Chapter VIII: Charlie's Visitor

The carriage deposited Charlie Pierrepont at an hotel in Aix-la-Chapelle, where he meant to remain for a little to make some attempt to see Ernestine once more--to arrange, if possible, about their future correspondence, and then to rejoin the Thuringians.

The dawn stole in over the city, and the Rhine began to glitter in light--the dawn of that day on which the Baron Grünthal was to return to Frankenburg, and 'the final arrangements' were to be made. What would they be?

Five o'clock tolled from the great bell of the Dom Kirche. But five hours since she had been in his arms, with her head resting on his breast; how long it seemed ago; what storm of alarm, bitterness, and mortification had agitated his heart since then! The bell of the Dom Kirche brought instantly back to memory that day in the stair of the Hoch Munster, when the returned pressure of her little hand, though ever so lightly, nearly put him beside himself with joy, and lured him to divulge the great secret of his heart.

So all their stolen glances and sweet daily intercourse were at an end now; all the quaint weird stories that she had been wont to tell him in their rides and rambles, of sprites and elves, of lurlies and knights, who had loved and been drawn thus into peril, all their mutual songs and music, would never come again!

Too probably their paths on earth might lie for ever apart. A chasm separated the past from the present; still more did it seem to yawn between the present and the future; so Charlie could but wring his hands, and wish, at times, that Heinrich had never brought him to Frankenburg.

Ah, those lovely eyes that were ever varying in expression, now dreamy and tender, and anon bright with mischief, or soft with inexpressible love; the pouting rosebud lips, that were so firm and delicately cut; the skin, smooth as satin; the hands, of velvet: the pinky tint on the rounded cheek; the winning ways and the quaint sayings of Ernestine--were they all, indeed, to be as things of the past to him? It was intolerable!

They would be all as air-drawn pictures--nothing more. To Pierrepont, it seemed as if all the brightness had gone out of his life; or, as if half that life had left him. Would time ever cure this, or must it be war or death? God alone knew! In his sorrow for the loss he had sustained, and for the terrible emotions which he knew she would be feeling--torn from him on one hand, and menaced by a hateful marriage on the other--he could almost have wept, and perhaps would have done so, but for a glow of wrath and indignation, at the manner in which the imperious Countess had treated him.

He had been bluntly turned out of the house! That was what the termination of his visit plainly amounted to. Charlie felt that his epaulettes had been insulted, and his native English pride revolted at the idea. He felt his blood boiling at times, but against whom? It could not be against the father or the mother of her he loved so tenderly. Oh no! for surely they would relent in time, on seeing how deep and tender was his passion for their daughter.

'_How_ would it all end?' he asked of himself a hundred times.

The day without was bright and sunny, but to Charlie Pierrepont it seemed as if the hours stole dully, darkly, and drearily on. The guests in the Speise-saal were numerous and noisy. Their voices irritated him; and often he started to his feet with the intention of vaguely proceeding to the vicinity of Frankenburg, and as frequently relinquished the idea; for he dreaded lest he should meet the Baron, and be tempted into the commission of some wild outrage.

With much of the same gloom that Herminia had in her mind, when, from the windows of the Grand Hotel, on the evening our story opens, she looked dreamily down on Cologne, on city, church, and river, did Charlie, from a balcony of his hotel, opposite the new theatre, look down upon the strasse that leads to Borcette, and the crowded boulevard that now occupies the place of a levelled ditch and rampart, and is prettily laid out with pine trees, and many tiny sheets of water.

Dinner was set before him under the awning which shaded the balcony, and there was a bottle of hock. Yes; he had ordered the kellner, mechanically, to serve it up; but the dinner remained untasted, though the hock was drained in draughts, as if to drown the ever-recurring thoughts--would he never again see that sweet girl whose witcheries were entwined around his heart? should he never more look into her eyes, whose tender glances were magnetic; never feel on his lips those clinging kisses, while he pressed her hand to his breast?

Near him, under an awning in front of the hotel, seated on hard wooden stools, at a bare deal table, were some poor Handwerks-Burschen, or travelling workmen, in blue blouses and wooden sabots, smoking, drinking beer, and making merry with their wives or sweethearts, and singing--

'Draw the social chair yet closer;
Vow by this full draught of mirth,
That all evil is forgiven,
Hell is banished from our earth.'

It was Schiller's beautiful 'Song of Joy' they were singing to the clanking accompaniment of their cans and wooden shoes. How happy those humble fellows seemed; and how much he envied them!

But Charlie was roused from his reverie by the Oberkellner announcing--

'Der Graf von Frankenburg.'

'Which?' asked Charlie, starting; 'Count Ulrich?'

'No, mein Herr--Count Heinrich.'

'Very good--show him up.'

Charlie would rather that the old father of Ernestine had come than her brother, whose errand would no doubt be a hostile one. That Heinrich, his friend and comrade, came on such an errand seemed horrible and unnatural. The wild justice of the pistol, as some one has named it, was ceasing to be appreciated even in Germany. The time had gone past when the pistols of skilled homicides were notched as registers of the lives they had taken, or had cards attached to them, with the names of the slain, the date and the place of meeting, and the distance of fighting, all neatly written thereon.

Let Heinrich taunt him how he would, a duel must not take place. 'In the battle-field,' thought Charlie, 'I shall cheerfully meet death, front to front and face to face; but I shall not carry there the mark of Cain, by perhaps shooting the brother of her I love--my brother in the spirit.'

Charlie forgot that in the Heilinghaist-feld at Altona he had fought a duel for that brother, and winged an officer of the King's Grenadiers; and he was just remembering that if hostilities were contemplated, a messenger would have been sent by Heinrich, when the latter entered the room, and coming quickly forward to Charlie, grasped both his hands with his usual frankness.

'Well, Sir Knight of the Rueful Countenance--' he was beginning, when Charlie said--

'How can you jest, Heinrich, at a time like this?'

'I do not jest; but have come, in defiance of all family views and prejudices, to cheer you, and have some conversation over this wretched affair. Poor Ernestine! I wish you and she had taken me into your confidence. By our past and present friendship, I surely merited that from you, at least.'

'A bottle of wine, Heinrich?

'Thanks--I have just galloped in from the Schloss, and had some difficulty in finding your quarters.'

'There are cigars, and here is an easy-chair. I am thankful you did not come on a hostile visit. To decline would have been disgraceful, to accept might have been fratricide; but I should have fired in the air.'

'What stuff you are talking!' said Heinrich, as he manipulated and lit a cigar, while the waiter was pouring out the wine.

'Now let us talk,' said he, when the latter had withdrawn.

'And how are the ladies this evening?' asked Charlie, trying, with a swelling heart, to talk common sense.

'As you may suppose, the Grafine, my mother, is in a furious pet; and I knew nothing about your sudden departure till I found your place vacant at the breakfast table.'

'And--and your sister, Heinrich?'

'Has been all day fretting in her room.'

'And the Grafine Herminia?'

'With her. I saw Herminia for a little time to-day, and she desired me to assure you of her fullest sympathy.'

'God bless her!' exclaimed he, whilst his eyes became moist.

'The poor little thing endured too much, when she believed me to be Herr Mansfeld, and knew me not in my proper person, to be without due sympathy for all afflicted lovers.'

'You do not speak of the Herr Graf.'

'Oh, he is inexorable!'

'And our infernal Baron--no doubt he was at Frankenburg to-day, hoping to play the lover,' said Charlie viciously.

'He was not.'

'How so?'

'His Excellency has a violent fit of the gout!'

'Long may it continue!' said Charlie fervently.

'Amen!' added Heinrich, lying back in his chair and laughing heartily; 'the idea of an adoring swain having an ailment so unromantic! And now for the object of my visit. I have simply come to apologize for all that has occurred at the Schloss; but I might have foreseen it, had my own affairs not occupied too much of my attention. Ernestine is too enchanting a girl to have failed to attract. What is done cannot be undone. I do love you, Carl, and deplore all that has taken place.'

The two friends shook hands warmly. With Charlie, his comrade, brother officer, and most particular 'chum,' was now the link between him and Ernestine--between him and Frankenburg--the Eden from which he had been banished, and without his Eve. How he loved the generous fellow! How gladly he would lay down his life for him; but in doing so, he would leave Ernestine, and, perhaps, to another. Another? Oh! that was not to be thought of! Heinrich began again--

'Herminia says that Ernestine has never closed an eye since last night, which I am sorry to say, because if troubles can be slept upon they are curable. However, don't be alarmed about Ernestine,' he added, laughing, 'she's very low and sad, no doubt; but there is no chance of her drowning herself in Fastrada's pool below the Schloss--that odious pond where I used to puddle for many a day with a crooked pin and a string, catching many a cold, but never a fish.'

'Why, Heinrich?'

'For a very sufficient reason. There was none in it.'

'Do you think your mother will ever forgive me?

'Heaven alone knows. Time will show. She has the most absurd ideas concerning alliances and family rank. As for my father, he storms and gets into rages that I call apoplectic ones; but he'll sit in his study among the saddles, dogs' collars, and so forth, and smoke himself into quietude ere long. He is a wonderful hale and hearty old fellow for his great age; but he married late in life, and has only had a silver wedding, when his comrade, old Field-Marshal Wrangel, has had a golden one. And, then, you are a soldier, Carl--and to be a soldier is always a trump card with him. You have heard how he saved Blucher's life at Ligny?'

'Only vaguely.'

'It is a matter of history: Prussian history, at least; and was one of those impulses, or inspirations, which, if not acted on instantly, may never come again. It was at Ligny where the Prussians and French were engaged on the 16th of June, on that dreadful day of tempest; rain, and wind, when the British were retreating from Quatre Bras to their position at Waterloo. Victory was evidently declaring for the Emperor, when Blucher strove to arrest his success by consecutive charges of cavalry. In person he led on a regiment of Hussars, who were repulsed; his horse fell beneath him wounded, and the great Marshal could not be extricated, and the enemy were pressing on! The last of his flying Hussars had left the brave old man, who lay helpless on the ground; but his aide-de-camp, the Count, my father, resolving to share his fate, flung himself by Blucher's side, and covered him with his horse-cloak that he might not be recognised. Over them swept a brigade of Brass Cuirassiers, so named from the metal of their helmets and corslets. The routed Hussars rallied suddenly, wheeled about, and attacked their pursuers, and again passed their fallen leader, and the old Graf--a young Graf, then--in their pursuit of the French, whom they routed. My father instantly seized the opportunity. He dragged Blucher from under the fallen charger, mounted him on a dragoon horse, and thus saved his life!'

While Heinrich, with something of exultation, was detailing this episode of the Count's early life, the thoughts of Carl were very far away from the events of Ligny and Waterloo.

'Next week will see us on the march for France,' said he, 'and I may cross the purposes of your family and the path of Ernestine no more! You, Heinrich, who are so successful and so happy in your love, might surely pity us.'

'I do, Carl. A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.'

'Arrange for me,' continued Charlie, with great earnestness, 'that Ernestine and I may have one more interview. Our last farewell--our separation, was so cruelly abrupt.'

'A meeting! When and where?'

'When and where you choose. See her once again, I must at all hazards; and you alone can arrange this for me. Dear friend, don't deny us this last melancholy pleasure!'

'Where, then, think you?'

'Settle that with my darling; and may God bless you, Heinrich!' said Charlie, in a choking voice, as he patted his friend on the epaulette.

'I shall write you to-night, to-morrow at the latest; for we must not lose time while the Baron's gout lasts.'

And Heinrich ordered his horse and departed, leaving Charlie Pierrepont in a more contented mood of mind than he had been in since he left the boudoir of the Countess.

So he should _see_ her once again!