by L. Mühlbach
CHAPTER XIX.
THE QUEEN AT THE PEASANT'S COTTAGE.
It was a stormy night. The wind was howling through the pines, anddriving the snow in dense clouds from the highway leading through, theforest. There was no sound, save that of the winter's gale, and thetrees groaning beneath its power. A solitary light, twinkling as a starthrough the dark woods, was shedding its beams on this desolate scene.It proceeded from a small house near the main road, where theforest-keeper had peacefully lived with his wife for more than twentyyears. On the hearth in the cottage a merry fire was burning, andKatharine, the forest-keeper's wife, was industriously occupied with it,while the young servant-girl, seated on a low cane chair near thehearth, her hands clasped on her lap, had fallen asleep.
"Martha," exclaimed the old woman, in an angry voice, "--are you asleepagain?"
The girl opened her eyes lazily and yawned. "Why should I not sleep?"she asked. "It is time to do so, and every Christian has long since goneto bed. Let me also go to my bedchamber and sleep!"
"No, you must stay here," said Katharine, quickly; "I do not want to bealone in such a night. The wind is roaring in the chimney so fearfullythat we might almost fancy Old Nick or the French were coming down tocarry us away, or, at any rate, our last piece of bread and meat!"
"Meat!" ejaculated the servant-girl, laughing scornfully. "Old Nick, oreven the French, would be unable to find any meat in your house. Wouldthat I could only get the wages you owe me for the last six months, Ishould leave forthwith this miserable place, where one has so little toeat, and where it is so dreadfully tiresome!"
"You have not suffered hunger as yet, Martha," said the old woman,deprecatingly. "It is true, we have no meat left; the last ham we hadhas been consumed, and our last chickens had to be taken to town to besold there--"
"And your husband has taken away your only cow," cried Martha, halfangrily, half sadly; "he is going to sell the good animal that alwaysgave us such excellent milk and butter. I tell you it is a shame that heshould do so, and I shall never go back to the stable where my dearcow's lowing will no more greet me!"
"You will, nevertheless, have to go back, Martha, for the two goats arestill there; you must give them fodder, so that they may give us milk.They are all we have left! Do you think it did not grieve me to partwith our fine cow which I had raised myself? I wept for her all lastnight, and would have given away my hand rather than sell her. But noone would have paid any thing for my old hand. We had to have money topay your wages, so as not to be obliged to listen longer to yourcontinued importunities. That was the reason why my good old man tookthe cow to town. It cut him to the quick to hear you dunning us all thetime for a few dollars."
The servant-girl cast down her eyes and blushed. "I did not mean anyharm, Mde. Katharine," she said, in confusion. "It was mere talk; Ialways hoped master would take a lesson from me and dun the count in thesame manner for his own wages. But the great lords are livingsumptuously, and do not care whether their servants are starving todeath or not!"
"Our count, Martha, does not live sumptuously," said Katharine, heavinga sigh. "The French destroyed his palace, and--but hush! Did you nothear something outside? I thought I heard some one call."
The two women were silent and listened; but nothing was to be heard. Thestorm was howling, and rattling the windows. At times an iron handseemed to pass across the panes--it was the snow which the wind lashedagainst the house as if intending to awaken the inmates from theirslumbers.
"A terrible night!" murmured Katharine, shuddering. "I hope that my dearold man won't return in such a storm, but stop with one of his friendsat the neighboring village. Heaven preserve any human being out in sucha night as this on the highway, and from--"
A loud knock at the window-panes interrupted her, and a voice outsideshouted imperiously, "Open the door!"
The two women uttered a shrill scream, and Martha clung anxiously andwith both her hands to Katharine's arm.
"I beseech you, Mde. Katharine," she whispered with quivering lips,"don't open. It is assuredly Old Nick or the French that want to comein!"
"Fiddlesticks! The devil does not wait for the door to open, but comesdown the flue," said Katharine; "and as to the French, the_Parlez-vous_, why, they cannot speak German. Just listen how they arecommanding and begging outside. 'Open the door!' Well, yes, yes! I amcoming. No one shall say that old Katharine suffered people to freeze todeath in the forest while she had fire on her hearth." Disengagingherself from Martha's grasp, she hastened to the door, and opening itquickly, said, "Whoever you may be, you are welcome!"
The storm rushed in with a terrible noise, driving the snow into thehouse, and blowing up the fire on the hearth into a still brighterblaze.
There appeared on the threshold a tall lady, wrapped in a dark velvetcloak, trimmed with fur; her head covered with a silken cape, to which awhite lace veil was fastened. Behind her were another richly-dressedlady, and two men in blue coats, splendidly embroidered with silver.
"You permit us, then, my dear woman, to enter your house and stop hereovernight?" asked the veiled lady, in a gentle, sonorous voice.
Old Katharine stood staring at her. She felt as frightened as if asorceress had entered her house. "First let me see your face," she said,growing bold notwithstanding her inward terror; "I must see who youare."
An indignant murmur arose among the attendants of the lady, but sheordered them to be quiet with a wave of her hand. She then turned oncemore to Katharine. "Well, my good woman, look at me," she said, drawingback her veil.
A pale, wondrously beautiful face was visible, and eyes more lustrousthan the old woman had ever seen before, looked at her gently andkindly.
"Do you know me now?" asked the lady, with a smile full of touchingmelancholy.
"No," said Katharine, "I do not know you, but you are as beautiful asthe angels that sometimes appear to me in my dreams, or as the fairiesof whom my mother used to tell me when I was a little child. Come in,you as well as the others. There is room at the hearth for all who arecold."
The strange lady smiled and advanced into the cottage; before doing so,however, she turned around. "M. von Schladen," she said, in French,"pray, give orders to all not to betray my incognito. I am here theCountess von Hohenzieritz; please inform the servants of it."
The gentleman, who had just appeared on the threshold, bowed and steppedback. She and her companion approached the fire; the two servants, intheir gorgeous liveries, stood in silence at the open door. The ladytook off her fur gloves with a hasty motion, and held her small whitehands toward the fire. A ring with large diamonds was sparkling on herforefinger. Old Katharine had never before seen any thing like it--shestood staring at the lady, and dreaming again of the fairy-stories ofher childhood, while Martha sat on her cane chair as if petrified, andafraid lest the slightest noise should dispel the enchanting apparition.
"Oh, how pleasant this is!" said the lady, drawing a deep breath; "myhands were quite chilled. Countess Truchsess, come here and follow myexample!"
The young lady, who was standing near in a silent and respectfulattitude, approached the fire, and eagerly stretched her small handstoward it.
"How comfortable, is it not?" asked the lady who had styled herselfCountess von Hohenzieritz. "Oh, after suffering from the cold a wholeday, we learn to appreciate the boon of the fire which otherwise we fearas a dangerous element." And thoughtfully looking into the warm glow,she muttered to herself, "We are now wandering about in the cold, andare chilled; will no hospitable fire warm our hearts again?" She bentforward without uttering a complaint, or heaving a sigh.
Katharine could not avert her eyes; she gazed at the lady's sparklingjewels, and then looked at her face. Suddenly she noticed two diamonddrops roll slowly over her transparent cheeks; but they were no diamondslike those flashing on her hands--they were tears. She shook them offwith an impetuous motion, and turned to old Katharine, who, clasping herhands, asked herself wonderingly whether angels could weep.
"
My good woman," said the countess, "will you permit us to stay hereuntil daybreak? We have lost our way in the snow-storm. We thought toreach Koenigsberg before nightfall, but, I suppose, the city is yet quitedistant?"
"Ten hours, at least," said Katharine, timidly. "You have lost your way,indeed--probably at the cross-roads, two miles from here. Instead offollowing the main one, you took the side-road. Well, such things mayhappen to the most skilful driver, in a snow-storm, when he cannot seehis hand before him."
"I believe that such things may happen, and do not blame any one forwhat has occurred," said the countess, gently. "Tell me now, have youroom and beds for all of us?"
"The two ladies may sleep in my bed, provided they occupy it together.But I have no others," said Katharine.
"I need no bed," exclaimed the younger lady, quickly; "I shall contentmyself with sitting at the fireside."
"And I," said M. von Schiaden, who had just entered, "I beg leave to beallowed to pass the night in the travelling-coach."
"You will catch cold in the carriage, sir," said Katharine, "and thereis danger, moreover, that, falling asleep, you might never wake again.But in the hay-loft it is warm and soft; you and the other gentleman maysleep there, if you please."
The Countess Hohenzieritz smiled. "Well," she said, "a high-chamberlainin a hay-loft! That is a melancholy adventure, I should think?"
"No, gracious countess, it sounds quite ludicrous," said thehigh-chamberlain, "and if only your--if only the gracious countess had agood bed, I should have no reason whatever for being melancholy. Thereare thousands nowadays sleeping on the hard ground, without a bunch ofhay for a pillow!"
"Our dead of Jena and Auerstadt, for instance," said the countess,sighing. "But they are well: the dead sleep gently! At times I feellike envying them, for their rest is more peaceful than that of theliving. Let us not murmur, but rejoice at having found shelter for thenight! We shall remain, then, in this room, and the high-chamberlainwill sleep in the hay-loft. But where shall we place our servants, andwhat is to become of our horses?"
"How many horses have you?" asked Katharine.
"Six horses and an outrider," said M. von Schiaden.
"What!" exclaimed Katharine, in dismay. "Six horses! How extravagant intimes so wretched as these, when the king himself would be glad to havetwo horses to his carriage, and--"
"Silence!" interrupted the high-chamberlain in great excitement.
"You are right, my dear woman," said the countess, smiling. "The kingwill certainly be glad to have two horses left, especially if theyalways draw him in the right way. But it was no wanton arrogance on ourpart to take so many horses; we did so only on account of the bad roads,and in order to travel as rapidly as possible."
"Well, the horses can stand in the cow-stable and the wood-shed," saidKatharine. "Go, Martha, light the lanterns, and show the coachman to thestable, and the gentleman to the hay-loft. I will make the bed for theladies." And, drawing back the blue-striped linen curtains covering thelarge old family-bed, she muttered to herself: "It is very lucky that myold man has not come home; otherwise I should really be at a loss whereto place my high-born guests."
Half an hour afterward tranquillity again reigned in the cottage. Thehorses, the servants, and the high-chamberlain, had been conducted totheir quarters in the cow-stable, wood-shed, and hay-loft. Katharine andMartha had withdrawn to the servant-girl's small chamber, and on thelower floor, which served, at the same time, as a kitchen, hall, andsitting-room, a couch had been prepared for the two ladies. But theyoung Countess von Truchsess could not be prevailed upon to occupyone-half. She placed the cane chair against the high bedstead, and,sitting on it as on a tabouret at the foot of a throne, she supportedher head on the cushions of the bed, over which the crimson satinblanket, lined with fur, that the ladies had wrapped around their feetin the carriage, had been spread. The Countess von Hohenzieritz wasreposing on this, her noble form still wrapped in the fur robe, fallingdown to her feet in ample folds; her head was leaning back on thecushions, and the crimson of the blanket contrasted strikingly with herwhite cheeks and light-brown hair. She had clasped her small, slenderhands on her lap; her large eyes looked upward in devotion, and her lipsuttered fervent words, which no one heard and understood but He to whomthey were addressed.
The fire on the hearth, to which large logs of wood had been added,continued blazing merrily; at times, when the wind came down the chimneyviolently, the flames rose high, and the beautiful figure in themiserable room was illuminated by the red light as by a halo. Hercountenance was as pale and peaceful as that of the blessed dead, andyet an ardent vitality was beaming in her unclosed eyes. On the wretchedbed in the peasant's cottage she was dreaming of her formerhappiness--of the magnificent days which she had seen, and which, shebelieved, would never return. But she did not bewail her departed glory,and her menaced welfare caused her no regret.
"Preserve to me, merciful God! the love of my husband," she whispered;"let my children grow great in name and in soul. Oh, if I could purchasehappiness for them by sacrificing my life, I would gladly let my heart'sblood ebb away drop by drop--if by my death I could restore to myhusband his former power, how cheerfully I would die! O my God, save andprotect Prussia: but if such should not be Thy will, teach us how tofall and die with her in an honorable manner! Preserve us from disgraceand despondency; teach us how to bear great disasters with dignifiedresignation, and grant that we may never be so faint-hearted as to sinkbeneath petty calamities!"
She paused, and looked upward with radiant eyes; just then the stormoutside was howling with awful violence, and made the cottage tremble."Such a storm without, and peace within! Let it always be so, my God,"she whispered, gently pressing her hand against her breast. "O peace,sweet peace, when will it descend to us from heaven!" Gradually thewords died away on her lips; her eyelids drooped. Heaven sent to her thebrother of peace--sleep--that it might comfort her weary eyes andinvigorate her after the troubles and exertions of the previous day. Thestorm continued all night long, but the beautiful sleeper heard it onlyas a lullaby hushing her to sweet repose.
At daybreak there was a stir in the cottage. Katharine came to rekindlethe extinct fire, and the two ladies rose, chilled and shuddering, toprepare for their journey. The travelling-coach, drawn by the sixhorses, rolled up to the door, and High-chamberlain von Schladen rappedtimidly and begged leave to enter. The countess bade him come in, andreplied with a sweet smile to his inquiries as to her night's rest. "Ihave slept," she said, "and feel sufficiently invigorated now tocontinue the journey."
"In four hours we shall be in Koenigsberg," said M. von Schladen. "It isa clear morning; the storm is over, and the sun will soon burst forthfrom behind the clouds."
"'The sun will soon burst forth from behind the clouds,'" repeated thecountess, musingly. "Those are cheering words; could they but befulfilled for all of us! Let us hasten to reach Koenigsberg; for there atleast will be one sunbeam for me--I shall see my children again, and myhusband also will join us on returning from the Russian camp."
M. von Schladen advanced a few steps, and said in a low and hurriedvoice: "The king is already in Koenigsberg. I have seen a peasant, theowner of this cottage, who has come from Koenigsberg. He walked allnight, and left the city just at the moment when the king with his suitereturned."
"And did the man bring other news?" asked the lady, hastily.
"A rumor was in circulation in Koenigsberg that the French were advancingfrom Posen, and, the Russian columns being also on the move, it wasgenerally believed that a battle would soon take place."
The lady walked rapidly to the door. "Let us set out as soon aspossible," she said; suddenly, however, she turned pale and leanedagainst the wall to prevent herself from falling.
"Oh," she murmured faintly, "what weak, pitiful beings we are, afterall! The soul is strong enough to bear the heaviest burden, but the bodyis so weak that a twelve hours' fast is sufficient to overpower it!"
Just then Katharine entered the ro
om; on seeing the lady looking sofaint, she hastened to her, and asked sympathizingly for the cause ofher pallor and exhaustion.
"I will tell you, my dear woman," whispered the lady, with a sad smile,"I am hungry!"
"Oh," sighed M. von Schladen, "and we have no refreshments with us!"
"But I have some for the beautiful lady," said Katharine, proudly. "Iwas right in thinking that high-born people must eat sometimes, and arenot refreshed merely by their magnificent dresses and the splendorsurrounding them, but are obliged to put something into their mouths,like us common people. Look, there is Martha with the breakfast!" And,in truth, Martha was just entering the door, holding in her hand apitcher filled with fresh, smoking milk.
Katharine took an earthen cup from the shelf near the hearth, and filledit to the brim. "Now drink," she said, handing the cup to the countess;"it will strengthen you; it is splendid goat's milk, so fine and warmthat city folks never get any thing like it; no fire warmed this milk,but God, who gave life and warmth to my dear goat. Drink, then, in Hisname!"
"No refreshment has ever been presented to me in so cordial a manner,"said the countess, nodding kindly to the old peasant-woman. "I shallcarefully remember your heart-felt words, and drink the milk in the nameof the good Lord, but only provided you, Countess Truchsess, and you,too, M. von Schiaden, can likewise have a cup of this splendid milk."
"We shall have some," said the Countess von Truchsess; "please your--,the gracious countess will please drink her milk." The countess placedthe cup on the window-sill without having touched it with her lips. "Yousee I am waiting," she said--"make haste!" She herself then hastened tothe cupboard near the hearth, and took from it two small earthen jars,which she handed to Katharine to fill with milk.
"And have you not something to eat with the milk, my dear woman?" askedM. von Schladen, in a low voice.
"I have but a loaf of stale brown bread," said Katharine, "but I amafraid it will be too hard for the fine teeth of the countess."
"Give it to me at all events," said the countess, "my teeth will be ableto manage it."
Old Katharine took a large loaf of bread from the cupboard, cut off athick slice, and presented it on the bright pewter plate, the principalornament of her house. The countess broke off a piece, and, leaningagainst the window, commenced eating her frugal breakfast.
The Countess von Truchsess and the high-chamberlain had retired to thehearth to partake of the strange and unwonted food. Katharine and Marthastood at the door, staring admiringly at the lady who was leaningagainst the window, and just lifting the stale brown bread to hermouth. She did not notice that the two were looking at her; she wasgazing thoughtfully at the large bedstead in which she had passed thenight in tears and prayers. Her glance then turned to the piece of breadwhich she held in her hand, and from which she had vainly tried to eat.The bread and the bed reminded her of an hour long past, when she was ahappy queen--an hour when her mental eye descried the future, and thewords of a beautiful and melancholy song aroused in her anxiousforebodings, and seemed to her a prophecy of her own destiny. As shethought of those golden days, her eyes filled with tears, which rolledover her cheeks and trickled down on the bread in her hand. "Oh," shemurmured, "now I shall be able to eat it; I am softening it with mytears!" And to conceal them she averted her head, and looked out at theforest, whose lofty pines were adorned with snow-wreaths. Her tearsgradually ceased--she drew the large diamond ring from her finger, and,using the pointed stone as a pen, wrote rapidly on the window-pane.
Old Katharine and Martha stared at her in dismay; the charactersappearing on the glass filled them with astonishment and superstitiousawe, and they thought the handsome lady who knew how to write with aprecious stone might after all be a fairy, who, persecuted by some evilsorcerer, had fled thither into the dark forest, and was writing someexorcising words on the window-pane, lest her enemy should pursue andhave power over her.
The lady replaced the ring on her finger, and turned to the youngcountess and the high-chamberlain. "Now, I am ready," she said, "let usset out." She walked to the door, and shaking hands with old Katharine,thanked her for the hospitable reception she had met with in hercottage, and then stepped out of the low door for the carriage, at whichthe high-chamberlain was awaiting her.
"I beg leave, gracious countess, to take upon myself the functions ofour outrider. The road is broken and full of holes, and as I have a keeneye, I shall see them in time, and call the attention of the coachman tothem."
The countess thanked him with a kind glance. "I accept your offer," shesaid--"may a time come when I shall be able to thank my faithful friendsfor the attachment and devotion they manifest toward me duringaffliction, and which are engraven in diamond letters on my heart! Butlet us thank the good woman who received us so hospitably last night. Irequest you to give this to her in my name." She handed her purse filledwith gold-pieces to the high-chamberlain, and entered the carriage. M.von Schladen stood still until the carriage rolled away. Before mountinghe hastened into the house.
Old Katharine and Martha stood in the room, and were looking in silentastonishment at the neat characters on the pane, the meaning of whichthey were unable to decipher. "Oh, sir," exclaimed Katharine, when thehigh-chamberlain entered the room, "tell us the meaning of this--whatdid the lady write here?"
M. von Schladen stepped to the window. When he had read the lines, hiseyes filled with tears, and profound emotion was depicted in hisfeatures. "Enviable inmates of this humble cottage," he said, "from thishour it has become a precious monument, and, when better times arrive,the Germans will make a pilgrimage to this spot to gaze with devout eyesat this historical relic of the days of adversity. Preserve the windowcarefully, for I tell you it is worth more than gold and diamonds."
"Is it really, then, an exorcism which the beautiful fairy has writtenthere?" asked Katharine, anxiously.
"Yes, those are magic words," replied M. von Schladen, "and they read asfollows:
'Who never ate his bread with tears-- Who never in the sorrowing hours Of night lay sunk in gloomy fears-- He knows ye not, O heavenly powers!'"[29]
[Footnote 29:
"Wer nie sein Brot mit Thraenen ass, Wer nie die kummervollen Naechte Auf seinem Bette weinend sass, Der kennt euch nicht. Ihr himmlischen Maechte."
Goethe.
]
"Ah, she ate her bread with tears to-day. I saw it," murmured Katharine."But who is she, and what is her name? Tell us, so that we may pray forher, sir."
"Her name is Louisa," said M. von Schladen, in a tremulous voice. "Atpresent she is a poor, afflicted woman, who is fleeing from town to townfrom her enemy, and eating her bread with tears, and weeping at night.But she is still the Queen of Prussia, and will remain so if there bejustice in heaven!"
"The Queen of Prussia!" cried Katharine, holding up her hands in dismay."She was here and wrote that?"
"Yes, she wrote that, and sends this to you as a reward for yourtrouble," said M. von Schladen, emptying the contents of the purse onthe table. The purse itself he placed in his bosom. Without waiting forthe thanks of the surprised woman, he departed, vaulted into the saddle,and followed the queen at a full gallop.
