Читать книгу A German Pompadour - Hon. Marie Hay - Страница 4

Table of Contents

'Es ist eine Hofkabale.'—Schiller.

On the outskirts of the village of Oberhausen in South Wirtemberg stands a deserted house. Rats are its only denizens now; rats and the 'poor ghosts,' so the peasants say. Two hundred years ago this eerie mansion was occupied by living men and women, perchance the ghosts of to-day. Who can tell? But I, who have grown to love them, having studied the depths of their hearts, I pray that they may rest them well in their graves, and that the Neuhaus ghosts be not my friends of 1705.

It was a fitting place for intrigues this Neuhaus, standing as it did so near in actual mileage to the court of Stuttgart, and hard by the Jesuit centre of Rottenburg. The high-road was close at hand, yet Neuhaus, shut off by peaceful fields, was hidden from the passer-by, and here began the great intrigue, as it was called then. Of a truth the plot, as it was conceived, was no mighty thing; it was designed, as many another gossamer web of court gallantry and petty pecuniary gain, for obscure individuals; but great it became through the potent will of a woman.

On a dreary November afternoon of the year 1705, a party of four was assembled in the Neuhaus, the seldom-used country mansion of Madame de Ruth, an important personage at Stuttgart's court, and of Monsieur de Ruth, an undistinguished character, who played no rôle that we know of, save to bequeath his ancient name—and the Neuhaus—to his relict.

The house was a long, two-storied building, with large, black wooden beams showing quaintly outside against the white plastered walls; it was no imposing structure, but a certain air of melancholy aloofness lent it distinction.

A high wall shut off the village street on the one side, while to the south and east the mansion was surrounded by a garden. A row of beech-trees grew close to the windows, a narrow pathway led from a side door across the garden to a vast orchard. It was doubtless a beautiful spot in spring or summer, but on this November afternoon it was inexpressibly dreary. The rain had beaten down the unkempt grass, which lay in draggled sheaves along the edges of the pathway. Brown, fallen beech leaves made a sodden carpet around the tree-roots; the trees themselves, bare and gaunt, lifted their grey, leafless branches towards the hurrying, wind-driven clouds. The wind moaned fitfully round the house; every now and then, as though in uncontrollable wrath, it broke forth into a whistling howl. At intervals bursts of rain were borne by the tempest against the windows, adding a hurried patter to the tapping of the long beech branches, which grew near enough to enable the wind to drive them against the window-panes, while the greater branches strained and creaked in the blast. Rain-laden clouds swept across the sky, hastening the darkness of approaching night. It seemed strange that on so desolate a gloaming the inmates of the Neuhaus had not drawn the curtains to shut out the sadness of the storm-ravaged garden. The windows remained like despairing, unblinking eyes gazing at the desolate scene without. The room wherein was assembled the small company was unlit, save from the glow from the embers in the stove. The upper grating had been opened, and in the furnace a handful of half-dry wood sputtered and crackled, rising sometimes to a momentary flame, in whose glow four persons threw strangely contorted shadows on the ceiling. But for this, and a faint, uncertain light which crept through the windows, the room was entirely dark. When the wood flared, a lady seated to the left of the stove cast a caricature-like shadow slantwise on the ceiling, her head seeming gigantic in its piled-up masses of elaborately dressed hair. In the middle of the room was a huddled figure bending over the centre table. It seemed to be a mere heap of dark garments. The firelight caught and illumined a white ruffle and large pale hand belonging to this figure, but as it was flung out across the sombre covering of the table, the arm was invisible, and only the hand in the ruffled sleeve could be seen, and it seemed like some hideous dismembered thing. Outlined against the fading light stood a tall figure with an enormous ringleted wig falling far over the shoulders. When this being moved, his shadow, thrown upon the ceiling by the embers' glow, appeared to join in the wavering, dance-like movements of the other shadows, and seemed like some ungainly monster. One portion of the room was not reached either by light of fire or fading day, and out of this utter darkness came the sound of repressed sobbing, which alone revealed the presence of a fourth member of this lugubrious party. For many minutes the silence was unbroken save for the stealthy sobbing, the sough of the wind without, the pattering rain, and the tap-tap of the twigs on the windows, sounding for all the world like the fumbling of invisible fingers seeking for admittance. The man at the centre table broke silence at length.

'Impossible!' he said in a harsh voice. 'Madame la Baronne cannot imagine we can live in Stuttgart at the court,' this last pompously, in spite of the real distress of the voice. 'How can we? on five hundred gulden a year and debts to pay—alas! No! I must return to the army, only coming on leave once a year to fulfil my court appointment; and, Marie, you must live in Rottenburg with your mother while I am away.'

At this a figure moved out of the darkness behind the stove, and another fantastic shadow was cast upon the ceiling.

'Never, Friedrich! It is cruel to ask it. You know well enough that, if you did not gamble, we could live quite finely on what we have got. Your duties as Kammerjunker need not keep you for ever in Stuttgart; we might live in Rottenburg.' She clasped her hands, her voice trembled between tears and anger.

'Rottenburg——' The man's voice was full of scorn, vibrating with derision. 'Ah! yes!—Mass each morning, and——'

'Friedrich, I will never let you return to the army; rather would I humble myself before that wicked woman, Madame de Geyling, and beg her to influence Serenissimus to give you a higher and better paid appointment. I tell you——'

'Madame,' broke in a deep voice, and the figure at the window moved forward, 'there are other ways of gaining gold at court; a beautiful woman need never be poor, I can vouch——'

'Monsieur de Stafforth!' almost shouted the first speaker, 'you address my wife! I am poor, but the honour of a wife of a Grävenitz shall not be smirched.'

'Your pardon, Kammerjunker, but we were discussing necessities, not ideals, and surely I proposed a great honour. Serenissimus is charming; besides, there are others——'

The hostess, whose shadow we have seen on the ceiling, rose and joined the three disputants.

'My friends, only fools end their conclaves with quarrels. We have been discussing ways and means for the continuance of our friends Monsieur and Madame de Grävenitz's court life, and finding no practical scheme, here is Grävenitz crying out that he will return to the army. Marie Grävenitz, after sobbing her heart out, flies into a rage and declares she will go whining to that upstart Geyling! And you, Monsieur de Stafforth, Hofmarshall and successful courtier, propose terms to a young husband in so unpolished a fashion, that even a peasant would be obliged to retort with the old affectation of a wife's honour and purity. Now hear me; I know the court better than you do——' The darkness hid the meaning smiles which played over the lips of the others, for Frau von Ruth (Madame de Ruth as she was named at court, German being considered as a language only fitting for peasants' use) was well known to have a knowledge of court life not compatible with strictly decorous behaviour. 'Well! and I say to you, where there is a court there is always a way. And if you will so far honour me as to drink a bowl of punch to lighten our wits, we may find some solution of our friends' difficulties. First let me call for lights, and let me shut out this dreary evening. Courage, my friends! I warrant we shall smile some day at our present desperate straits, and meanwhile "to wait" is the verb we must conjugate.'

Madame de Ruth went to the door and called for light. A sullen-faced peasant boy appeared, carrying two silver candlesticks of a handsome old German design. He placed them on the middle table, and the feeble yellow flame of the waxen tapers shed a flicker into the long, gloomy room. Then he stood idly staring, with the heavy dull-wittedness of the Swabian peasant. Madame de Ruth eyed him for a moment, with that half-humorous, half-pitying glance which she was wont to bestow on those she found stupid. She was an odd-tempered, free-mannered woman, deeply crafty, absolutely unmoral, and yet with a true kindliness of heart and a thorough understanding of human nature which, together with her ready laugh, her clever, indecorous anecdotes and sharp wit, made her attractive. For these traits people forgave her her ugly face and fifty years of a past even less reputable than was usual in the eighteenth century.

In her early youth, it was whispered, the Duke Wilhelm Ludwig, father of the reigning Duke of Wirtemberg, had initiated her into the ways of the world in general and of courts in particular; in gratitude wherefore she was reputed to have performed the same office, twenty years later, for his son Eberhard Ludwig. The Duke of Zollern, several Hohenlohes, and many Gemmingens had been her slaves; not to mention other less illustrious cavaliers to whom she had been rather more than kind. She was now a useful friend to princes, and new arrivals at court found her friendship indispensable, especially if the new arrival happened to be a lady with aspirations to royal favour and a career. Up to date these careers had been brilliant but short, and Madame de Ruth had generally played an important part in each.

'Ah! Dieu! ces paysans, quelles brutes!' she said, as she looked at her servant; and then speaking in the rough Wirtemberg dialect she continued: 'Heinrich, thy mother gave thee hands; God knows thy father did not forget thy big feet. Use both and bring the punch, as I told thee; or I will give thee hay for thy evening meal, as were fitting for an ass's feed!' This somewhat drastic speech seemed to please the lad and to stir up his slow wits, but the company looked surprised at the familiarity of the 'thou,' it being the general custom in those days for superiors to address their inferiors in the third person singular. Directly to address a serving-man or maid was deemed incorrect, for it would have betokened an unfitting equality. However, Madame de Ruth's peasant lad responded with alacrity to his lady's homely speech, and in an astonishingly short time he reappeared with an enormous bowl of the steaming hot spirits—the punch, which Marlborough's army had brought into fashion on the Continent, and which the damp of South Germany in the autumn made a welcome beverage.

'Come, my friends, and drink to the sharpening of our wits, which are strangely dull this evening. I must announce to you that I await the visit to-night of the Duke of Zollern, but this cruel weather has proved, I fear, too much even for his youthful sixty years.'

'Madame,' said Monsieur de Stafforth, 'if the Duke of Zollern does not brave the elements, in order to visit you, he must indeed be feeling his sixty years.'

'Stafforth, do not natter me in that tone. I adore flattery, but a stupid compliment is worse than an insult. You know the Duke of Zollern and myself have long ceased incommoding ourselves for each other's sakes, with the consequence that we are really friends. He sees me when he wishes, and I see him when I feel inclined. After twenty years nous avons fini nos simagrées; but after all, listen, I think I hear wheels.' Her ugly old face flushed through the overlying paint and powder. In spite of her protest, Madame de Ruth had a remnant of her youth—a poor, faded flower of sentiment for this old man. A huge lumbering coach drew up at the door, and therefrom descended a small and shrunken figure, with a wrinkled, dried-up face. A voluminous peruke fell over the padded shoulders, rich lace ruffles adorned the sleeves of the brown satin longcoat, a waistcoat of heavily embroidered brocade reached far down, nearly to the shrunken knees, below which were a pair of calves thin as pipe-stems and adorned with brown silken hose; the shoes were of brown leather with high, red heels and enormous ribbon rosettes and diamond buckles. One withered hand held a cane with a china top, on which, could you have examined it, you would have found mythological subjects depicted with much delicacy of workmanship, but less delicacy of sentiment. A beau indeed, elegant, lavish, and with that air for the which Monsieur de Stafforth, adventurer and burgher by birth, would have given many a year of his successful climbing career to have possessed even a shade—the indescribable and inimitable air of the Grand Seigneur.

Madame de Ruth met this gentleman at the door of her abode, her peasant servant standing behind her, holding a flaring torch to light the entry of his Grace. She curtseyed deeply, and Monsieur de Zollern, having successfully hobbled from his coach, returned her salute with so tremendous a bow, that the long feather of his three-cornered hat swept the floor.

'I had almost given up the expectation of your visit, Monseigneur,' said the lady, 'but now you are here, the pleasure is all the greater'; and as he bowed once more over her hand, she whispered: 'Pleasure you always gave me, dear friend.'

'Madame chère amie, those times are past, alas! Enfin! we can still laugh together.'

They passed on through the gloomy corridor, and Madame de Ruth herself threw open the door of the salon, crying as she did so: 'The Duke of Zollern and Punch together must make even a dark day bright!'

'Madame, in these days the last title might describe me perfectly,' he said. Then as he saw the inquiring look on the faces around him, he added: 'Autrefois j'étais polichon, aujourd'hui, hélas! ne suis-je qu'un vieux Polichinelle—"Punch" they call it in England.'

'Monseigneur, Punch must be a pretty wit indeed if he be like your Grace,' said Stafforth, with his usual desire to ingratiate himself with the great of the earth; but Monsieur de Zollern did not deign to answer. Like Madame de Ruth he preferred less directly expressed adulation. 'The fine flavour of flattery is delicious,' he was wont to aver, 'but like all else in life, to practise it requires an expert or a genius. Open compliments on any subject are like sausages, to be appreciated by peasants and our greasy friends the burghers, but for us—we cannot digest them!' So he looked away from Stafforth, giving his attention to the Grävenitz couple. 'Madame de Grävenitz,' he said, 'I observed you at Mass in the Cathedral of Rottenburg a few days since. God forgives the inattention at Mass of an old man when he sleeps; of a young man when he loves; and the wandering attention of an old man blessed with a young heart the Almighty will surely pardon, for He Himself must admire beauty, since He made it.' Madame de Grävenitz looked perturbed. She was a good and conscientious Catholic, and this light way of speaking of things sacred seemed alarmingly daring to her; also, being rather stupid, it bewildered her, and she had no answer for the old courtier.

'Ah, Monsieur de Grävenitz,' continued Zollern, 'what news from Mecklemburg? Does not your heart smite you when you think of the country which gave you birth?'

'Monseigneur, it was the only gift Mecklemburg ever gave me, and indeed, to-night I am hardly grateful for the gift. What is the use of life when it is so fierce a struggle not to die of hunger?' he said, and drained his glass of punch. 'I have such simple tastes.—Madame de Ruth, may I drink another glass of your excellent punch?—I have such simple tastes, and even these I cannot satisfy!'

The Duke of Zollern watched him, and his fine smile was more of a commentary than many a spoken word. Grävenitz observing it broke into a laugh, which was echoed by the company.

'Monseigneur,' said Madame de Ruth, 'we have been sitting here in the dark for two hours discussing Grävenitz's future. I mean, of course, his fortune; we always say future when we mean fortune! He vows that if more gulden cannot be lured into his pocket, he must retire from court. We can find no way out of our friend's dilemma. Can you suggest some course?'

'Madame, to serve a friend of yours I am always ready! Surely Serenissimus will not willingly lose a courtier he has delighted in; but at this moment, I believe, Monsieur de Stafforth will bear me out when I say all the court charges are engaged; and Monsieur de Grävenitz, not being of the sex, cannot hold the most important charge of any court, for Madame de Geyling usurps that! So what can I suggest?'

Madame de Ruth was thoughtful for a moment; then, throwing up her hands, she exclaimed: 'And you call me a woman with wits? For two long hours have we deliberated and found nothing, and it needed the punch-bowl to give me an idea! We want three things, nay, four: to help Grävenitz with funds; to dethrone that Geyling, whose airs and graces have become intolerable; Monsieur de Stafforth seeks a friend in the Duke's intimate, most intimate, council; and our Mother Church desires a friend there too.' She ticked off each succeeding clause on her much-beringed fingers.

'Monsieur de Grävenitz, you once told me you had a pretty sister wasting her charms at Güstrow. Let us put her in the Geyling's place! A few years of that envied position and we achieve our first two objects! Stafforth, my friend, you are the man to find means of gaining your aims thereby as well.' The adventurer smiled fatuously. 'And the Church—ah, we forget the Church!' At these words the mocking smile faded from Zollern's face; his expression was that of a man whose interest was stirred, as indeed it was; for though to Monseigneur de Zollern there was nothing sacred, and he subjected all things to his biting wit, he gave conscientious allegiance to the Church of Rome, which he regarded as the only faith fitted for a gentleman. He belonged to the political party desirous of governing Wirtemberg in conjunction with the Jesuits. No matter that the people were strict and bigoted Protestants, or that the adoption of Roman Catholicism would mean the revolt of half the population; he considered the religious beliefs of burghers to be but pawns in that vast political game which was being played at that time in Europe, and in Germany in particular, under the name of religion. Wirtemberg was governed by a Protestant ruler, the people regarded the Roman Faith as the religion of Antichrist, but the nobles were nearly all Catholics; and as long as Wirtemberg remained Protestant, they, naturally, played but small rôles in the government. The peasants of Wirtemberg had more freedom than any other people of the Empire. A heavy, stubborn race, these Wirtembergers, hating their French-speaking rulers and jealously safeguarding those ancient rights and liberties accorded to them by the testament of Eberhard der Greiner in 1514. This Magna Charta of Swabia granted the people a degree of freedom which was exceedingly irksome to the Dukes of Wirtemberg. The nobles of the land who regarded themselves as too mighty to attend the petty court of Stuttgart, for the most part sulked in their castles, or repaired to the imperial court in Vienna. The Dukes of Wirtemberg had perforce accepted this with as good grace as possible, but when Eberhard Ludwig attained his majority he welcomed foreigners from every part of Germany, forming from this band of usually noble, but invariably penniless, adventurers a court of a certain magnificence and brilliance. 'Here it is possible to enrich oneself; whereas in all other courts it is impossible not to be ruined,' Monsieur de Pöllnitz tells us of the Wirtemberg of Eberhard Ludwig's day.

It was in this wise that Stafforth, a man of little birth from Hanover, had succeeded in becoming an important person, and even pushed and intrigued himself into the high position of Oberhofmarshall.

Herr Friedrich Wilhelm von Grävenitz, another courtier and newcomer, was a gentleman of Mecklemburg. He had served in one of the Mecklemburg regiments attached to Marlborough's troops when that great general, with the Imperial Army, defended the banks of the Rhine from the invasion of Louis xiv.

Duke Eberhard Ludwig espoused the cause of his suzerain, the Austrian Emperor, and at the head of such troops as he could muster out of Wirtemberg joined the Allied Army serving under the Duke of Marlborough. On his return from the campaign he brought with him, on a visit to Stuttgart, several gentlemen, his comrades in arms, among whom was Grävenitz. This young soldier having little to gain by returning to Mecklemburg, and finding Stuttgart a pleasant abode, remained at Eberhard Ludwig's court; married a Fräulein von Stuben of Rottenburg on the Neckar, hard by Tübingen; was created Kammerjunker to the Duke, and, as we have just seen, felt himself in spite of this office but ill-rewarded for having taken domicile in Wirtemberg.

'The Church, Madame,' said the Duke of Zollern, 'is in so sorry a plight in this country, that she will certainly be ready to assist herself by the means you mention. But, in this case, we are not sure if the "means" be willing; for I fear Mademoiselle de Grävenitz, like her brother, is of the Protestant sect? Is that not so, Grävenitz?'

'Monseigneur, my sister is not made of martyr stuff. I fancy that she would be willing to further the aims of the Church, were it in her power to do so, and if it were clearly to her advantage. We are talking openly,' he added with a slight flush, for he was still young, only four-and-twenty, and more used to the ruder if more honest code of the camp, than to court manners and customs.

'Now let us consider our strategics,' said Madame de Ruth. 'Bonté divine! How it refreshes one to have a scheme on hand! Stafforth, you say nothing? Marie, you are shocked; how foolish in this workaday world! Why, girl, each does what he can; and, believe me, it is not a lazy life I propose for your sister-in-law. God does not forgive the lazy—it is one of the deadly sins—especially at court. Allons! Let us consider: Monsieur de Stafforth remind us of the dates of the coming court festivities! A ball? No! A ball is useful during a well-started intrigue. I have it! there will be theatricals in the Lusthaus on the 29th of April. Three days? Perfect! And your sister sings? Grävenitz, how does she sing?'

'Well, Madame, divinely well; but her voice is deep, very low—a dark rich voice that mad old dreamer, the schoolmaster at Güstrow, calls it——' he began, but the garrulous lady interrupted eagerly:

'Heaven guard the boy for a simpleton! Do you not know the invincible thrill of the new, the unaccustomed? We are all sick to death of the Geyling's shrill pipe; your sister's voice would be invaluable, as a contrast.'

'When Madame de Ruth talks it is like the ripple of the brooks,' said Zollern laughing; 'your pardon, dear friend, that I interrupt! Your plan is admirable, but first let us get the lady here, see her, hear her, and then we shall know what to do. Meanwhile I must go homewards. Monsieur de Berga, my old friend, who bores me with his virtue but holds me by his well-tried affection, awaits me for supper, and I have a long road before me ere I get to my house.'

So saying, the Duke of Zollern rose to depart. 'Berga!' laughed Madame de Ruth, 'there is the very man we want for the end of our intrigue! When his Highness has plucked the flower and enjoyed its sweetness, we will give it to Berga to dry between the leaves of his Bible! He shall marry Mademoiselle de Grävenitz in a few years' time; it will be a pious act for him, and a small reward to us for having borne his lectures with such good grace this twenty years.' Zollern smiled. He knew his austere old friend too well, and he could not picture him in the ridiculous rôle of husband of a cast-off courtesan. With a profound salute the old beau took leave of the company, and followed his hostess into the ill-lit corridor.

'A fine plan, dear friend, a very fine plan! By the way, let us hope this Grävenitz girl talks a little better French than does her sister-in-law. I verily believe Madame Friedrich de Grävenitz prefers peasant German to our own speech, and at court no word of that inelegant language could be tolerated.'

Once more he bent over Madame de Ruth's hand, murmuring, 'Merci de mes souvenirs, amie bien chère,' and then he climbed back into his heavy coach and drove out into the stormy darkness. Madame de Ruth watched the lights of the carriage disappearing, and with a sigh re-entered the salon, where she found Grävenitz writing a letter to his sister, helped by suggestions from Oberhofmarshall Stafforth.