Then, before they were aware, though both gazed intently upon the smoke, the form of a majestic woman appeared to gather substance, and at length her face in all its lineaments became plain to view. The eyes gazed in a kind of ecstasy fixedly, gravely benignant, towards Wallenstein.
Nigel leaped up, spurred by his astonishment, even in opposition to the awe which the moment enjoined upon him, exclaiming "Ottilie von Thüringen!"
And Wallenstein, as if Nigel had not been there, still in his seat, but filled with amaze, exclaimed under his breath—
"Ferdinand's Stephanie!" And then, "Let me have speech of her! Dost hear! Pietro Bramante?"
But the vision had disappeared. Pietro's voice made itself audible. "This that you saw was but a vision called up by my art. I must confirm it by my mathematics."
Anhour before dawn came Sergeant Blick to awaken Nigel with the news, "We have the man on the sorrel horse!"
Nigel awoke completely, sprang out of bed, and was attired, even to his jack-boots and spurs, in a few minutes. Then getting astride his horse he was out of Eger and a mile on the road to Pilsen in a very few more.
"A kind of accursed Jew fellow! Some dark Moorish infidel of a heretic!" was Sergeant Blick's summing up.
Sure enough it was that learned Doctor Pietro Bramante himself.
But this was not the field of prophecy or of divination. This was the atmosphere of dawn, the kingdom of cold fact. Nigel nodded and said in his brief military manner—
"Doctor! You must please turn out your saddle-bags and your pockets for some papers which are lost. Sergeant, assist the doctor!"
The learned doctor began to protest, as might have been expected, but Nigel merely vouchsafed that it was "in the service of the Emperor." He himself searched the prisoner, whose multifarious garments made the matterone of difficulty. And the fact that, if not an Israelite, he was a very near relation, did not make the operation to Nigel a pleasant one. But when he had finished, he was sure that nothing so bulky as Count Tilly's despatches were upon him.
Sergeant Blick produced in his turn many curious vessels and books and bottles from the saddle-bags, crossing himself at sight of anything unusual, for he had no doubt that he was dealing, if not with the Evil One, with one of his familiars. Nothing was found. Nigel with no excess of courtesy bade him pack up his belongings.
"From what town came you to Eger?"
"Even from Hof by Olsnitz!"
"And for what reason got you half a truss of hay?"
"To save the inn charges and time!"
"And your companions?"
"They rest in Eger, being bound for Gräslitz. I know them not. We did but join company for protection."
"At what inn did they rest?"
"I did not ask! Neither did I tell them that I had business with the Duke."
"Enough!" said Nigel, and wheeled his horse.
With a rueful countenance the diviner began to replace his utensils, carefully and patiently. He had at least learned two virtues.
Nigel, gravelled, rode back into the town in an ill-humour and called for his breakfast. By the time that was finished the troopers were at the door.
There was no help but to go forward, and one may be assured that neither hill nor stream nor any wayside beauty of Bohemia could do aught to bring his mind back to a calm mood. He suspected the "Jew," as he called him. He suspected Gordon, and as for the phantasmagoria of last night, he could make nothing of it. His tendency was to disbelieve, only his respect for Wallenstein's powers of thought diminished his disbelief to something approaching mere doubt. The one thing that stood out was the vision of Ottilie von Thüringen.
Surely it was her "wraith." And if it had by chance been that of some familiar friend in Scotland, or of some one of his blood relations, he would have been awed, but he would have regarded it, in accord with tradition, as portending or announcing some stroke of fate.
He had been carried too much out of himself to hear what Wallenstein had muttered, to observe closely how that great one received the vision. This at least he had garnered, that Wallenstein also recognised her.
But who then was she? There was another feeling that sprang up in his heart, an uneasy half-born pang, which he dismissed only to find it knocking at the door again. The "wraith" of Ottilie had gazed at Wallenstein, not with eyes of speculation, as the playwright Shakespeare had it, but as one might gaze with open eyes in dream at some beloved object limned only in the brain behind.
But she had gazed at Wallenstein with a benignity which had softened the whole countenance, a benignity which he himself in his two days' contact with her had never surprised upon it. And this the geometrical hocus-pocus of the vile Jew had foreshadowed when he contrived that the right focus of her orbit should also be the centre of Wallenstein's. As Nigel had no knowledge of geometry, and regarded it as a cabalistic invention, though he had heard of telescopes, and of Columbus, and vessel charts, he esteemed this part of the diviner's doings as mere trickery, akin to the old devices of the magicians before Pharaoh. But by no explanation of mere artifice could he doubt that he saw the "wraith" of Ottilie, and that Wallenstein also saw. While recognising her as some one he knew, had Wallenstein thought of her in anyclose relation to himself? His attitude of surprise said no. But was it possible that Wallenstein could forget so mysterious an occurrence, dismiss it as a mere dream?
Nigel had had five or six years of close companionship with men. There are men who, from their cradle to their grave, are attended and companioned by women, and shrink from the rough and, on the whole, kindly and bracing contact with their kind. Nigel had thrust himself into the world of man at the dawn of manhood, and in the fellowship of arms he had found as mixed a chance-medley as the world of men could show, free from the namby-pamby of the courts, free from the court's petty chicane, free from the emulous avarice of the mart; not in some corners destitute of scholarship, though scholarship was rare; rejoicing in bodily strength and skill in arms, in hearty eating, in wine, and beer, and song, in which they honoured women much more than they ever did in such commerce of love or licence as the fortune of war or the conditions of the camp afforded.
From his study of manhood this Nigel had observed, that whereas among the younger men the talk of doings in the lists of love was as frequent as their flagons, it was almost entirely to seek among the older officers, as among the older soldiers, giving place to criticism of their professional doings, the appraising of the abilities of those more advanced in rank, to politics, to affairs more akin to those of that world without, that in some shape or form paid the reckoning.
He reasoned from the general to the particular, from those who had failed to become Wallensteins to him who had not failed. He was forty-eight, and if any man could find his interest in affairs of state or war that man was Wallenstein. But the diviner had declared that Wallenstein's future was bound up with a woman—had raised up, by what witchcraft or geometry Nigel could give no guess,a vision of her with rapt eyes bent on Wallenstein. Was Wallenstein at forty-eight proof against the lure, proof against the charm of a majestic lovely woman, in whom was nothing of Circe, nothing of that Helen of Troy, whose face, so Kit Marlowe had phrased it, had
"... launched a thousand ships,And burned the topless towers of Ilium,"
yet whose bodily presence had left Nigel with a hunger of the heart and an unrest unaccustomed, as it was unsought, and unappeasable?
He knew it when he saw the vision, and he feared lest Wallenstein should feel it, and, feeling it, stretch out his lion paw for the lioness Destiny had offered.
These thoughts occupied much of his time as he journeyed to Pilsen, and, with the exception that a well equipped and horsed light travelling carriage passed them on the road with curtains closely drawn, no traveller had passed or met them. But nearing Pilsen a pair of cavaliers on very excellent beasts overtook them, and, saluting Nigel, made as if they would fain keep him company. He could not profess to be travelling faster seeing they had overtaken him, and a look at their horses showed that they were better-bred animals and in better condition than his own. Their politeness was marked, and one of them appeared to be an Italian and one a Spaniard by his accent, though they addressed Nigel and his lieutenant in good German. This they presently confirmed, for the Italian gave his name as the Cavalier Marco Strozzi and introduced the other as Don Phillipo di Tortaugas. They were travelling to Vienna, and their valets were coming behind, having been outstripped by their masters, who were eager to reach that city.
Nigel was bound to reciprocate their confidences by giving his own and his companion's namesand conditions, mentioning that a military errand was taking him also to Vienna.
They were well-bred men and well travelled, for they spoke with assurance of many towns and cities and princes and gentlemen of repute of their acquaintance. They were curious to know of this Edict of Restitution, of which every one spoke, and displayed some measure of sympathy with the Emperor, who was the instrument of the Pope in the enforcing of it. In their countries they were thankful to say heresy was practically non-existent. In them the Church was powerful and paramount, and they had no doubt of the ultimate success of the Church in Germany.
They spoke of Wallenstein, of whom they had heard much, and asked Nigel if he thought Wallenstein was well affected towards the Edict. If so, why had he been requested by the Emperor to give up his command? Nigel cautiously answered that Wallenstein was before all things a professional soldier, and had laid down his baton when the Emperor had no more present need of him.
By the time they arrived at Pilsen the four gentlemen were on good terms and sat down together to the evening meal. The two cavaliers insisted on ordering the wine, whereof they themselves drank but sparingly, and made merry with numerous tales of Italy and Spain, so that Nigel and his lieutenant thought that they had never spent a more sociable evening. At length the two cavaliers professed themselves sleepy and called for candles, and Nigel and his comrade, not only professing, but most indubitably inclined the same way, also made for their night quarters.
Now it was Nigel's custom to have his saddle-bags and holsters brought to his own chamber, and this had been done. Sergeant Blick had always this service to do, and Nigel dismissed him to a final quart of beer, and was himself very soon asleep. In two hours he awoke,—a fact he set down to the account of the unusual quality of the wine he had taken, which was costly beyond his own purse limits, and some wines have the nature to be greatly soporific, yet the effect is of somewhat brief lasting.
He turned on his side, and, as he did so, he thought he heard the creaking of a leathern strap, for his saddle-bags and holsters were new and did not easily open. Then he took a deep audible breath and made as if he sank into sleep again. But his ears were fully alert, and he made sure that the noise was real. Very silently he turned again upon his right side, meaning to possess himself of his sword, which was always placed near his right hand, stretching out to take it. In an instant his hand was caught in a noose and fastened to the bedpost. Springing up to release it, his left ankle was seized and tied to another bedpost, and a very effective bandage pushed into his mouth. The rest of him was secured very quickly, and, as he could not cry out, he had the felicity of knowing that his possessions were being thoroughly ransacked by the two marauders, whoever they were.
Not a word was said. The room was in pitch darkness, and presently the thieves stole away. For long he could not release himself by as much as a single knot, but by infinite workings of his neck and chin and ankles and wrists, till all were sore alike, he wore some fastening loose. And just as he had attacked the last one, which bound his left leg, he heard the sound of horses below in the courtyard, and presently the great gates closed with a clang, and the hoofs of four horses sounded on the cobblestones of the street.
He struck a light. All that he carried was on the floor, and saddle-bags and holsters were empty. Nothing had been taken. His money, his clothes, his weapons were all there. It had not then been for these.
It was a search for something, and that something was the despatches. And these had been already stolen. It was evident that the first plotters and the second were of diverse parties. The first might conceivably be men who served the Protestant cause; but who were the second? It was to the interest of the Protestant cause that their leaders throughout Germany should know what forces they had to meet, what Tilly was going to do next. But of whom else?
Ferdinandof Habsburg, King of Austria by heirship, King of Hungary by default of a better, rather than by force of arms, was in the ears of the world Emperor of Rome. Considering that he neither owned nor governed a rood of land south of the Po, that the title signified the headship of the German-speaking states, and that he had been elected to the high office by his fellow princes, who were each and all supreme and independent rulers over their own territories, and each and all eligible for the same high office, the name seems something misplaced; but it is not convenient to enter here into a historical dissertation showing how it came to be so.
Several generations of Habsburgs in turn had been elected Emperor, and doubtless there was good enough reason. It was perhaps more easy not to be jealous of a family which had borne the office for a century or two, than of a new one, however deserving in other respects. And there was this in addition, that Austria and Hungary were the outer wall of all the German-speaking states against the Turk, and must in any case bear the first brunt of his activities. In that connection too, whatever dissensions might be rife, and there were always dissensions between German-speaking states, it is evident thatthere must be some organisation approaching to a mutual league against the Turk. Christians have always possessed the privilege of and the instinct for fighting amongst themselves, but a Christian, however black in his theology, is still fairer than an infidel, and the infidels for very shame had to be kept out of Christian German states at all costs. For one thing, they would have ruined the trade in spices.
So, as the Emperor resided at Vienna, he was very sure to exercise his authority and demand aids for his own army from the others in sufficient time to present a stout front to the Ottoman power, though on more than one occasion he was rather late in doing so. But if the Emperor, who alone could call out the quotas of men from all the states, had happened to have lived, say, at Mainz, half of the German lands might have been overrun before his army was collected. So on the whole the Habsburgs, having begun to perform and got used to the exalted functions of the Emperor of Rome, might, so the Electoral Princes seemed to think at election after election, just as well continue to exercise them, and to be the outer wall against the Paynim hosts.
Ferdinand was a good son of Rome. Brought up at the Jesuit seminary of Ingolstadt he had grown up strong in the faith, and had wasted no time, on coming to man's estate and the enjoyment of dominion as an elector, in purging his chief town of Gratz, and all the Habsburger land committed to his charge, of all pastors, Lutheran or Calvinist. He went to the root of the matter, and in all things deferred to his advisers, the Jesuits, who went further than the root, and to Maximilian of Bavaria, who had also imbibed the milk of the learning of Ingolstadt, and was if anything of a deeper shade of Jesuitry, if that were possible, than the Jesuits.
But as Ferdinand was a good son of Rome, that meantin his case son of the General of the Jesuits, the mysterious personality that even the Holy Father might bless or ban as he would, but never reduce to that exact degree of submission to his authority which is implied in any rank of the hierarchy below that of Pontiff.
Like a good father, the General of the Jesuits had no notion of allowing so intelligent and obedient a son to run wild after his own conceits. So he had wisely installed at the Court of Vienna Father Lamormain, one of the order, to keep a watchful eye upon the steps of Ferdinand.
Father Lamormain had that perfect confidence in Ferdinand which is built upon a perfect understanding of character, with this reservation, that he preferred to know everything that had happened at least a little while, even if it were but a day, an hour, or even less, before his august pupil, so that whereas the Emperor came to the subject ready to be actuated by surprise, alarm, soreness, vindictiveness, or any other human quality, Father Lamormain, who, if he ever felt these undesirable emotions, had got over them, and already bent his brilliant intellect to what was at issue, could at once gently and firmly insinuate a counsel carefully considered, a counsel which Ferdinand would presently make his own.
Father Lamormain had as usual heard the Emperor's confession and retired to his own suite of apartments. There he found awaiting him two brethren of the order, who asked and received his blessing. Their manners were as fine as Father Lamormain's. They exhibited just the shade of deference due from a gentleman, who is an officer, to another gentleman who is his superior officer.
The reverend Father and his visitors sat down. He did not toy with his correspondence, or his plans, or any other object. He sat reposeful in his chair and embraced both his guests at the same time in his pleasant smile, and his changes of bodily attitude were slight.
"And you say he is really on his way?"
"He cannot be many leagues away now!" said one.
"And his name is Nigel Charteris?" In his mouth it sounded like "Chartaire."
"A Catholic family of the south of Scotland!"
"Like this?" asking Father Lamormain, writing the name on his tablets and erasing it.
"Yes!"
"Ah! Very interesting! He is not a recent convert?"
"No, Father!" said the other one, catching his eye and smiling. "It is a pity even to seem to discourage a loyal son in the faith!" His tone conveyed a real regret.
"You were obliged to resort to some slight measure of force? I trust it was slight?"
The two exchanged glances and smiled in their fine ingenious way, showing their beautiful teeth.
"We did nothing to disable him or to deface his coinage!" said the first.
"But we certainly had to use effectual force!" said the other.
"He is a gentleman, handsome, and of good manners?"
"He is all three! And a veritable Scot for caution! And for a soldier quite free from the prevailing laxities."
"You make me quite solicitous to see him! And you found nothing?"
"Absolutely nothing! A few purely private papers, but no despatches!"
"It is curious all the same that Count Tilly should send merely verbal messages by the mouth of a captain of musketeers to the Emperor."
"It is not likely that he had entrusted the writings to any of his troopers!" said one of the visitors.
Father Lamormain thanked them for their good intentions and the pains they had been at, then dismissedthem. There was no suggestion of blame for failure. Infinite patience was the rule and practice of the order,—infinite polishing of weapons. Subordinates are not polished by rancour. Blame roughens the edge of service more often than it sharpens. The Society of Jesuits, founded by an enthusiast who was almost a fanatic, eschewed fanaticism, and provided channels for its enthusiasm of such fine workmanship as ensured that that precious fluid should reach the precise spot that was to be watered. The best that could be found in birth, the best that could be nurtured of scholarship, the best exponents of the social arts that make men charming companions for their fellows, were enrolled in the ranks after years of youthful training. Implicit faith in their leaders, implicit obedience, became not so much a part of the rule of the order as a habit of the mind. No task was too rough or too delicate but that the order could somewhere place its finger on the man to execute it. And straightway he would rise and set about it. Truly the Society of Jesus was an inspired engine which possessed powers far exceeding the knowledge of its founder and inventor.
Being by himself, the Jesuit drew from a drawer a sheet of parchment which had evidently been folded and sealed. It was in cipher, but it may be held as certain that Father Lamormain possessed the keys of all the ciphers in use among the politicians of Europe; and this was of no surprising intricacy. His secretary had unravelled it in a few minutes. He rang for him. He was a man of middle age, having the look of a recluse and a priest rather than a man of affairs.
"This purports to be a copy of Count Tilly's despatch which the Emperor expects?"
"Yes, Father, or rather a short summary of it. It gives you, as you see, the numbers of all his troops andthe disposition of them; indications of his next movements, and some other details."
"And it accords nearly with what we know from our own sources?"
"Yes, Father!"
"It was taken from a messenger who left Eger for the north?"
"Yes, Father! The messenger was unfortunately killed!"
Father Lamormain's lips moved in silence. He was offering up a prayer for this poor adversary's soul, for this poor fellow who had come unwittingly into contact with the engine invented by Ignatius Loyola, and been broken.
"It might have been a false document intended to deceive Gustavus and the Protestants," said the Father again meditatively. Then he placed the parchment on one side as if for further perusal and proceeded to read over and sign a number of letters his secretary had brought him.
The secretary having gathered up the papers, said—
"You were to have audience of the Archduchess Stephanie this morning!"
"Oh yes! I remember! The time is nearly due. See that no one enters in the interim."
Even as he spoke a servant called the secretary and he returned presently, ushering in with profound bows the Archduchess.
Father Lamormain had again spread out the supposed summary of Tilly's despatch before him in a good light. There was nothing else on his table but the inkstand to distract attention.
The Archduchess, who was young and tall and slender with wonderful dark eyes, knelt and kissed the holy father's hand.
As a good Catholic she was bound to reverence her father's confessor.
But Father Lamormain stood for more than that. He had held the same position when she was a mere poppet, marching about with an endless company of gouvernantes and ladies, in an absurd stiff brocade dress, which trailed on the ground just as theirs did, and her little neck surrounded by a ruff, a sweet monstrous epitome of queendom. There had been court functionaries in plenty, great officers of state then as now. But it was Father Lamormain who reigned supreme as the confidential counsellor of the family in all that pertained to the welfare of the house of Habsburg; so that every member of the family of the Emperor understood that Father Lamormain was a benevolent despot, who had always smoothed over all kinds of family troubles. Dimly too they understood that the Emperor himself, though a man by no means deficient in any particular quality of kingship, respected the Jesuit's advice on matters of state.
The Archduchess seated herself. The secretary had withdrawn.
"I should have craved audience of your Highness in your own apartments," said Father Lamormain with great gentleness, "but what I had to say was for your own ears, and I wished not to excite curiosity nor to gratify it."
The Archduchess inclined her head, and with just a perceptible pause said, "Your secretary?"
For answer Father Lamormain rose, opened the door by which she had entered, a thick door, over which fell a heavy curtain of leather, and pointed to a farther door, ten feet along the passage, beyond which was the room where the secretary worked.
She saw that they were indeed cut off from humanearshot, for the room, in which they were, projected, at a considerable height, beyond the walls of the main building, and had nothing to right or left.
Her eyes seemed to sweep casually over the table and incidentally over the unsealed parchment, but with indifference. "Was that to be the subject of the interview?" she asked herself.
Apparently not.
"It behoves princes," said the priest, "to strengthen their families as well by alliances as by leagues and treaties, and especially by the marriages of their sons and daughters. And whereas the son of a prince, if he be a good son, will always be a stay and support to his father's kingdom, whomsoever he marry, a daughter may, by bringing him a stout son-in-law, who is also a prince, in a measure add that princedom and its power to her father's. Contrariwise she may, if she be ill-advised or rash in her own choice, out of waywardness bring trouble to the prince her father, and no measure of help to her husband, as was the case of the Princess Elizabeth of England when she married the Elector Palatine, the Pfalsgrave, whose dominion being but petty led him into dangerous enterprises to gain others, and being too far distant from his father-in-law, the King of England, was not afforded sufficient aid in the time of his undertakings to ensure success."
"A very wise homily, Father, and a most pertinent example!" the Archduchess observed. "And now the application?"
"Your Highness is of a ripe age for marriage!" said the priest gravely.
"And has been," she rejoined, "these several years, according to the custom of princes. My cousin of Spain was but sixteen when the King of England was agog for her to wed his son, who is now King Charles, andit was through no unwillingness of hers that the match fell through. But I have had the more years of freedom. I am in no mind to be tied to any beardless boy, and sit a-tapestry-sewing for the rest of my life."
The priest pursued his way without comment.
"The dangers that environ the empire make it necessary beyond the ordinary to knit our friends to it by every means in our power."
"The dangers would melt like the morning mist if the Emperor recalled Albrecht von Walstein," she said with great decision.
"It is for the Emperor to choose his captains," the priest rejoined gently. "He is a possible servant, not a friend of the Emperor. When I say 'knit our friends together,' I mean the princes, who are our peers in blood and of our faith."
The Archduchess was for a moment puzzled.
"Is it of France or Spain you speak, Father?" She said it wonderingly, because she knew of no princes of or nearly her own age in either kingdom.
"Of neither, your Highness, but of those houses that are equal with your own in the right to be elected to the empire."
"There are six electors! There are three archbishops—Mainz, Köln, Trier—two are Protestants, the Palatine, the Saxon,... you cannot mean the Wittelsbacher!" The disgust that she felt showed itself unmistakably.
"Who is a greater friend to the Habsburgs than Maximilian of Bavaria?" Father Lamormain dwelt almost affectionately on the syllables.
"Or a greater friend to your order?" the Archduchess asked.
This was a sharp thrust, and showed that the lady was well aware of the terms on which Maximilian and the Jesuits stood.
Father Lamormain made a little gentle deprecating shrug.
"Let me remind your Highness that, at the last election of the Roman Emperor, Maximilian held the election in his hand, but he exercised his own vote in favour of your father. Was this not proving himself a friend to whom any gratitude is due? And this was not the last or greatest of his services."
"Indeed?" said the Archduchess. "What were the other services?"
"Did he not defeat, nay crush, the Palatine on the white hills of Prague?"
"It was the work of General Pappenheim, was it not?"
"The merit was his! Again I say, Pappenheim was merely his captain. The Elector Maximilian found men and money for the campaign,—money which the Emperor owes him to this day."
"It has been sufficiently bruited about," the Archduchess commented. "There is something of the Jew about your Maximilian."
"He is a most noble worthy prince," said Father Lamormain, "and he is a widower!"
"It is time he was done with wiving. He must be sixty years old." She gave a little shiver of disgust.
"He is not so old as you think, your Highness, neither is his vigour of mind and body much abated, but it is not becoming of me to discourse of these things to your Highness. The Elector Maximilian desires to wed again, and to one of the Emperor's daughters...."
"And you wish me, the Archduchess Stephanie of Austria, to listen to a proposal of marriage with Maximilian of Bavaria, whose grandson were a more fitting match. Understand! I cannot and I will not. The Emperor may assert his will, if he has any, apart from your order. But as for me I will go into a nunnery, or marry a private gentleman, or turn Protestant."
"As to the first," said the priest, "you would thereby run the risk of losing your soul instead of saving it, for you would be doing it out of frowardness. As for the second, your pride would never brook the extinction that would follow it.As for the third, your Highness, it is mooted that you have already strange leanings towards heretics if not heresy."
The Archduchess flushed angrily. Her eyes flashed. Her whole face and form, as she rose to her feet, took on an aspect of terrible majesty.
"Enough, Father Lamormain! You trespass beyond your proper functions!"
"No!" said the priest humbly enough. "Your soul is dearer to me than my own. I can only pray that you do not jeopardise it."
As if unconsciously his eyes fell from her own, which he had met with calm benignity, to the papers on the table, and then he suddenly lifted them and met her glance again. Again came the rush of crimson to her cheeks, then pallor.
She turned, and, sweeping aside the leathern curtain, passed out of the chamber.
Itwas evening when Nigel at length passed with his escort through the gates of Vienna, and on arriving at the palace was received with abundance of courtesies by some officer of the household, who ushered him to a suite of apartments in the wing allotted to the gentlemen in attendance on his Imperial Majesty. The Emperor was at dinner, and would expect him at his audience at an early hour on the morrow. A sumptuous supper was set before him, and he was assiduously waited on by two pages. Dinner ended, the same officer appeared again, and asked if he desired to deliver his despatches to the Emperor's secretaries, who would wait upon him, but Nigel made excuse that his commission was to deliver them to the Emperor. This answer the gentleman received civilly enough, and saying he would send some officers to bear him company, wished him a good night's rest after his journey.
Presently three gentlemen came in and joined him at the table, where, the remains of supper being cleared away and fresh wine set down, they sat and played Skat, a game of cards which was then in great vogue among all the people of the eastern part of Germany, and had wiled away the tedium of many a long evening in camp forNigel. With this and talk of Magdeburg a couple of hours passed pleasantly, and then the party broke up. Nigel was not sorry to be free to go to bed.
It was a room of comfortable aspect. The walls were hung with embossed leather in the Flemish manner; the bed was a wide and high four-poster, and the other furniture consisted of a great chest, a chair or two and some other necessaries. It looked out upon the courtyard of the palace, a large open space surrounded on four sides by piles of building. Nigel could dimly see so much. The rest he left till morning.
Having performed his devotions he stretched himself out upon the bed, drew up the heavy quilted counterpane and prepared to sleep.
But sleep was not to be wooed easily; for what was to happen on the morrow he could not foresee. The profound humiliation of having to confess in open audience to the Emperor the loss of his despatches was perhaps the most poignant of his anticipations. And this he had passed through so often in his mind already that he could not imagine that any worse pang than he had already experienced could arise out of the reality. From this his mind roved to the punishment that might be inflicted. He expected that some military penalty would be his lot, confinement perhaps for a time, the loss of his rank as captain. The worst would be dismissal from the Emperor's service; for like a true Scot he had learned to love his profession, and the service he had chosen had become that which commanded all his loyalty. As a soldier of fortune, who had fought with Wallenstein, he could make his way in any of the armies of Europe, but he was not by nature a mercenary. Dismissal would be the heaviest punishment of all. And then his thoughts, tired of dwelling on these painful themes, flew away to Erfurt and to Ottilie von Thüringen, that mysterious high-born ladywhose history was entwined with his own and Wallenstein's.
He had laughed scornfully as he rode to Vienna, thinking of the poor figure Pietro Bramante had cut on the roadside among his pots and phials, wondered how Wallenstein could ever have paid the attention to his hocus-pocus that he had. He had blamed himself for his credulity when the sunlight and the matter-of-fact incidents of his journey had made the doings at Eger seem unreal.
But Ottilie was real. Ottilie had left an abiding impression. For Ottilie Nigel felt he could abandon even the service of the Emperor. Could he but gain one look of rapt intentness, such as the vision of her had cast upon Wallenstein, then all the world might go. The surprising softness of her cheek, the great dark liquid eyes laden with mist or charged with lightning, the rich tones of her proud voice,—he recalled them and dwelt upon them one by one, and his whole being was full of the delight of his contemplation. And then, bathed in a warm glow, he fell asleep.
In the morning he was awakened by Sergeant Blick bringing him his holiday suit, or court suit, if it could be called so, for one who had never been at court before, with its freshly laundered lace collar and cuffs, its handsome doublet and breeches of dark-blue and silver, its fine Spanish leathern boots with tiny gold spurs, its plumed hat to carry out the vain conceit of one having come off a journey. Beneath the collar he wore a silver gorget and his sword, with its silver-tipped sheath burnished to the utmost, hung at his side.
Sergeant Blick was determined that, as far as in him lay, his own captain of musketeers should make a comely gallant show before the Emperor. He stayed till the last strap was secure and in its place.
"Now, captain, you look brave enough as far as outward fripperies go. But the devil snatch me, captain, bear yourself less like a man that is going to be hung. A little smack of the Italian would not be amiss. It must not be said that Tilly's men cannot prank it with these Austrian rascals."
Then he stood back to see the effect, and even Nigel, whose anticipations of evil had again possessed him but a whit less than they had the night before, was forced to laugh.
"You're like an old hen with one chicken, Blick. Call for a pint of Tokay and you shall see how I will outdo Captain Bobadillo!"
A brace of pages and a servant appeared at the same time.
The servant led away Sergeant Blick, not unwilling, to the buttery.
The pages conducted Nigel to hissalle à manger, and furnished not only the needful flagon of Tokay, but a substantial breakfast of smoked ham and sausages, a cold capon and dried fish. By the time he had finished he would have faced the Emperor and the whole Reichstag to boot.
Then the pages brought him scented water and soft linen to remove the traces of breakfast, and asked if he were ready.
They led him down the stairs, across the courtyard, in which the guard of the palace were exercising, and Nigel's eyes roved over their headpieces and corslets and muskets with the approval an officer must always bestow on a well-accoutred and disciplined troop. The pages crossed the courtyard and entered another door, again leading to some stairs, and pushing open two high doors, they led him into another long gallery, the walls of which were hung with many portraits of bygone Habsburgs and ofmany grand dukes and princes with whom they had contracted alliances.
He cast a glance here and there, asking the pages questions as he went. They told him that the hall of audience was at the other end, and that he would be summoned presently. There being no need of haste, he sauntered, giving more heed and indeed coming to a stand before a newly painted canvas of a princess.
"The Archduchess Stephanie!" exclaimed both pages.
Nigel stood gazing at it.
"By Signor Pourbus, a Spaniard, who has but just painted the Emperor!" they went on.
"Wondrous like!" was Nigel's exclamation.
"Very like!" said the pages. "Here comes Her Highness. She walks here a little while most mornings."
And out of a chamber at the side the Archduchess Stephanie came, and Nigel and the pages awaited her approach. She came with no hurried pace, and as she came Nigel grew pale and red by turns, for here, if any one, was Ottilie von Thüringen, gloriously apparelled, her hair framing her face in a multitude of curling locks of raven hues, rows of pearls about her neck, suspending against the whiteness of her throat a jewelled dragon.
The Archduchess stayed in her walk, and having cast a look at Nigel, said gently to one of the pages—
"Hermann! Who is this gentleman who waits for audience?"
"If it please your Highness," said the page, "it is Captain Nigel Charteris, bearer of despatches from Magdeburg!"
"Ah! I had forgotten." Then she turned to Nigel, who dropped upon his knees, extending him her hand to kiss, and he accomplished the obeisance with good grace, notwithstanding his lively emotion.
"You are welcome to Vienna, sir!"
Nigel was now uncertain. The tones of her voice seemed familiar, but not convincing.
"You have doubtless had a troublous journey?"
"In some measure, your Highness!" He had gained courage to look straight into her eyes, but there was no look or sign of recognition.
She made a little gesture to the page, who withdrew to wait at the end of the gallery.
"Tell me, sir, did you pass through Eger on your way?"
"Yes, your Highness!"
"Count Albrecht von Waldstein, is he not there?"
"Yes, your Highness!"
"Did you see him?"
"I did, your Highness! He is my old commander. He wearies for a renewal of his service!"
"Ah!" It was almost a sigh. "It will come again. It was but yesterday I had a message from him asking me to use my offices with the Emperor. He spoke of you and sent me a packet to give you."
There was a cabinet much inlaid with ivory, from Milan, as the pages had told him, which stood near by, and the Archduchess brought a little key from her chatelaine wallet and opened it, as if to show him the curious work within.
In one of the drawers which she pulled out was a leathern wallet. Nigel's eye fastened greedily upon it. For it was the wallet in which he had carried the despatches.
"It looks," said Nigel, "as if it and I, your Highness, were old acquaintances thrust apart by circumstance. May I look within?"
The Archduchess said, without any sign of interest, "It is for you, sir; open it."
Inside was the precious packet. Nigel could not restrain his eyes from glowing, his face from flushing, or his fingers from a little tremor. He turned it round. It was intact as he had lost it. The seal of Count Tilly was perfect.
"Your Highness is surely my good angel," he said gratefully, forgetting for the moment the old Ottilie von Thüringen in the new and glorious Archduchess Stephanie. "This that Wallenstein has sent me will justify my coming hither. Without it I had been dubbed, and rightly, a blundering knave, for your Highness should know I was robbed of it in a forest while I slept, and with two sentries on guard."
"It was a fault Albrecht von Waldstein would have borne hardly, had he been Captain-General. But in this case Fortune has been kind to you."
Nigel bowed. "I would that your Highness would continue to represent the Goddess in my regard."
She said nothing but some word of adieu, and passed on her way solitary, gliding like a swan.
And before Nigel could form any opinion on this strange rencontre with the proud princess, one of the gentlemen-in-waiting came and begged his attendance in the audience-chamber.
AsNigel passed out of the gallery and crossed the landing at the top of another staircase, a door to the left of him opened from another gallery at right angles to the one he had just left, and two Jesuit priests came out in the dress of their order, shaven and tonsured. He saluted, and they acknowledged his salutation with a brief benediction in the Latin tongue and passed on. The eyes of both seemed familiar to him, though for the moment, being bent upon his errand, he could not have told why.
The doors of the audience-chamber opened, and an officer of the household announced in a loud voice—
"Sire! The noble and high-born Captain Nigel Charteris with despatches from Tilly, Count of Tzerclaës!"
Nigel advanced, preceded by the gentleman-in-waiting, bowed three times as he did so, following the example set him, and presently stood at the Emperor's left hand, where stood the principal secretary, who received the despatches, and, having glanced at the seal, handed it to the Emperor, who, giving it to the Chancellor of the Empire, at his right hand, commanded him to break the seals.
The Emperor had acknowledged Nigel's presence at the side of his secretary with a slight but perceptible movement of the eyes, which rested upon him for a few seconds, and of the head, and then relapsed into an austere aloofness. Nigel, standing alert and ready for further business, if it should concern him, observed that Ferdinand was a man to all appearance of some fifty odd years, lean, of yellowish complexion, with eyes of a bluish tinge, dark-brown hair, a moustache twisted fiercely upwards, a short pointed beard with strands of grey in it, and dark scanty eyebrows. He wore a large stiff ruff about his neck. His doublet was of dark Genoese velvet, and a single gold chain suspended a medallion or badge of some order of knighthood. He sat in an easy attitude, attentive, but as a man wearied of affairs, yet of that fixity of will that lets nothing go by him that he should set his hand to. The long, slightly aquiline nose, fleshy towards the point, together with the projecting tufted lower lip, proclaimed him Habsburg. His chair was raised upon a dais, so that he sat on a higher level by some inches than the great officers of the council who sat at the table.
Nigel could not help noticing the slenderness of his hands and the length of the tapering fingers, which were beyond the common measure of men's hands, and reminded him of the hands of Ottilie von Thüringen.
From the Emperor his gaze fell upon a familiar figure that of a man who sat back from the table, as if to give more play to his long legs, and at the Emperor's right hand.
It needed but a glance at the face, ennobled by its fine expanse of forehead from which the hair had receded, and the flowing black locks, still making a brave show of plenty, which fell to his deep lace collar, to recognise Maximilian of Bavaria. The fine delicate dark brows, the large humorous dark eyes, the aquiline nose, the pointed chin decked with a pointed and unmistakably grey beard, the short upper lip with a soft flowingmoustache, composed a face easy to remember, and somewhat suggestive of a life spent in thought and deep designs rather than in the field, where, however, he had borne no mean nor infrequent burden.
The Chancellor proceeded to read Count Tilly's despatch, which set forth with a brevity worthy of his reputation as a general the final operations before Magdeburg, the taking of the city, the number of men killed and wounded on both sides. Count Tilly here strongly commended the Bavarian General Pappenheim, who had rendered very notable assistance in the siege and storm. Then followed the roster of the army as it was on the morning of Nigel's departure, and an intimation that it was not possible to quarter the troops in the town itself on account of the destruction of the houses, and of the fear of pestilence. Pending further instructions, Count Tilly intimated that he should form a fortified camp not far from the city, making such excursions into the neighbouring country as might be necessary to continue the enforcement of the Edict, or to oppose the operations of Gustavus. In the event of the Electors of Saxony and Brandenburg, or either of them, declaring openly for Gustavus, he proposed to enter Saxony and endeavour to bring the Elector to submission.
The Emperor questioned Nigel as to the extent of the destruction of Magdeburg and the cause of it; and Nigel gave such answer as he was able, saying that, no quarter being given on either side, the entrance into the city was the cause of much bloodshed, owing to the tenacity of the burghers, many of whom set fire to their houses to entrap the soldiery and frustrate the sacking.
"You passed through Erfurt, Plauen, and Eger?" the Emperor asked. "How was the Edict being received?"
"Erfurt and Eger, sire, are mainly of the Catholic faith,and have strong garrisons. Plauen would willingly have hung me and my escort, incited to rebellion by the news from Magdeburg!"
"But you escaped hanging, Captain?" the Emperor asked without a smile.
"I took the burghers unawares, and escaped by night!" said Nigel.
"You have our thanks, Captain! You will remain at Vienna some days till our plans are made, when you will receive our further orders. We shall recommend Count Tilly to advance you in rank for your services."
Nigel murmured a few words of thanks, and again bowing three times as he retreated, found himself outside the audience-chamber in company with the friendly gentleman-in-waiting who had ushered him in, very well pleased to have had such a favourable interview, and, where he had expected so lately as that very morning at least disgrace, to have received the promise of promotion, than which nothing could be more grateful to his ambition as a soldier.
The more he thought of the miraculous recovery of his wallet the less could he understand it. It must have been brought to Wallenstein by some emissary who had intercepted the robber. Or was it the man on the sorrel horse, that man of pots and phials and orbits and horoscopes, after all? Had he sought to propitiate Wallenstein, and had Wallenstein, recognising his duty to the Emperor, taken this circuitous way of returning it to the messenger, knowing full well what penalty he might otherwise expect? Yes! That was the solution without doubt. His old admiration of Wallenstein as a commander was now strengthened by gratitude towards him as a man.
And the Archduchess? Pietro Bramante's conjuration was, if as inexplicable as ever, of the Archduchess.Hence Wallenstein's exclamation, which he had only faintly heard in the midst of his own excitement. Some curious resemblance, no doubt, there must have been between the unknown Ottilie and the Archduchess, but the method of sending the wallet proved that Wallenstein accepted the prediction in the faith that it was the Archduchess Stephanie, who on her part had at least fulfilled the commission with a tact and secrecy that spoke of a willingness to respond to the wish of the sender.
He had, whilst working out this satisfactory conclusion, accompanied the gentleman aforesaid to the gardens of the palace, where, said his guide, he would probably find sufficient to amuse him for an hour or so, when he could easily find his way back to his quarters, and further arrangements would be made to entertain him.
There was a profusion of statuary. There were peacocks. There were flowers arranged in precise beds, and short clipped hedges of green shrubs in the Italian fashion. The morning was sunny, and in his elation he found everything exceeding well. It was a golden day. He sauntered here and there.
And so by the merest chance did Father Lamormain, that peaceful refined priest, in a cassock which did credit to the tailor who fashioned it, though it was cut strictly according to the rule of the Jesuits.
Nigel had never set eyes on Father Lamormain, and, if he had heard of him, it was in the vague way in which people of middle station hear the name of the king's physician, or of the king's barber, and forget it. Father Lamormain had not been at the audience. His duty was best done in the Emperor's private apartment, or in his own, to which even the Emperor repaired on occasions. But Father Lamormain knew quite well what had taken place, all that the Chancellor had read aloud and as muchof it as the Chancellor had kept to himself. For Father Lamormain was not for nothing the most trusted Jesuit in the country east of the Rhine.
At first Nigel passed the priest, who was to all appearance a Jesuit, with a bow. The priest desisted from telling his beads and bowed also. In their saunter they bowed again, and the priest very gently expressed a hope that Nigel was "enjoying the beauty of the morning."
"Father," said Nigel, "it is indeed a fair morning, but good news makes the worst of mornings joyous!"
"Ah, youth! Ah, youth, the beautiful!" said the Father. "Youth is the season when one has good news! In after years the news never seems wholly good. There is always some little drawback."
Nigel inclined his head deferentially. Middle-aged men always spoke in this way. They were jealous of youth. But being in great spirits he thought to humour the priest, and said—
"There speaks a wide experience and a wide knowledge!"
"Surely," said the priest, "you are of the Scottish nation, and a soldier! Am I right, sir?"
"What makes you think so?" said Nigel, much amused.
"In the first place, the Scottish gentlemen are amongst the most courteous of men, and pronounce German very well; and as to the second, one could not miss that you were a soldier by your bearing."
There being at least two compliments wrapped up along with a commonplace, Nigel took another look at the priest and saw that the priest was a man of benign countenance, very courtly, and that his face was lined with many fine lines about the brow and eyes, which themselves were very penetrating. Nigel reflected on the Latin poet who feared Greeks and people bringing gifts. So he asked—
"Is there a college of your order in Vienna?"
"What makes you think so, sir? Does one swallow make a summer?"
"Would not three in succession lead one to imagine it was near?" Nigel asked again.
"See how the Scotsman answers a question by asking another!" the priest observed with a smile, which was very becoming to his countenance.
"Is that the way of my nation?" Nigel asked.
"In the parts about Haddington!" the priest replied very gently, and Nigel was very much perplexed at the reply. "But did you say just now that you had seen three swallows, or was it three brethren of my order, this morning?"
"I met two on the staircase of the palace this morning, and you are the third!" said Nigel.
"It will have been Father George and Father John. There is a small hostel of our order in Vienna."
"They resembled two gentlemen I met a few days back, two cavaliers!"
"Ah?" said the priest, inviting confidence.
"Buttheywere cavaliers!" said Nigel. "So there was nothing in the resemblance. There seem a good many people in the world who resemble one another!" he added.
Father Lamormain was a little disappointed in this exuberant young officer, who went off into mere platitudes. But there was an element of persistence in his nature.
"You have doubtless come some distance to Vienna?" he went on. "I inferred from what you said just now that you had business in the palace, and I happened to notice that one of the Emperor's gentlemen brought you hither; and I know, I think I may say, all the people who dwell therein." He indicated the palace with hishand. "So I judged you to be a stranger. Did you have a peaceful journey?"
"On the whole it was so!" said the Scot.
"You had peradventure an encounter with robbers?"
"If it could be called so, an encounter! Two men set upon me in the dark as I slept, and having bound and gagged me, ransacked my holsters, my saddle-bags, my clothes, and went away having taken nothing."
"And did you not see their faces, hear their voices?"
"Neither sight nor sound!"
"And you accomplished your errand successfully?"
"Quite, Father!"
"You were either very astute or very fortunate! You will doubtless be employed again. Now let me introduce myself. I am Father Lamormain, the Emperor's confessor."
"I am much honoured by your company," said Nigel. "My name is Nigel Charteris, Captain of Musketeers."
"From Magdeburg, is it not?" The priest smiled.
TheEmperor Ferdinand and Father Lamormain were together in the Emperor's private apartments.
"She was always Stephanie the intractable!" said the Emperor, with something like a smile on his grave face. After all he had many memories of her that Father Lamormain could never have of any child.
"Yes!" said Father Lamormain. "But in this case your Imperial Majesty should permit itself to use its parental authority."
"Even to harshness?"
"Even to harshness!" said the priest in a gentle voice. "Your Majesty knows that the Elector Maximilian still claims that the Empire owes him thirteen millions of crowns for his aid in the war against the Elector Palatine, and that he wanted the Palatinate, and would have had it but for the opposition of Brandenburg and Saxony. Now if Brandenburg and Saxony join Gustavus, as they must, what can we say to Maximilian if he prefers his claim again?"
"He must have it, I suppose!" said the Emperor in a tone that suggested that he was rather tired.
"Then he will ask for Bohemia as the price for allowing his army to support Tilly against Gustavus."
"Bohemia is another affair!" said the Emperor more briskly.
"Now if her Highness the Archduchess would only consent to marry the Elector Maximilian, we should hear nothing more of the thirteen millions, or of the Palatinate, or of Bohemia," reflected Father Lamormain aloud.
"She is very young!" objected his Majesty.
"Not too young for mischief, sire."
"What new freak have you discovered, Father?"
"This!" said the Father, producing the letter he had had before him on the previous day. "It is a summary of the roll of Tilly's army, and it was found upon a messenger, who was unfortunately killed on his way to the northbefore he could be questioned."
"But what has this to do with the Archduchess Stephanie?"
"It is marvellously like her handwriting! It is in cipher, of course; but look for yourself, sire." The Emperor looked at it.
"It appears to be a woman's, and it is a most unclerkly scrawl. I should hesitate to attribute it to Stephanie! And, if it were hers, what possible object could she have in obtaining it, and how could she have obtained it?"
"It was in my hands, your Majesty, before the despatches arrived."
"But the seal on the despatches was intact. It was Count Tilly's seal. The Chancellor was satisfied?"
"Yes, sire!" The tone signified that Chancellors as a rule were easily satisfied.
"Come, Father, do you seriously suggest that the officer who brought it allowed the despatches to leave his hands?"
Father Lamormain had every cause to suppose so, but was unable for reasons of his own to state so.
"I merely infer from this cipher!"
"But it was not impossible that the roll of Tilly's army should be known to others, within a little!"
"Your Majesty's remark would be just if the messenger had been intercepted riding from Magdeburg. But from Eger, by which the officer passed? What then?"
"That would be to doubt the officer's fidelity. To begin with, he is a Scottish gentleman! He is of our faith! He is selected by Tilly, who has a good eye for a man."
"Then your Majesty does not wish the matter pursued in that direction." Father Lamormain was quite pleasant about it. He went on—
"I may say that I had a little talk with this young officer this morning in the gardens, and he appears to be a gentleman of good breeding, and of an ancient family, very well mannered, and wary withal. Your Majesty would be the better judge how far he is to be trusted if he were bidden to your reception after supper to-night. For the orders your Majesty will send to Tilly will be still more secret!" The Father seemed full of the most paternal feelings towards this young man, at the same time very desirous that the young man should not prove a prodigal son.
"As to the Archduchess Stephanie," said the Emperor, "I will speak to her on the subject of Maximilian. It is an ill time to consider marriages when there is so much at stake, but our faithful Elector can scarcely be bidden to waitat his age!" The Emperor had then a dry kind of humour. "You may send for her, Father, on my behalf!"
Father Lamormain pocketed his letter and retired. In a short time the Archduchess made her entry into her father's presence.
Her face wore the softness that is the outcome of anaffectionate nature. The fine meshes of the veil of rank that fell between her and the rest of the world, obscuring the expression, were absent.
Ferdinand's eye swept over her tall gracious form as she approached, and as she bent her knee to kiss his hand. He approved, but it made no difference. He was not a prince to be swayed by womanly beauty. Some princes have spent their lives toying with women; some have made women their pastimes in the brief intervals of strenuous attention to war and to affairs; but Ferdinand was a prince of affairs in which women had no place. As a father, however, he was not wanting in affection.
"My Stephanie!" he said, when he had kissed her upon the cheek. "Politics are a very troublous thing, and all kinds of considerations come into play. The alliances in marriage between princes and princesses are dictated by the necessities of their States rather than by any inclination of their own."
The Emperor felt, because Stephanie, sitting on a low stool at his side, had her hands upon her father's, that the blood stirred very palpably, and he knew that she listened.
"The turn of events has brought your name into question. The Elector Maximilian has put forward a project of marriage. He asks for you."
A crimson flush overspread those pale clear cheeks. So much Ferdinand saw. She kept her gaze steadily away from him.
"What do you think of it, little one?"
She turned her head and looked up at her father, her eyes widely open.
"I think it monstrous! That old man! A man who has already lived a thousand lives to make his last mumbling meal of me who am just newly come into my womanhood! Monstrous! Unspeakably monstrous!"
"He is of a ripe age, certainly, is my cousin Maximilian.He is in fact fifty-eight, as I am. But he is still full of vigour, a leader of men, a great and renowned prince, and our most trusty ally. Once at least we had been in grave jeopardy but for his counsel and for his armies. Even now we are employing his men and generals in support of our Edicts."
"To slay peaceable burghers, burn their goods, throw down their houses, ravish their daughters! Say this rather!"
"My daughter!" said Ferdinand, and his voice became cold and haughty, "you forget! As a good son of the Church I am bound to extirpate that most pernicious root of heresy from all German lands. There can be no peace till this is done."
The Archduchess Stephanie had gauged her father's religious fanaticism and found it deep, deeper than any measuring-stick of hers. She did not sympathise with it. Like most women she was herself prone to the practices of religion, and in the conduct of life a pagan. She saw no benefit that could come out of the Edict of Restitution. To her mind, money, or goods, or lands were to pass out of the hands of very worthy industrious burghers to maintain lazy and often very dirty priests and monks. She thought it was barely possible, but still possible, for people to get to heaven somehow without them. The Emperor was quite satisfied that they could not. His intentions were sincere, and the Archduchess knew that it was useless to pursue the attack along this line.
"The fall of Magdeburg," she said, "might bring about some sort of alliance of all the Protestant powers. Brandenburg and Saxony at least must join Gustavus. Denmark, the United Provinces, may follow."
"The more reason have we to keep hold of such friends as we have by what entertainment we may."
"Have you so little faith in Maximilian that you should judge him capable of drawing off his men when he learns that I will not wed him?"
"I have always found Maximilian loyal to the Empire. But a friendship such as his should be requited."
"Then let him be requited with gold or with lands, but not with me. Let him draw off his men, his Pappenheim. Then send for the man who shall sweep Gustavus back to his ships, him for whom the Empire waits, him who alone can create armies at a word and lead them."
"Whoisthis Achilles?" was the faintly ironical question of the Emperor.
"Who but Albrecht von Waldstein?" was the instant, almost triumphant, answer of the Archduchess. She had risen to her feet and faced him with it, voice and gesture and eyes aglow with a conviction that betrayed an intense energy of desire behind it. The Emperor gazed at her with his pale scrutinising eyes, in which was no enthusiasm.
"My dear Stephanie," he said in his half-wearied tone, "if Wallenstein were not a man of middle age, who has married a second wife, one might almost suspect that you were enamoured of him."
She held herself erect, looking at the Emperor, but her eyes were upon a vision far beyond. She said nothing, for the Emperor had not made an end. He had dealt her this thrust of scorn. Now he assailed her with reason.
"It is a year since, on the Elector's day at Regensburg, they clamoured one and all for Wallenstein's dismissal. They urged that he was become too powerful for a subject."
"Maximilian's jealousy!" she interposed.