surprise she mightswoon or something, and I held back. 'You won't drop it,' I saidfeebly, 'when you know what it is?'
Her eyes flashed in the half light. 'Fool!' she cried--yes, though Icould scarcely believe my ears. 'Give it to me.'
I was so taken aback that I gave it up meekly on the spot. She flewoff with it into a corner, and jealously turned her back on me beforeshe uncovered the child; then all in a moment she fell to crying, andlaughing, crooning over it and making strange noises. I heard theCount's horse at the door, and I stepped to her.
'You are sure that it _is_ your child?' I said.
'_Sure?_' she cried; and she darted a glance at me that for scornoutdid all my lady's.
After that I had no doubt left. 'Then bring it to the Countess, mygirl,' I said. 'He is here. And it is she who should give it to him.'
'Who is here?' she cried sharply.
'Count Leuchtenstein.'
She stared at me for a moment, and then suddenly quailed and brokedown, as it were. She blushed crimson; her eyes looked at mepiteously, like those of a beaten dog.
'Oh,' she said, 'I forgot that it was you!'
'Never mind that,' I said. 'Take the child to my lady.'
She nodded, in quick comprehension. As the Count crossed the thresholdbelow, she sped up the stairs, and I after her. My lady was in theparlour, walking the length of it impatiently, with a set face; butwhether the impatience was on my account, because I had delayed belowso long, or on the Count's, whose arrival she had probably seen fromthe window, I will not say, for as I entered and before she couldspeak, Marie ran to her with the child and placed it in her arms.
My lady turned for a moment quite pale. 'What is it?' she saidfaintly, holding it from her awkwardly.
Marie cried out between laughing and crying, 'The child! The child, mylady.'
'And Count Leuchtenstein is on the stairs,' I said.
The colour swept back into the Countess's face in a flood and coveredit from brow to neck. For a moment, taken by surprise, she forgot herpride and looked at us shyly, timidly. 'Where--where did you recoverit?' she murmured.
'The Waldgrave recovered it,' I answered hurriedly, 'and sent it toyour excellency, that you might give it to Count Leuchtenstein.'
'The Waldgrave!' she cried.
'Yes, my lady, with that message,' I answered strenuously.
The Countess looked to Marie for help. I could hear steps on thestairs--at the door; and I suppose that the two women settled it withtheir eyes. For no words passed, but in a twinkling Marie snatched thechild, which was just beginning to cry, from the Countess and ran awaywith it through an inner door. As that door fell to, the other opened,and Ernst announced Count Leuchtenstein.
He came in, looking embarrassed, and a little stiff. His buff coatshowed marks of the corselet--he had not changed it--and his bootswere dusty. It seemed to me that he brought in a faint reek of powderwith him, but I forgot this the next moment in the look of melancholykindness I espied in his eyes--a look that enabled me for the firsttime to see him as my lady saw him.
She met him very quietly, with a heightened colour, but the mostperfect self-possession. I marvelled to see how in a moment she washerself again.
'I rejoice to see you safe, Count Leuchtenstein,' she said. 'I heardearly this morning that you were unhurt.'
'Yes,' he answered. 'I have not a scratch, where so many younger menhave fallen.'
'Alas! there will be tears on many hearths,' my lady said.
'Yes. Poor Germany!' he answered. 'Poor Germany! It is a fearfulthing. God forgive us who have to do with the making of war. Yet wemay hope, as long as our young men show such valour and courage assome showed yesterday; and none more conspicuously than the WaldgraveRupert.'
'I am glad,' my lady said, colouring, 'that he justified yourinterference on his behalf, Count Leuchtenstein. It was right that heshould; and right that I should do more--ask your pardon for themiserable ingratitude of which my passion made me guilty a while ago.'
'Countess!' he cried.
'No,' she said, stopping him with a gesture full of dignity. 'You musthear me out, for now that I have confessed, we are quits. I behavedill--so ill that I deserved a heavy punishment. You thought so--andinflicted it!'
Her voice dropped with the last words. He turned very red, and lookedat her wistfully; but I suppose that he dared not draw conclusions.For he remained silent, and she resumed, more lightly.
'So Rupert did well yesterday?' she said. 'I am glad, for he will bepleased.'
'He did more than well!' Count Leuchtenstein answered, with awkwardwarmth. 'He distinguished himself in the face of the whole a
rmy. Hiscourage and coolness were above praise. As we have----' The Countpaused, then blundered on hastily--'quarrelled, dare I say, Countess,over him, I am anxious to make him the ground of our reconciliationalso. I have formed the highest opinion of him; and I hope to advancehis interests in every way.'
My lady raised her eyebrows. 'With me?' she said quaintly.
The Count fidgeted, and looked very ill at ease. 'May I speak quiteplainly?' he said at last.
'Surely,' the Countess answered.
'Then it can be no secret to you that he has--formed an attachment toyou. It would be strange if he had not,' the Count added gallantly.
'And he has asked you to speak for him?' my lady exclaimed, in an oddtone.
'No, not exactly. But----'
'You think that it--it would be a good match for me,' she said, hervoice trembling, but whether with tears or laughter, I could not tell.'You think that, being a woman, and for the present houseless, andalmost friendless, I should do well to marry him?'
'He is a brave and honest man,' the Count muttered, looking allways--and looking very miserable. 'And he loves you!' he added with aneffort.
'And you think that I should marry him?' my lady persistedmercilessly. 'Answer me, if you please, Count Leuchtenstein, or youare a poor ambassador.'
'I am not an ambassador,' he replied, thus goaded. 'But Ithought----'
'That I ought to marry him?'
'If you love him,' the Count muttered.
My lady took a turn to the window, looked out, and came back. When shespoke at last, I could not tell whether the harshness in her voice wasreal or assumed.
'I see how it is,' she said, 'very clearly, Count Leuchtenstein. Ihave confessed, and I have been punished; but I am not forgiven. Imust do something more, it seems. Wait!'
He was going to protest, to remonstrate, to deny; but she was gone,out through the door, to return on the instant with something in herarms. She took it to the Count and held it out to him.
'See!' she said, her voice broken by sobs; 'it is your child. God hasgiven it back again. God has given it to you, because you trusted inHim. It is your child.'
He stood as if turned to stone. 'Is it?' he said at last, in a low,strained voice. 'Is it? Then thank God for His mercy to my house. Buthow--shall I know it?'
'The girl knows it. Marie knows it,' my lady cried; 'and the childknows her. And Martin--Martin will tell you how it was found--how theWaldgrave found it.'
'The Waldgrave?' the Count cried.
'Yes, the Waldgrave,' she answered; 'and he sent it to me to give toyou.'
Then I went to him and told him all I knew; and Marie, who, like mylady, was laughing through her tears, took the child, and showed himhow it knew her, and remembered my name and my lady's, and had thismark and that mark, and so forth, until he was convinced; and while inthat hour all Nuremberg outside our house mourned and lamented,within, I think, there were as thankful hearts as anywhere in theworld, so that even Steve, when he came peeping through the door tosee what was the matter, went blubbering down again.
Presently Count Leuchtenstein said something handsome to Marie abouther care of the child, and slipping off a gold chain that he waswearing, threw it round her neck, with a pleasant word to me. Marie,covered with blushes, took this as a signal to go, and would have leftthe child with his father; but the boy objected strongly, and theCount, with a laugh, bade her take him.
'If he were a little older!' he said. 'But I have not muchaccommodation for a child in my quarters. Next week I am going toCassel, and then----'
'You will take him with you?' my lady said.
The Count looked at the closing door, as it fell to behind Marie, andwhen the latch dropped, he spoke. 'Countess,' he said bluntly, 'have Imisunderstood you?'
My lady's eyes fell. 'I do not know,' she said softly. 'I should thinknot. I have spoken very plainly.'
'I am almost an old man,' he said, looking at her kindly, 'and you area young woman. Have you been amusing yourself at my expense?'
The Countess shook her head. 'No,' she said, with a gleam of laughterin her eyes; 'I have done with that. I began to amuse myself withGeneral Tzerclas, and I found it so perilous a pleasure that Idetermined to forswear it. Though,' she added, looking down andplaying with her bracelet, 'why I should tell you this, I do notknow.'
'Because--henceforth I hope that you will tell me everything,' theCount said suddenly.
'Very well,' my lady answered, colouring deeply.
'And will be my wife?'
'I will--if you desire it.'
The Count walked to the window and returned. 'That is not enough,' hesaid, looking at her with a smile of infinite tenderness. 'It must notbe unless _you_ desire it; for I have all to gain, you little ornothing. Consider, child,' he went on, laying his hand gently on hershoulder as she sat, but not now looking at her. 'Consider; I am a manpast middle age. I have been married already, and the portrait of mychild's mother stands always on my table. Even of the life left tome--a soldier's life--I can offer you only a part; the rest I owe tomy country, to the poor and the peasant who cry for peace, to mymaster, than whom God has given no State a better ruler, to GodHimself, who places power in my hands. All these I cannot and will notdesert. Countess, I love you, and men can still love when youth ispast. But I would far rather never feel the touch of your hand or ofyour lips than I would give up these things. Do you understand?'
'Perfectly,' my lady said, looking steadfastly before her, though herheaving breast betrayed her emotion. 'And I desire to be your wife,and to help you in these things as the greatest happiness God can giveme.'
The Count stooped gently and kissed her forehead. 'Thank you,' hesaid.
* * * * *
I have very little to add. All the world knows that the King ofSweden, unable to entice Wallenstein from his lines, remained in hiscamp before Nuremberg for fifteen days longer, during which period thecity and the army suffered all the extremities of famine and plague.After that, satisfied that he had so far reduced the Duke ofFriedland's strength that it no longer menaced the city, he marchedaway with his army into Thuringia; and there, two months later, on theimmortal field of Lutzen, defeated his enemy, and fell, some say by atraitor's hand, in the moment of victory; leaving to all who everlooked upon his face the memory of a sovereign and soldier without arival, modest in sunshine and undaunted in storm. I saw him seventimes and I say this.
And all the world knows in what a welter of war and battles and siegesand famines we have since lain, so that no man foresees the end, andmany suppose that happiness has quite fled from the earth, or at leastfrom German soil. Yet this is not so. It is true in comparison withthe old days, when my lady kept her maiden Court at Heritzburg, andour greatest excitement was a visit from Count Tilly, we lead atroubled life. My lady's eyes are often grave, and the days when shegoes with her two brave boys to the summit of the Schloss and lookssouthward with a wistful face, are many; many, for the Count, thoughhe verges on seventy, still keeps the field and is a tower in thecouncils of the north. But with all that, the life is a full one--fullof worthy things and help given to others, and a great example greatlyset, and peace honestly if vainly pursued. And for this and for otherreasons, I believe that my lady, doing her duty, hoping and prayingand training her children, is happy; perhaps as happy as in the olddays when Fraulein Anna prosed of virtue and felicity and Voetius.
The Waldgrave Rupert, still the handsomest of men, but sobered bythe stress of war, comes to see us in the intervals of battles andsieges. On these occasions the children flock round him, and he tellstales--of Nordlingen, and Leipzig, and the leaguer of Breysach; andblue eyes grow stern, and chubby faces grim, and shell-white teeth areground together, while Marie sits pale and quaking, devouring her boyswith hungry mother's eyes. But they do not laugh at her now; they havenot since the day when the Waldgrave bade them guess who was thebravest person he had ever known.
'Father!' my lady's sons cried. And Marie's, not
to be outdone, criedthe same.
But the Waldgrave shook his head. 'No,' he said, 'try again.'
My youngest guessed the King of Sweden.
'No,' the Waldgrave answered him. 'Your mother.'
THE END.
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