Amelia B. Edwards

“ Spring warmed, and ripened, and blossomed into Summer. Gardens and terraces were ablaze once more with many-coloured flowers; fountains played and sparkled in the sunshine; and travellers bound for Cologne or Bonn put up again at Brühl in the midst of the day's journey, to bait their horses and see the Château on their way. ”

“ It was a gloomy afternoon—one of those dun-coloured afternoons that seem all the more dismal for coming in the midst of Spring. I had been out of the way somewhere (wandering to and fro, I believe, like a dreary little ghost, among the grim galleries of the state apartments) , and was going home at dusk to be in readiness for my father, who always came in after the afternoon parade. Coming up the passage out of which our rooms opened, I heard voices—my father's and another. ”

“ My father is gone, and his door stands wide open. We turn to the stairs, and a cold wind rushes up in our faces. We go down, and find the side-door that leads to the courtyard unfastened and ajar. There is not a soul in the courtyard. There is not the faintest glimmer of light from the guard-house windows. The sentry who walks perpetually to and fro in front of the gate is not at his post ”

“ I exclaimed, “who was the brown man that stood behind your chair last night, and what has become of him?”
Monsieur Maurice turned his face away.
“My dear little Gretchen,” he said, hastily, “there was no brown man. He existed in your imagination only.”
“But I saw him!”
“You fancied you saw him. The room was dark. You were half asleep in the easy chair—half asleep, and half dreaming.”
“But Hartmann saw him!”
“A wicked man fears his own shadow,” said Monsieur Maurice, gravely. “Hartmann saw nothing but the reflection of his crime upon the mirror of his conscience.” ”

“ He has permission to walk in the grounds twice a week—with a sentry at his heels; but of that permission he sternly refuses to take advantage. It was not wonderful that he preferred his fireside and his books, while the sleet, and snow, and bitter east winds lasted; but it seems too cruel that he should stay there now, cutting himself off from all the warmth and sweetness of the opening season. In vain I come to him with my hands full of dewy crocuses. In vain I hang about him, pleading for just a turn or two on the terrace where the sunshine falls hottest. ”

“ I learned to skate with my father on the frozen ponds. I was never weary of admiring the wintry landscape—the wide plains sheeted with silver; the purple mountains peeping through brown vistas of bare forest; the nearer trees standing out in featherlike tracery against the blue-green sky. To me it was all beautiful; even more beautiful than in the radiant summertime.
Not so, however, was it with Monsieur Maurice. Racked by a severe cough and unable to leave the house for weeks together, he suffered intensely all the winter through. He suffered in body, and he suffered also in mind. ”

“ He gave me, for a farewell gift, his precious microscope and all his boxes of slides, and he parted from me with many kisses; but there was a smile on his face as he got into the carriage, and something of triumph in the very wave of his hand as he drove away.
Alas! how could it be otherwise? A prisoner freed, an exile returning to his country, how should he not be glad to go, even though one little heart should be left to ache or break in the land of the stranger?
I never saw him again; never—never—never. He wrote now and then to my father, but only for a time ”

“ He is the slave of discipline. He must walk, hold up his head, wear his hair, dress, eat, and sleep according to the will of his superiors. If he disobeys, he is flogged. If he runs away, he is shot. At the present moment, he dares not lose sight of me for his life. I have done him no wrong; yet if I try to escape, it is his duty to shoot me. What is there in my captivity to equal the slavery of his condition? I cannot, it is true, go where I please; but, at least, I am not obliged to walk up and down a certain corridor, or in front of a certain sentry-box, for so many hours a day ”

“ I exclaimed, “what are all these people about?”
“We are preparing the state apartments, dear little Fräulein,” replied Corporal Fritz, rubbing his hands with an air of great enjoyment.
“But why? For whom?”
“For whom? Why, for the King, to be sure”; and Corporal Fritz clapped his hand to the side of his hat like a loyal soldier. “Don't you know, dear little Fräulein, that His Majesty sleeps here to-night, on his way to Ehrenbreitstein?” ”

“ I urged one morning, “and you can't always be reading the same old books over and over again!”
“Some books never grow old, little Gretchen,” he replied. “This, for instance, is quite new; and yet it was written by one Horatius Flaccus somewhere about eighteen hundred years ago.”
“But the sun is really shining this morning, Monsieur Maurice!”
“Comment!” he said, smiling. “Do you think to persuade me that yonder is the sun—the great, golden, glorious, bountiful sun? No, no, my child! Where I come from, we have the only true sun, and believe in no other!” ”

“ Our way lay along a bridle-path overhanging a steep gorge on the one hand and skirting the jungle on the other. Do you know what the jungle is, little Gretchen? Fancy an untrodden wilderness where huge trees, matted together by trailing creepers of gigantic size, shut out the sun and make a green roof of inextricable shade—where the very grass grows taller than the tallest man—where apes chatter, and parrots scream, and deadly reptiles swarm; and where nature has run wild since ever the world began. Well, so we went—I on my horse; Ali at my bridle ”

“ The man is inexorable.
“No, Fräulein Gretchen,” he says, “I dare not. This is not a fit hour for you to be out. Pray go home.”
“But Gaspar, good Gaspar,” I plead, clinging to the gate with both hands, “tell me if he has escaped! Hark; oh, hark! there it is again!”
And another, and another shot rings through the still night-air.
The sentry almost stamps with impatience.
“Go home, dear little Fräulein! Go home at once,” he says. “There is danger abroad to-night. I cannot leave my post, or I would take you home myself.... Holy Saint Christopher! they are coming this way! ”

“ First came the gathering of the golden harvest; then the joyous vintage-time, when the wine-press creaked all day in every open cellar along the village street, and long files of country carts came down from the hills in the dusk evenings, laden with baskets and barrels full of white and purple grapes. And then the long avenues and all the woods of Brühl put on their Autumn robes of crimson, and flame-colour, and golden brown ”

“ Come, Gretchen, I must know what Colonel Bernhard said.”
“He said it was wrong to stay in like this week after week, and month after month. He—he said you were killing yourself by inches, Monsieur Maurice.”
Monsieur Maurice laughed a short bitter laugh.
“Killing myself!” he repeated. “Well, I hope not; for weary as I am of it, I would sooner go on bearing the burden of life than do my enemies the favour of dying out of their way.” ”

“ Worse, however, than iron bars, locked doors, and guarded corridors, was Hartmann—Herr Ludwig Hartmann, as he was styled in the despatch that announced his coming—a pale, slight, silent man, with colourless grey eyes and white eyelashes, who came direct from Berlin about a month later, to act as Monsieur Maurice's “personal attendant.” Stealthy, watchful, secret, civil, he established himself in a room adjoining the prisoner's apartment, and was as much at home in the course of a couple of hours as if he had been settled there from the first. ”

“ The King must make a gaoler of me, if it so pleases him; but not a spy. I shall seal up the papers and send them to Berlin.”
“And I shall never see my manuscript again!” said Monsieur Maurice, with a sigh. “Well—it was my first attempt at authorship—perhaps, my last—and there is an end to it!”
My father ground some new and tremendous oath between his teeth.
“I hate to take it, Monsieur Maurice,” he said. “'Tis an odious office.”
“The office alone is yours, Colonel Bernhard,” said the prisoner, with all a Frenchman's grace. “The odium rests with those who impose it on you.” ”

“ Among other significant circumstances, my father, chancing one day to see a portrait of the late minister in a shop-window at Cologne, discovered that his former visitor, the Count von Rettel, and the Baron von Bulow were one and the same person. He then understood why the King had questioned him so minutely with regard to this man's appearance, and shuddered to think how deadly that enmity must have been which could bring him in person upon so infamous an errand. ”

“ Monsieur Maurice is not like thy father—a rough German Dragoon risen from the ranks. He is a gentleman, and a Frenchman; and he hath all the polish of what the Frenchman calls the vieille école. And there again he puzzles me with his court-manners and his powdered hair! ”

“ For if I did not keep something back to tempt my little guest, she would not care to visit the solitary prisoner.”
I felt myself colour crimson.
“But—but indeed I would care to come, Monsieur Maurice, if you had nothing at all to show me,” I said, half hurt, half angry.
He gave me a strange look that I could not understand, and stroked my hair caressingly.
“Come often, then, little one,” he said. “Come very often; and when we are tired of pictures and microscopes, we will sit upon the floor, and tell sad stories of the deaths of kings.” ”

“ Saying which, he stopped in front of a ricketty-looking gilded cabinet with empty red-velvet shelves, and tapped it with his cane.
“But supposing he has no books!” suggested I, with the precocious wisdom of nine years of age.
“Then we must beg some, or borrow some, my little Mädchen,” replied my father, gravely; “for books are the main solace of the captive, and he who hath them not lies in a twofold prison.”
“He shall have my picture-book of Hartz legends!” said I, in a sudden impulse of compassion. ”

“ I said, my heart beating so that I could scarcely speak. “What is the matter?”
“May the devil make broth of my bones, if I know!” said my father, tugging savagely at his moustache.
“But there is something!”
He nodded, grimly.
“Monsieur Maurice, it seems, is not to have so much liberty,” he said, after a moment. “He is not to walk in the grounds oftener than twice a week; and then only with a soldier at his heels. And he is not to go beyond half a mile from the Château in any direction. ”

“ He shakes his head, and is immoveable.
“No, petite,” he says. “Not to-day.”
“That is just what you said yesterday, Monsieur Maurice.”
“And it is just what I shall say to-morrow, Gretchen, if you ask me again.”
“But you won't stay in for ever, Monsieur Maurice!”
“Nay—'for ever' is a big word, little Gretchen.”
“I don't believe you know how brightly the sun is shining!” I say coaxingly. “Just come to the window, and see.”
Unwillingly enough, he lets himself be dragged across the room—unwillingly he looks out upon the glittering slopes and budding avenues beyond. ”

“ As age creeps on, we all have the same tale to tell. The days of our youth are those we remember best and most fondly, and even the sorrows of that bygone time become pleasures in the retrospect. Of my own solitary childhood I retain the keenest recollection, as the following pages will show.
My father's name was Bernhard—Johann Ludwig Bernhard; and he was a native of Coblentz on the Rhine. ”

“ But Hartmann, instead of drinking it, instead of answering, threw up his hands in a wild way, and rushed out of the room.
Monsieur Maurice stood for a moment absorbed in thought; then wrote some words upon a card, and gave the card into my hand.
“For thy father, little one,” he said. “Give it to no one but himself, and give it to him the first moment thou seest him. There's matter of life and death in it.” ”

“ There was, at all events, a big old-fashioned garden full of vegetables and cottage-flowers, at the back of the house, in which I almost lived in Spring and Summer-time, and from which I managed to extract a great deal of enjoyment; while for companions and playmates I had old Karl, my aunt's gardener, a pigeon-house full of pigeons, three staid elderly cats, and a tortoise. In the way of education I fared scantily enough, learning just as little as it pleased my aunt to teach me, and having that little presented to me under its driest and most unattractive aspect. ”

“ They stopped just under the corridor window. The torchlight fell full upon their faces. Monsieur Maurice looked pale and composed; perhaps just a shade haughtier than usual. My father had his drawn sword in his hand.
“Corporal Fritz,” he said, turning to a soldier near him, “conduct the prisoner to his room, and post two sentries at his door, and one under his windows.” Then turning to Monsieur Maurice, “I thank God, Sir,” he said gravely, “that you have not paid for your imprudence with your life. I have the honour to wish you good night.” ”

“ Three berceaux of orange-trees lead straight away from the paved terrace on which the salon windows open, to another terrace overhanging the beach and the sea. The cliff is overgrown from top to bottom with shrubs and wild flowers, and a flight of steps cut in the living rock leads down to a little cove and a strip of yellow sand a hundred feet below. ”

“ I asked, running after him.
“They are for the state salon, Fräulein Gretchen,” he replied, and hurried on.
For the state salon! I ran round to the side of the grand entrance. There were soldiers putting up banners in the hall; others helping to carry furniture up stairs; carpenters with ladders; women with brooms and brushes; and Corporal Fritz bustling hither and thither, giving orders, and seeing after everything. ”

“ You appear to be the victim of a foul conspiracy, and it will be our first care to sift that conspiracy to the bottom. In the meanwhile, we restore your liberty, requiring only your parole d'honneur, as a gentleman, a soldier, and a Frenchman, to present yourself at Berlin, if summoned, at any time required within the next three months. ”

“ Hartmann being gone, the King then sent for the prisoner, and Monsieur Maurice, for the first time in many weeks, left his own rooms, and was brought round to the state-apartments. Seeing so many persons about; seeing also the flowers and flags upon the walls, he seemed surprised, but said nothing. Being brought into the royal presence, however, he appeared at once to recognise the King. He bowed profoundly, and a faint flush was seen to come into his face. He then cast a rapid glance round the room, as if to see who else was present ”

“ What has happened? What are you doing?” I asked, first of one and then of another; but they were all too busy to answer.
“Ach, lieber Gott!” said one, “I've no time for talking!”
“Don't ask me, little Fräulein,” said another. “I have eight windows to clean up yonder, and only one pair of hands to do them with!”
“If you want to know what is to do,” said a third impatiently, “you had better come and see.”
The head-gardener's son came by with two pots of magnificent geraniums, one under each arm. ”

“ I have, indeed, evidence among our private papers to show that neither by those in authority at Berlin, nor by the prisoner himself, was he at any time informed either of the family name of Monsieur Maurice, or of the nature of the offence, whether military or political, for which that gentleman was consigned to his keeping at Brühl.
“Of one thing at least I am certain,” said my father, holding out his pipe for me to fill it. “He is a soldier.” ”

“ My father laughed outright.
“Thunder and Mars!” said he, “is the case so serious? Then Monsieur Maurice, I suppose, must be allowed sometimes to see his little pet spider.”
He took me up himself next morning to the prisoner's room, and then for the first time I found a sentry in occupation of the corridor. He grounded his musket and saluted as we passed.
“I bring you a visitor, Monsieur Maurice,” said my father. ”

“ The sentry, meanwhile, took up his position against the pedestal of a mutilated statue close by, and leaned upon his musket.
Monsieur Maurice was at first very silent. Once or twice he closed his eyes, as if listening to the gentle sounds upon the air—once or twice he cast an uneasy glance in the direction of the sentry; but for a long time he scarcely moved or spoke.
At length, as if following up a train of previous thought, he said suddenly:—
“There is no liberty. There are comparative degrees of captivity, and comparative degrees of slavery ”

“ In the meanwhile I could still hear, though faintly, the noises in the rooms below; but all became quiet about five o'clock in the evening, and Monsieur Maurice, who had been told they were only cleaning the state apartments, asked no questions.
Meanwhile the afternoon waned, and the sun bent westward, and still no one came to fetch me away. My father knew where I was; Bertha was probably too busy to think about me; and I was only too glad to stay as long as Monsieur Maurice was willing to keep me. ”