Chancellor Pruckmann went to the castle to seek an audience. He entered in his usual deferential manner but the Electoress had not yet returned from the apartment of her mother-in-law. As he was traversing the corridor, he suddenly heard his name called behind him. He turned and beheld her. A look of distress came into his face and he bowed very low, perhaps to conceal his countenance from her gaze until he could master his emotions. His expression did not escape the sharp eyes of the Electoress, who was already filled with gloomy anticipations. Her presentiment as to the fate of her brother and Bohemia was confirmed by his looks, and she said in a tone of alarm: “Pruckmann, you are the bearer of evil tidings, are you not? Oh, God! What am I to hear next. Quick! follow me to my apartment.”
When they were together there the Electoress paced up and down the room with clasped hands, trying to regain her composure. At last she seated herself and said to Pruckmann, who remained standing by the door like a statue, and looking down: “Now, Pruckmann, I am strong enough to hear whatever you have to say. Tell me briefly and quickly all that has happened.”
It seemed as if the flowers on the carpet had riveted Pruckmann’s gaze. He did not look up, but after a little said in a hollow voice: “So be it. I will tell you briefly. Your brother is no longer King of Bohemia. He was defeated, and has had to fly.”
Another pause ensued. As Pruckmann heard no sound from the Electoress he looked up. Her face alarmed him beyond all measure, for in reality she looked like a dead rather than a live person. She was barely able to gasp out: “Pruckmann, are you certain of this?”
“Alas! as certain as I know that this hand is mine!”
The Electoress’s head suddenly dropped upon the arm of her chair. Pruckmann rushed to an adjoining apartment and sent her maids to her. He remained there but had not waited long when he heard her voice, which had been silenced by her convulsive weeping. When at last he was summoned he found her remarkably composed.
“Now, Pruckmann, give me, as far as you can, an exact account of what has occurred. Have you the news by word of mouth or by letter?”
“I received this letter two hours ago.”
“Leave it with me. I will read it later. Now tell me what you know.”
“Gracious Princess, I should not merit your confidence did I not tell you the whole truth.”
“Pruckmann, tell me everything, in the fewest words.”
“Your princely brother lost the devotion of the Bohemians in many ways: he showed himself too fond of splendor; he offended the Bohemian leaders in the army by disregarding the movements of the German general; and, worse still, he embittered the Bohemian Lutherans by his unmistakable expressions of contempt for their faith. I have known these things for several weeks, and you know that as far as it was my duty, I gave you intimations of them.”
“Yes; and I have not failed to communicate my opinions about these things to my brother freely, but as now appears in vain.”
“Your princely brother deemed himself too secure. His advisers must have failed in their duty. He soon discovered, however, the weakness of his situation. The Catholic princes rallied promptly at the call of the Emperor, but none of the princes who had joined the Protestant Union came at the King’s summons. The Elector of Saxony—he belongs, you know, to the Lutheran confession—sent word: ‘I would rather unite with the Turks than with you.’”
The Electoress was growing impatient. Pruckmann—and this was a frequent failing of his—dwelt upon matters which she knew already as well as he.
“The result of all these acts was the failure of the Bohemian army to meet the emergency when the decisive hour approached.”
“At last you are coming to the point, Pruckmann. Tell me when and where the battle occurred.”
“The battle took place fourteen days ago, on the eighth of November, at White Mountain, near Prague.”
“Did Maximilian of Bavaria lead his army against my brother in the battle?”
“He led the army of the Catholics in person. But your brother was not there.”
“Not there! Where was he, then?”
“The news of the defeat reached him at dinner, in Prague. He hurried to the ramparts and beheld his army in full retreat.”
“And now?”
“Your princely brother asked for an armistice of twenty-four hours. Only eight was granted. He took advantage of the armistice to fly, his wife and children and the leaders following him.”
The Electoress breathed heavily. “Is everything, then, lost?” she said, after a pause. “What does the black raven say about it? [She meant Schwarzenberg.] Ah! he has a keen scent.”
Pruckmann replied: “I spoke with him just before I came here. God grant his words do not come true. He says with the crown of Bohemia stands and falls the Electorate of the Palatinate.”
“Bird of ill omen!” exclaimed the Electoress. “He means that both King and Elector are lost together. But that is not yet the case. My brother is Elector of the Palatinate by divine right and justice, and he is still, in fact, King of Bohemia. The dignitaries of the country placed the crown upon his head before the whole world. One battle is lost. Cannot a second be won? What do you say to that?”
“This letter says the flight of your brother was so precipitate that he forgot to take not only his private papers but his crown with him. Without doubt they are at this moment in possession of the Emperor. Losing the crown, the outward symbol of power, I fear he has lost the confidence of the Bohemians, and especially the confidence of the Protestant party of Germany.”
“And what do you both think my brother’s next step will be?”
“Gracious Princess, I have no gift of prophecy. Schwarzenberg fears that your brother and his family will seek refuge in your court.”
“Does Schwarzenberg fear that?”
“Alas! yes. Your brother is an enemy of the Emperor. As his reception here would be dangerous, Schwarzenberg thinks it must be refused, however painful it may be.”
“My God!” exclaimed the Electoress in a despairing tone, “has it come to this, that my brother is to be banned as an outlaw?”
Pruckmann shrugged his shoulders, as he said: “Schwarzenberg thinks—”
The Electoress wrung her hands. Pruckmann was about to go on. “It is enough,” said the Electoress. “I cannot bear more to-day.” She gave him a sign to leave.
As he passed through the courtyard he looked up at the windows of the apartment he had just left and, as he pursued his way, said to himself: “Perhaps to-day this or that one passing here has also looked up with envious glances and has thought that the greatest happiness on earth is found in a princely crown. O foolish ones, who thus think! Truly princes buy dearly enough the favors which you cannot have, with sorrows you cannot know.”
Chancellor Pruckmann sat at his richly carved oak desk, finishing a letter to the Elector, who was still in Prussia, as he had just been informed by Baron Leuchtmar. The Baron, a large, powerfully built man of about fifty, had a somewhat serious, even solemn, expression of face. The important duty of caring for the education of the young Prince Frederick William had recently been assigned to him. He was to enter upon that duty when the Prince, now in his fifth year, reached the age of seven.
Leuchtmar, who had just returned from a journey to Austria and Bohemia, had much of importance to communicate to his friend the Chancellor, as they sat over their wine. Pruckmann began the conversation: “Is it true that a wealthy Bohemian nobleman has offered to recruit an army for the Emperor?”
“Yes, it is true.”
“His name?”
“Wallenstein.”
“Ah! that audacious general! I remember to have heard that he did the Emperor good service in his time against the Venetians, and that he was rewarded for it with the governorship of Moravia.”
“You are right,” replied Leuchtmar. “And while governor he enriched his own coffers much faster than he enriched the public treasury. Some years ago he was forced to resign his position and a sweeping investigation was ordered, but he succeeded in silencing the principal witnesses against him by buying them off.”
“Then he is very rich?”
“He is exceedingly rich, as you may know by this fact. You remember the revenge which the Emperor took, when Frederick was defeated at White Mountain and the Bohemians were helpless at his feet?”
“Only too well,” replied Pruckmann. “He vindictively waited three months and then gave the signal. The tiger stretched out its cruel claws and seized its victims, who fancied themselves secure. He consigned seven hundred and twenty of the foremost inciters of the uprising to the scaffold, and stripped them and thousands of the common people of their possessions.”
“And do you know, Herr Chancellor, who purchased the larger part of the possessions of these victims? None other than Wallenstein. He bought sixty large and small estates from the Emperor for only seven million gulden, and in the following year made other purchases which cost him three and a half million gulden more.”
The Chancellor regarded this statement with the utmost astonishment.
“Yes,” continued the Baron, “Wallenstein possesses a kingly fortune and lives like a king. I do not believe any prince in Europe lives more luxuriously. Many indeed are poor compared to him. I will give you some idea of his immense wealth. He bought a hundred houses in Prague and had them demolished to make room for the palace he built. What is an electoral castle compared with that palace? You ought to see his stables. The arches are supported by marble columns and the horses stand in marble stalls.”
“I heard something of this, but set it down as a romantic story.”
Baron Leuchtmar shook his head: “It is the hard truth, and it is all the harder because without any doubt the inexhaustible wealth of this man will bring great trouble to us and the Protestants.”
The Chancellor recognized this truth by his anxious expression. Leuchtmar continued: “Tell me, Herr Chancellor, how many halberdiers you have in the castle service.”
“Twelve in all, dear Baron.”
“Compare that with the number in Wallenstein’s palace. Fifty halberdiers keep watch day and night in the anteroom, and twelve guards are in constant attendance upon him. Four chamberlains also keep watch and examine all persons who seek an audience with him. When he travels he requires for himself and attendants sixty wagons, and several more are necessary to convey the table plate and fixtures. He owns ten state coaches with glass windows. Fifty grooms follow, each with a good extra horse.
“Wallenstein is an ambitious, violent, dangerous character, created to be a scourge of mankind. How audaciously he appropriates everything! The Catholic League, with Maximilian at its head, robbed Bohemia of its Emperor and forced the Catholic religion upon the Palatinate. This was agreeable to the Emperor, and at the same time not agreeable accordingly as it affected him personally. It was agreeable to have the Protestant cause weakened; but it was not agreeable that he, the Emperor, should possess no power and be obliged practically to live by the grace of the Catholic Princes’ Union. The Emperor would gladly have raised an army, but he had not the money. Wallenstein understood the situation—oh, he has eyes, that man!—and offered to raise an army for the Emperor at his own expense. It pleased the Emperor. He knew Wallenstein’s ability as a leader, and he was also aware of his great wealth. The maximum of the army was fixed by the Emperor at twenty thousand men. Wallenstein objected. Fifty thousand men could be supported as easily as twenty thousand. When the Emperor’s advisers asked him to explain, he replied: ‘Where I go with fifty thousand men I am master.’ They consented.”
“That devil!” exclaimed Pruckmann. “He means that where he goes with his army he will be master because it will harry that region and consume everything like a swarm of locusts. This in our dear German Empire! God have pity upon it! Wallenstein has whims and extravagances of many sorts. Like the lion, he cannot endure the crowing of a cock. He is very superstitious also. He dabbles much in astrology. When he is not in the field, he secludes himself from other men. What do you think of him?”
Leuchtmar replied: “It cannot be denied he is sinister, violent, and taciturn. A man who hates his kind has always something strange about him. What they say about the crowing of a cock may be all romance. It is true, however, that in Prague he lives all the year round separated from men and mostly keeps himself shut up in the interior of the palace. His taciturnity and his general aspect give him a demoniac appearance which spreads terror all about him. When his tall, spare figure, with that high brow and sinister glance, moves among the ranks of the troops, even the stoutest spirits are seized with a mysterious awe, and his personal presence is not a little intensified by his attire. A red feather hangs from his hat. His collar is ruffled in the Spanish fashion. His breeches and cloak are scarlet, his riding cloak of elk skin and his girdle red. When Christian took the leadership of the Protestant cause he found his victorious enemy in Tilly. Now comes a still worse enemy.”
Leuchtmar asked: “What does Schwarzenberg say?”
“He has advised the Elector to take sides with the Emperor, and my friends and I are working to prevent it; but Schwarzenberg will be satisfied if he continues neutral. But I fear, in spite of neutrality, that our country will suffer from Wallenstein’s army. We have had already to suffer, first, because of the passage of the two thousand English five years ago through the land; second, from the armies of Count Ernst von Mansfeld and Duke Christian, in struggles for the Protestant cause; and, third, from the warlike Danes, perhaps. I say, all this seems to me but a foretaste of what is coming.”
Leuchtmar asked: “What does the Electoress think?”
“She is overcome with sorrow.”
An hour later, the Electoress knew of what they had been talking. The image of Wallenstein accompanied her as she reposed at night. She tossed about restlessly on her couch and his terrible figure appeared to her in dreams. It was early morning when she awoke, but she was so exhausted by her restless night that she did not rise. She went to sleep again, and again the terrible image appeared to her. A mysterious fire gleamed in his eyes, the features of his face were rigid. There was not a trace of human emotion in them. She felt as she gazed at it that she was doomed. Then he seemed gradually to grow larger. Higher and higher towered his figure. The sky was shrouded in clouds, lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, and upon the storm winds fluttered the blood-red robe of the mighty figure.
The Princess awoke. An involuntary prayer to Heaven rose from her lips.
In the year 1626 a genealogical work was published in Berlin, containing a fine copperplate engraving of the Prince Frederick William. He was then six years of age. The attractive young face, framed in abundant hair, shows the same expressive features which later characterized the Great Elector. He wears a jacket of flowery embroidered stuff and white breeches, besides ruffles and collar.
When the Electoral Prince reached his seventh year (1627) Baron Leuchtmar was instructed to enter upon his duties as educator. He was summoned to the castle and proceeded at once to the antechamber leading to the audience-room. Stepping to the window he saw the Prince crossing the narrow wooden bridge where afterwards stood the majestic castle bridge adorned with marble groups. His preceptor, Müller, an elderly but still active man, who had instructed him in a general way during the previous two years, walked by his side. Upon being summoned to the audience-chamber, Leuchtmar found the Electoress seated at a marble table, upon which were the instructions which she had just read over again. She beckoned him to her side and said:
“My dear Baron, my husband and I have finally decided upon the castle of Cüstrin as the Prince’s abode so long as these troublesome times continue. Many warlike bands have traversed our country of late to our sorrow, and now we hear that Wallenstein has been summoned and will sweep over the land with his army. He has made fine promises to spare Brandenburg, but he means to play the part of the wolf toward our country, which he regards as the lamb. In these times of tumult, whose end is not yet visible, my husband and I are deeply concerned about the education of our oldest son. The confusion and excitement of war would deprive him of the quiet and peace which are indispensable, if his education is to be of any benefit. The strong castle of Cüstrin is at present a secure place. You will accompany him there. During the summer season you may take him to the hunting-castle of Letzlingen. Consider, my dear Baron, the sacrifice my husband and I are making for the welfare of the fatherland,—the separation of our family,—my husband in distant Prussia, I here, our oldest son in Cüstrin. Tell me, does it not all show that we are an afflicted family, and that the favors we enjoy are but of little consequence as compared with the calamities which our position forces us to endure?”
“Gracious Princess,” said Leuchtmar, “the people fully recognize that, and also that—”
“My dear Baron,” interrupted the Electoress, “I have had some unfortunate experiences with the people, but we will not talk about them. It will greatly please me if you will cherish my last words and let them sink deep into your heart.” She took the instructions from the table. “My dear Baron, in these papers you will find the substantial features of the system you are to follow in the education and upbringing of my son. But I must add some words from my heart. Above all else, educate my son to be a pious, Christian man. Then take the utmost care that the pious soul dwells in a strong body. May our Heavenly Father grant you clear insight and bless your work! Then my son will prove an exemplar for our own people in soul and body. Finally, my dear Baron, see to it that my son is spared as far as possible from the knowledge that a bloody war is raging around us. May this curse keep far away from his retreat. Now I ask you before God, will you strive with all your might and daily implore divine assistance to accomplish what these instructions set forth and what my heart has told you? If you will, confirm it, not by an oath, but in knightly fashion, by the clasp of the hand.”
This was done, and Leuchtmar, bowing low, said, with great emotion: “Gracious Princess, I will strive to the utmost of my ability to accomplish what you desire, with the help of God.”
A few days later, on the fourth of May, the Prince, Leuchtmar, Müller his preceptor, and a little band of attendants, made ready to depart. No one saw the tears the mother shed in parting with her beloved son. The weeping Prince at last left her apartment; Leuchtmar led him to the coach, drawn by powerful horses; it rolled over the long bridge, through Saint George’s street, and out through Saint George’s Gate. The Baron did not intrude upon the Prince’s grief at parting from his mother, but the change of scene, the bright sky, the green of the trees, and the songs of the lark and other birds, gradually softened the bitter sorrow in the child’s heart.
On the sixteenth of February, 1629, the Prince was nine years old. At an early hour in the morning, while it was still dark outside, he was awakened by singing. In an adjoining room, the door of which was open, Baron Leuchtmar, Preceptor Müller, six pages, and some of the servants were singing a chorale together. When they had finished, Leuchtmar and Müller greeted the Prince, wished him God’s blessing, and expressed hearty personal congratulations in their own names as well as in the names of his parents. As soon as he was dressed he went to the apartment. Nine wax candles were burning upon a table covered with gifts. One of the pages read a poem in his honor, and the servants congratulated him. After he had shaken hands with them all and thanked them he went to the table. Among the gifts were two which he cherished and kept all his life. His mother sent him an armlet with the following inscription: “I send you this as an assurance of my heartfelt love and to remind you not to forget my earnest exhortation to love God above all else, to practise the virtues, and to hate vice. Then God’s help will strengthen you, and all temporal and eternal blessings will follow you.” Besides this, there was a large package, covered with a cloth, which at once arrested his attention. He lifted the cloth and saw a large volume, bound in leather with silver corner pieces. He opened it. It was a Bible. He was overcome with delight. At that time there were no children’s libraries. If there had been, he would have had a large one and one book more or less would have made little impression upon him. Up to this time his entire library was comprised in one volume,—the Catechism. Now, he had another, the Bible, which Leuchtmar and Müller had given him as the most precious symbol of manhood. His joy was indescribable. He knew a great number of the Bible stories already, and it was an added pleasure to find this or that one illustrated. On his way to church (his birthday fell on a Sunday) and when he left it, he could think of nothing but his treasure.
Baron Leuchtmar soon observed that the Prince returned again and again to the pictures illustrating the story of David. Preceptor Müller had told him already much about it and David, the shepherd, singer, hero, and king occupied all his attention. Leuchtmar also increased his interest. He decided to read the entire history of David, from his anointing to his death, with the Prince. “I must share his delight in this narrative,” he said to himself, “and thus our reading will prove a double blessing.” He also decided to look it over himself in advance, so that when they read together he could better explain it. The more he read, the more he was delighted, and the clearer understanding he had of the hero youth and king. For an entire evening he left the oversight of the Prince to the preceptor and sat until midnight at his table. He read not only the history of David but the larger part of the Psalms. The life of the pious singer was reflected in them, and they seemed to him as a whole like a stately song of David’s. An hour was set apart every evening for their study of the history. Leuchtmar read, and the Prince and pages sat at the table. Müller was also present. Seldom have the Holy Scriptures been perused with such ardent devotion. The elders and the youths were alike interested. From time to time they stopped reading and Leuchtmar and Müller would explain the text to their young listeners, or read passages from the Psalms which made the narrative still clearer.
The Prince and Leuchtmar one day took a long ride to a mill in a wooded valley about two miles away. When about a a half-mile distant from it they met a horseman. He suddenly drew up as if undecided whether to keep on his way or take another road. At last he approached them, and the Prince and Leuchtmar recognized him as the miller’s son—a strong, handsome young fellow. He greeted them and was about to ride on.
“Stephen, wait a minute and tell——”
But Stephen put spurs to his horse and dashed on. The Prince looked from the rider to his governor as if to seek an explanation of his conduct. Suddenly Stephen turned, rode back, and stopping a few paces away from them said: “Herr Prince, console my parents, and tell them I will restore everything that the war takes from them. God keep and bless you also.” Thereupon he turned once more and soon disappeared in the woods.
Leuchtmar at once understood Stephen’s strange conduct: he was on his way to Wallenstein’s army. Leuchtmar rode by the side of the Prince with a serious face, for the latter several times looked at him inquiringly. It was an embarrassing situation for him. What should he do? Pass over the whole matter in silence? He considered it from every point of view. At last, he said: “Stephen has run away from his parents. Sooner or later he will regret it. He is going to the foreign war, and remember, Prince, it is a foreign war. We are not at war with any one.”
His words did not wholly allay the Prince’s disquiet, for Stephen had said he would restore to his parents everything that the war took from them; and this clearly indicated war in that neighborhood. Leuchtmar was not unaware of that statement, and it made it all the harder for him to decide what to do. Should he ride on to the mill? He feared what might be said then; but they were already so near it that they could hear the barking of the miller’s dog.
Suddenly he stopped and said: “Prince, I shall be a poor consoler for Stephen’s parents. I would rather ride over here a few days hence.”
Both turned their horses, but before they had gone far they saw the miller hurrying along the footpath. He was already close to them. It would not be polite to run away from the old man, Leuchtmar said to himself, and stopped. The Prince followed his example. The gray-haired miller accosted them. “My son, my son,” he moaned, “have you met him on the road, Herr Prince?”
The Prince replied: “Yes, my good man, we met your Stephen. He was about to pass us without a word, but at last he called to me and asked me to console you and tell you he would restore everything that the war might take from you.”
“Alas!” exclaimed the old man, “it is just as I thought. The wicked boy! He has joined hands with the devil and left his old parents, who will soon go to the grave in sorrow.”
“But what put such an idea into his head?” asked Leuchtmar.
“Ah! my good sir,” replied the miller, “one lad can spoil many others. Fine, strong young fellows have been running away from all the villages hereabouts. And now, alas, my Stephen! God knows what is the matter with these young fellows. Wallenstein is their idol, their ideal of all that is splendid. Many have been running away to him for a long time and some of them are now officers. Those stories about him pass from mouth to mouth and attract those who are not bad at heart. Tell them he is a Catholic and the leader of the Catholic army and they will reply: ‘We care nothing about our religion, what he wants is men of courage.’ For several days Stephen has been talking with my daughter Elizabeth. He said to her: ‘Am I to wait here until Wallenstein comes, and then get treated like a mangy dog who is clipped and has to lie behind the stove, while everything is going topsy turvy without?’ And Elizabeth replied: ‘Even if they come into our neighborhood and the villages around us, they will not find us here in the valley; and even if they should, we can run into the forest and stay until they are gone.’ Stephen answered: ‘You do not understand what you are talking about, Elizabeth. Once the Wallensteinians are here in the villages they will quickly find the way to the mills and farms. I tell you they have keen noses. There are many of them who have lost all they had in the war, and they are going to make it up with whatever they can lay their hands on here, and then, I tell you, when we have lost everything you will be glad to see Stephen coming home with his pockets full of gold pieces.’ This is the way the boy talked; and when Elizabeth told me about it, it made me sad and anxious. ‘Take the boy to Schoneick,’ said my wife to me yesterday, ‘and keep him there. Perhaps he will gradually forget all about the war.’ He must have overheard her, for when I was making ready to do so to-day he took the horse out of the stall, mounted, and rode off. Alas! I shall never see him again, my Stephen, my handsome boy!”
“Your misfortune touches me deeply, old father,” said the Prince, “but how could Stephen engage in such a foolish project? We are not at war with any one. Even if the troops should come here, they would come as friends and harm no one.”
“Ah, my gracious Prince,” replied the miller, “the good God thus far has protected this region from the calamity of war, but what about other parts of the country? You well know that even the hereditary Prince is not safe in the capital, but has to live in a fortress. If troops were to come into the country to-day, they would treat burghers and peasants alike without caring whether they were enemies or friends. That is what I say, but you, gracious Prince, of course, know more about it than I.”
Instead of replying, the Prince reddened. He was ashamed to expose his ignorance. The old man read this in his looks, and continued: “Perhaps your princely parents have kept the knowledge of such things from you. Yes, yes, it must be so. They may think their dear son will have enough of suffering without this. Well, well, they are right, the good parents.”
The Prince had lost all desire to go to the miller’s house. He gave the Baron to understand this and both rode off. On the way, Leuchtmar said to him: “The miller has mentioned things about which we will talk later, if your parents think it advisable. I will communicate with them at once, and in the meantime beg you patiently to await their decision.”
It was in the morning of a beautiful spring day that the Prince and Leuchtmar rode together into the forest. They were on their way to the hunting-castle of Letzlingen, which the Prince’s parents had selected as his summer residence. The Prince had been there during the previous summer and had left it in the autumn with the woodbirds of the romantic spot. He had looked forward longingly to this journey and could hardly wait for the day of departure. When he left in the autumn, the firs, enveloped in haze, looked to him like priests in dark robes standing at graves. Now the trees and shrubs were arrayed in bright new garments. He was overcome with joy in the fragrant arcades of the forest, shot through with golden sunbeams. What a soft, delicious life met his gaze everywhere. Now nimble squirrels frisked up the gray trunks of the oaks and watched the travellers inquisitively with bushy ears and tails uplifted. Again, a woodpecker tapped upon a dry limb, and under a tree stood a deer and two fauns, the slender animals looking fearlessly at the riders with their dark, beautiful eyes. Wood-doves, rollers, and nuthatches enlivened the crowns of the high oaks and firs. The cuckoo called in the distance, and in the clear sky a hawk circled with shrill screams.
The riders were now nearing the castle. The dogs must have known of their coming, for their loud barking was heard in the distance. “I know every one of them by their voices,” said the Prince delightedly. “I hear Nimrod, and Diana, and Ajax. I wonder if they will know me?”
“Dogs are just as grateful to those who treat them well as men are,” replied Leuchtmar. “They have not forgotten their last summer’s friend.”
At a short distance from the castle stood a charcoal-burner’s house. He was evidently aware of the Prince’s coming, for the family were at the door and the little cherry-cheeked daughter handed the Prince a nosegay.
The Prince reined in his horse, bowed, and took the flowers, saying: “I have something for you also, Dorothy. It is in my chest, which is on the way; you shall have it in the morning.” Then he asked her parents how they were getting along, and after they had replied, the two rode on to the castle. The forester had already opened the gate, which was decorated with oak leaves, and with his wife and his young hunters in holiday attire met the Prince. He courteously extended his hand and inquired about their health. A favorable reply came from all. Meanwhile there were some others waiting anxiously to welcome him. Nimrod, Diana, and Ajax joyously barked and leaped about him, and the gold-brown Nimrod was so overcome by his emotions that he sprang upon the Prince and licked his face.
The Prince spent nearly the entire day visiting his favorite spots in the vicinity of the castle. It was not only the beauty of the woods which endeared the place to him, but the fact that in former years his parents had been accustomed to spend their summers there.
Much had happened of late in the theatre of war, much also in the immediate vicinity of the Prince which was kept concealed from him, though it might not have been had it not been for one predominant feature of his character,—his submission to the parental will. Several detachments of Wallenstein’s army had been in the neighborhood of Cüstrin in 1627. Several of the imperial officers also had visited Cüstrin, and upon one of these occasions he was presented by Count Schoffgotsch with the cream-colored pony upon which he rode to the hunting-castle.
One day the Prince asked Leuchtmar what the appearance of these Austrian soldiers meant, and was answered that his parents wished him to refrain from asking such questions. In good time he would be told. It would be wrong for him to know now, as it would disturb his studies.
The Prince received his instruction in the so-called hunting-room of the castle. It was a handsome, lofty apartment, decorated with stag antlers, deer heads, and paintings. Many of the latter represented hunting-scenes and some were pictures of wild animals. Among them were a herd of stags in the forest, a deer family, a mountain cock with its young, a wild boar, a hare in its bed under the firs, a canny fox leaving its hole, a striped badger, an otter leaping into the water after a fish, a wild cat making a spring after a flying bird, besides various kinds of small birds—nuthatches, rollers, wood-doves, ousels, starlings, thrushes, woodpeckers, and robins. The most of these pictures were of the Netherlands School and very valuable. “Is there not a picture in this room painted by a Brandenburger?” the Prince asked of his preceptor. He answered in the negative. “Have we no famous painters in our country?” Müller silently shrugged his shoulders.
After this the Prince became deeply interested in the country which had accomplished such artistic achievements, and Leuchtmar, who had made many visits to the most famous cities of Holland, told him much about the life of its people. One day the Prince asked: “How is it that everything prospers in that country so much better than in ours?”
Much might be said about it, thought Leuchtmar, but he contented himself with this brief reply: “My Prince, the development of a nation is accomplished by individuals of gifted minds and souls. Their culture extends gradually to the whole people. The history of every nation confirms this. It is essentially the history of individuals. They bear the torch of knowledge aloft and lead the people out of darkness into the light. That nation may consider itself happy and fortunate when such persons exercise authority in the State, for they combine in themselves all the qualities necessary to the uplifting of the people. My Prince, some day you will be first in authority among your people. God grant you may be first also in the spiritual empire of our fatherland!”
The Prince in common with the pages received instruction in Latin also. One day while they were industriously engaged in translation, there was a knock at the door, and the forester entered the room. “Pardon me for interrupting you, gracious sir,” said he, “but as you told me the Prince’s noble parents wished him to participate in the hunt for the development of his strength and courage, I have come to tell you I have wounded a stag worth the hunting.”
The Prince and pages at once gathered about him eagerly inquiring, “Where? What kind of an animal? A stag or a hind?”
“In the vicinity of the Ullensee,” replied the forester. “He is a splendid animal—a stag of sixteen antlers.”
Leuchtmar hesitated, for he doubted whether it was right for him to stop the lesson. Thereupon the forester said: “It will be a long time before such an opportunity for a stag hunt offers itself again.”
That decided it. “Prepare everything that you need,” said Leuchtmar, “and we will come immediately.” The green hunting coats and plumed hats were quickly donned and the deer lances and horns were collected. They found the forester in the courtyard with a horse for the Prince. Baron Leuchtmar and three huntsmen also joined them, and they set off at once. The Prince, Leuchtmar, and the forester were mounted; the others were on foot. The hounds, which were in leash, could hardly be kept from breaking loose. In about half an hour they reached the vicinity of the Ullensee. In the forester’s opinion they would find the stag upon a hillside thickly covered with bushes. He cautioned all to be quiet, and designated a spot at the base of the hill where the Prince, Leuchtmar, and the pages should station themselves. Thereupon he went around the hill to start the stag from its cover, the hunters following with the hounds.
The Prince and Leuchtmar stopped at the foot of an oak and watched the thicket closely. Suddenly there was a crackling of bushes and at the same time a stamping, as if a horse were dashing through them. An instant after a splendid stag rushed out of the thicket and passed within ten paces of the Prince, with the swiftness of a bird. Silently and at full speed, hardly seeming to touch the ground, the hounds followed him,—Nimrod, Ajax, and Diana. Another thicket concealed both stag and hounds from his view. The hunter’s “Holla-ho-ho!” sounded, the horn blasts rang through the greenwood, and the chase began, the forester and hunters having come up with them. The wounded stag bled and every ten or twelve paces there was a drop of blood upon the moss, or grass blades, or leaves of plants. The practised huntsmen’s eyes can see such traces thirty or forty paces off, and such was the case now. The forester led the hunt. It took them up hill and down dale with many twistings and turnings. At the top of one of these hills they stopped and listened. They could not hear any barking—a sign that the stag was not yet exhausted. And so the chase was resumed. It was not an easy matter for the horses to keep to the rough course, nor was it easy for the riders, brushing back branches with one hand and using the horn with the other, to keep firmly in their saddles. The Prince’s stout, active horse flew over the course with so little difficulty that the Prince was generally either a little behind the forester or riding by his side. The latter, though reluctant to lose track of the stag, kept his eye upon him from time to time. What jewels, he thought to himself, ever flashed so brightly as those eyes? Where was there ever a face so fresh, so full of youthful ardor, or swept by such beautiful flowing hair? Leuchtmar also closely scanned his pupil, and his heart beat, not with anxiety, but with joy. The hunters now reached another hill and hesitated an instant. At that point they overlooked a part of the Ullensee. Suddenly they heard the barking of the hounds. “They have chased him to water,” said the forester. On they dashed again. As they emerged from the woods they saw the stag about two hundred paces away, standing under some alders in the sedges, evidently bent upon giving battle to the hounds. The dogs sprang at him but he kept them at bay with his horns. The Prince was for keeping on, but the forester cried “Halt! he will take to the water and then we shall have to ride clear round the lake to reach him again.” The instant the hounds saw the hunters they renewed the attack. They barked furiously and rushed at the stag. He struck at them with his horns, but they evaded his thrusts. There was a remarkable echo at this spot which magnified their barking tenfold. The Prince’s little horse shared the enthusiasm of its rider, tugged at the reins and circled about, its white foam spotting the ground. The Prince, growing impatient, exclaimed: “Let us go on, Herr Forester. What have we brought our spears for?”
“Just a moment, gracious Prince,” replied the forester, “and we will decide when to give the horn signal.”
It was given sooner than he wished. The stag was standing knee deep in the water. The signal increased the excitement of the hounds. Nimrod rushed directly at the stag, the other two dogs attacking on the left side, and sprang at his neck. Had the dog been on shore he could have moved about more effectively, but the water, which reached to his middle, impeded him. The stag impaled him on his horns and threw him to the beach, where he lay upon his back howling, his blood crimsoning the white sand.
Notwithstanding his respect for the Prince, the forester gave vent to an oath, for he took the wounding of Nimrod sadly to heart; but hardly more than the Prince himself, with whom the hound was a great favorite. The latter could be restrained no longer. Putting spurs to his horse he dashed forward with levelled spear and bending forward loudly shouted the hunting call. The courageous young pages followed him. Leuchtmar also spurred up his horse and sounded the call; but as he came up with the Prince he seized his horse’s bridle and said: “Prince, you must not do it.”
The stag had been standing motionless, but when Leuchtmar stopped the Prince, the animal retreated a little distance and then sprang ashore and began his flight anew. He ran more feebly than before and the hunters soon overtook him. Their lances whizzed past him amid the blasts of horns and shouts of the hunters, and the Prince also hurled his lances, but with no more success than had attended the efforts of his companions. On they went, while the two hunters picked up the lances. Suddenly the stag ran against an oak which, although it was as large round as a man’s body, trembled to its very top. The impact was so strong that the stag’s neck was broken and it fell to the ground dead.