A travelling coach and six horses thundered into Stuttgart, driven at a hand gallop, and raised clouds of white dust as it passed down the Graben. An escort of Silver Guards rode with this coach. One of the soldiers' horses knocked over a child playing in the roadway, but the cavalcade passed on unheeding, leaving the little crushed figure lying limp and still in the dust.

The coach drew up at the JÄgerhaus, where the doors stood wide open, disclosing a company of servants drawn up in solemn line. Two sentries were posted at either side of the entrance. A black-clad major-domo bowed on the threshold, while half a dozen lackeys sprang forward to receive the tall woman who was slowly descending from the coach. Madame la Comtesse de WÜrben, her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin of Wirtemberg, Countess GrÄvenitz, had arrived at Stuttgart to attend to the duties connected with her invalid husband's court charge.

This exalted lady was the first personage of the court after the reigning Duchess, and his Highness had offered her apartments in the castle, but these were refused, her Excellency preferring to occupy an independent residence.

Thus it fell out that Wilhelmine returned to the JÄgerhaus towards the end of September, some four months after she had fled from Urach, and a few days since the mock marriage with WÜrben, 'ce cher Nepomuk, mon mari,' as she ironically named him to Madame de Ruth.

There had been grievous storms at Stuttgart during the days succeeding his Highness's return from hunting in the SchÖnbuch, that shooting expedition which had been but a pretext to leave Stuttgart and hurry to Schaffhausen, in order to hinder the celebration of the ceremony of Wilhelmine's marriage.

Serenissimus returned in a mood which would brook no contradiction. He announced to the GeheimrÄthe, and to the court, that it was his pleasure to revive the ancient office of Landhofmeister, and that he had conferred this, the highest charge of his court, upon a Bohemian nobleman of the name of WÜrben, but that this gentleman being seriously indisposed, his lady-wife had undertaken to fulfil the various duties of Landhofmeisterin, and would reside at the JÄgerhaus. Private information came to the astonished GeheimrÄthe that this new evil was but the old poison with a new label; that this Countess WÜrben was the hated GrÄvenitzin. Bitterly they regretted their refusal of the two hundred thousand gulden, but it was too late now.

To Johanna Elizabetha this announcement was made by his Highness in person and with cruel frankness. She was told that she had refused a life of ease and peace, leaving his Highness to enjoy a happiness which she herself could never have provided, and that he took this way to save himself from despair, for without Wilhelmine he would not, nay, could not, live.

'You must abide by this, Madame, and if you are peaceably disposed, and behave with becoming consideration to her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin, it will be possible for you to remain in Stuttgart,' he told her.

Her Highness made no reply to this surprising speech, but immediately wrote to Stetten, imploring the Duchess-mother to come and put order into the family affairs. The dear lady arrived in high dudgeon, and according to her custom stated her opinion to Eberhard Ludwig in words he could not misunderstand. But in vain, and it was a very crestfallen, angry old lady who drove back through the fields to Stetten.

The court was in a quandary, in comparison to which the former perplexities in regard to the GrÄvenitzin were mere bagatelles. If they refused to go to court festivities where the Landhofmeisterin, after the Duchess, held the first rank, they would risk being excluded from court perhaps for years. Again, who knew how soon the favourite might fall into disgrace, or be banished once more by some unexpected event? There was much talk and fervid declarations of noble sentiments, loyalty to the Duchess, love of purity, and the rest; but when Wilhelmine invited the entire court to visit her at the JÄgerhaus, on the occasion of a grand evening rout, it was noticeable that those few who did not appear sent copious excuses, pretending illness, and adding almost medical descriptions of their ailments, so anxious were they that Wilhelmine should believe them to be really indisposed! Already it was considered dangerous to offend the GrÄvenitzin, as they still called the Countess of WÜrben, her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin, but to her face she was 'your Excellency,' and they paid her great court.

Naturally the Duchess Johanna Elizabetha held aloof, but she knew she must one day meet her rival face to face, one day take part in a court festivity where the woman would be only second in formal rank, in reality the first in the estimation of all.

The winter days grew short and dark, and Christmas approached. Christmas rejoicings with this sinful woman queening it at masque and dance! Even from informal family gatherings the Landhofmeisterin, as first lady in the land, could not be excluded.

'Dear and honoured Madame my Mother,' Johanna Elizabetha wrote, 'I have to meet this woman again. Let the first encounter not be before the world. I will invite her to our Christmas tree. Come you too, dear Madame my Mother, even if there is snow on the ground, to help your unhappy daughter, Johanna Elizabetha.' Thus she wrote to the formidable dame at Stetten.

It must be conceded that for the favourite this family gathering to which she was bidden presented disagreeable prospects of extreme difficulty, and she craved Eberhard Ludwig to permit her to decline the honour, but Serenissimus implored her to consent. It would be unwise to rebuff the Duchess's overture, and after all, possibly it was her Highness's intention to live peaceably with her husband's mistress. Other ladies had done so. He quoted history and recent events: Louis xiv., Louise de la ValliÈre, and Marie ThÉrÈse of France, and so on. Also he represented to her that the first meeting with Johanna Elizabetha would be a trifle awkward with the whole court agape, so perhaps this private family gathering was an excellent opportunity; besides, as Landhofmeisterin, it was correct she should be included in the Petit Cercle.

She mocked at the homely custom of the Christmas tree, calling it unfitting for a grand seigneur's household to indulge in such old-fashioned peasant-like rejoicings.

'Can you dream of such a festivity at Versailles?' she asked, laughing.

He told her that his mother clung to the habit. It was an ancient German custom thus to celebrate the Birth of Christ.

'I love the notion, too, that in all my villages the peasants can have the same as I have, for once, poor souls!' he added simply.

'Eberhard, you are ridiculous!—yes, a ridiculous poet-fellow. But I will come to your peasant celebration, if it pleases you.' She was touched by this gentle saying of his.

And thus it fell out that on Christmas eve Wilhelmine ordered her coach to convey her to the castle. She drove through the snow in no happy frame of mind. Christmas trees and the favourite!—could anything be more incongruous? and she knew it. Angrily she sneered at the simple homeliness of the old German custom. Peasants could do these absurdities, but the Duchess of Wirtemberg?

In the long room where the madrigals had been sung on that well-remembered evening when Wilhelmine was installed lady-in-waiting to her Highness, a tall fir-tree was planted in a gilded barrel. A thousand twinkling lights burned on the branches, and little trinkets dangled temptingly. Overhead, on the topmost branch, the waxen Christmas angel with tinsel wings hovered over this family gathering. Symbol of peace and goodwill, this angel would look down pitifully on the men and women round the Christmas tree, whose hearts were full of bitterness, of envy and hatred! Lackeys were fastening candles on to the branches, and Johanna Elizabetha and Madame de Stafforth were hanging up trinkets and playthings for the Erbprinz.

The Duchess-mother entered. She glanced round the room. 'Has the enemy not arrived?' she said humorously.

Johanna Elizabetha sighed.

'No, she has not come yet. It is hard she should spoil our Christmas Eve; but it is better than meeting her for the first time as Landhofmeisterin with all her friends to stare at me.'

'She will not enjoy her evening, my dear,' returned the Duchess-mother, with a grim smile.

At this moment Eberhard Ludwig entered, leading the Erbprinz by the hand. He sometimes endeavoured to be a kind father, but it was no easy matter for him. The Duchess-mother's face softened as she greeted her son, and bent to kiss the little boy, who scarcely responded to the old lady's embrace. His shining, excited eyes were fixed upon the Christmas tree, and snatching his hand from the Duke's grasp, he began to dance round in frantic childish rapture. Johanna Elizabetha forgot her troubles watching her son's joy, and she commenced cutting off the playthings for him.

'It were fitting to await our guest's arrival, Madame, before you strip the tree,' said the Duke coldly.

'Nonsense!' interrupted the Duchess-mother, 'surely Elizabetha can give her child the playthings if she wishes to?'

'Her Excellency the Landhofmeisterin!' announced a page, throwing open the door, and Wilhelmine appeared on the threshold.

His Highness hurried forward to greet her, while Johanna Elizabetha instinctively drew nearer to the Duchess-mother, catching the Erbprinz by the arm.

Wilhelmine bent low in an elaborate courtesy. Her Highness held out her hand shyly for her rival to kiss. The Duchess-mother watched the comedy for an instant, then turning to the Duke who stood behind Wilhelmine, nervously fingering his rapier-hilt, she said:

'Serenissimus will have the kindness to present to me the Landhofmeisterin, as I have not the pleasure to know her.'

'Madame, my mother permits me—This is Madame la Comtesse de WÜrben, Landhofmeisterin,' he stammered, and the Duchess-mother threw him a contemptuous glance.

'Ah, Madame de WÜrben! how sad it must be for you to be obliged to leave your husband in Bohemia,' she said. 'Have you good news of him now? I am so interested in illness. Tell me exactly what ails poor Count WÜrben.'

Wilhelmine stared at this formidable dame in consternation. WÜrben's fictitious ailments were difficult to name.

'He suffered—from—from—smallpox some years ago, your Highness, and has never recovered his health,' she said haltingly.

'Ah! smallpox; yes, indeed, a terrible malady, and but too common. Did your husband contract it at the same time as you did, Madame? I see you must have been a great sufferer,' said the Duchess-mother, fixing her sharp brown eyes on the few hardly distinguishable pockmarks on Wilhelmine's face. The favourite flushed.

'I was not married to Monsieur de WÜrben at that time, your Highness,' she answered.

'Oh, indeed! Madame, forgive me; I did not know how long you had been married. Have you any children, Madame de WÜrben? No? Ah, a sad pity! The little ones would doubtless have been a consolation to you while you are forced to be absent from your husband; but perhaps we may have the pleasure of seeing Monsieur de WÜrben in Stuttgart before long?'

'I do not know, your Highness,' said Wilhelmine shortly. Each word the Duchess-mother spoke cut her to the quick, and she hated the tall, gaunt old lady as even she had never hated before.

'Well, I hope for you sake, Madame, your husband will be able to reside here soon. It is hard for a young woman to be alone. And besides, really you should pray for a son to succeed to the WÜrben family honours. I used to know a Count WÜrben at Vienna many years ago. A Count Nepomuk WÜrben—'Nepi,' they called him—perhaps an uncle of your husband's?'

'That is my husband's name, your Highness,' replied Wilhelmine in a toneless voice.

'Impossible! Why, the man I mean will be sixty years old by now, and he disgraced himself and squandered a fortune. No; that man cannot be your husband, dear Madame! I heard he had made a fearful marriage—some adventuress who had amassed money and wished for an old and honourable name. It interests me much; pray ask your husband if that WÜrben was a cousin of his. A disagreeable subject though, for, of course, no nobleman would care to own so vile a person as cousin.'

Wilhelmine threw up her head proudly. 'Your Highness, Count Nepomuk WÜrben is my husband, and I must request you not to criticise him in my presence.'

Her spirit pleased the Duchess-mother, who replied in a different tone: 'That then, Madame, is your misfortune. We will not mention it again.'

Eberhard Ludwig during this painful scene stood in embarrassed, angry silence. He durst not interfere, for knowing his mother's character, he was well aware that any intervention on his part would only draw down upon Wilhelmine a flood of free-spoken remarks.

Meanwhile the other members of her Highness's intimate circle had entered from a small withdrawing-room, leading out of the larger apartment.

The Stafforths, Madame de Gemmingen, a young gentleman of the household, Monsieur de RÖder, and the Erbprinz's governor, Monsieur le Baron de Walchingen, his tutor, and various other unimportant persons. The Duke's mother and Wilhelmine stood together in the centre of this group. The older woman wore the sombre garb of a widow's mourning, which she had never put off since Duke Wilhelm Ludwig's death thirty years ago.

Wilhelmine was dressed, as usual, in delicate yellow brocade with profusely powdered hair and flashing jewels. They made a striking contrast—sober sadness and old age, radiant youth and brilliant, lavish joy. And near by was Johanna Elizabetha, clad in dull, unnoticeable garments of grey blue silk. To Eberhard Ludwig the group was symbolic of his life's history, and he sighed heavily as he turned to greet Madame de Stafforth.

The Erbprinz, attracted by Wilhelmine's beautiful face and bright clothes, had begged a paper flower from the Christmas tree and offered it to her. Partly because she loved to tease children, partly because the child's talk made a diversion from the Duchess-mother's acid remarks, Wilhelmine began bantering with the little boy, telling him the wildest tales, witty absurdities, sheer delightful fooling. The Erbprinz, accustomed to Johanna Elizabetha's prim stories always adorned with obvious moral endings, acclaimed Wilhelmine's phantasies with enthusiastic cries, begging her to tell him more. He was fascinated, half-afraid, puzzled, excited. Johanna Elizabetha watched this pair with jealous, disapproving eyes, and several times called the child away; but he shook his head, and holding on to Wilhelmine's gown looked up into her face in rapturous enjoyment and admiration of this beautiful new being and her wonderful stories. At length her Highness could bear it no longer. She approached the strangely assorted couple, and drawing the Erbprinz to her she tried to fix his attention upon the burning candles and glittering toys on the tree. But the boy pushed her from him; he wanted to hear the lovely lady's stories; they were much finer than any his mother ever told him, he said. Johanna Elizabetha could stay and listen too, if she liked, but she must not interrupt, he commanded. He struggled from his mother's encircling arm and, drawing near the favourite, he leaned his head against her, nestling close. Wilhelmine, really touched by the child's confiding ways, bent down to him and slipped her arm round his shoulders.

At this moment the Duchess-mother turning, saw the unexpected sight of her grandson in the embrace of the GrÄvenitz. She looked at them with stern disapproval. The Erbprinz lifted his hand and stroked Wilhelmine's face. This was too much for Johanna Elizabetha. She sprang forward like a tigress defending her young, and snatched the boy away from Wilhelmine. Immediately the delicate, over-excitable child set up a wailing cry; he wanted to stay with the lovely lady who told such diverting stories, he said. Johanna Elizabetha in vain endeavoured to soothe him. Now the Duchess-mother bore down on the group and commenced rating the child for his disobedience. Johanna Elizabetha, emboldened by the old lady's approach, turned fiercely upon Wilhelmine. 'You have frightened my boy with your horrible stories!' she cried, and dragged the wailing Erbprinz towards the door; but he resisted manfully, crying that he would stay with the lovely lady. His granddame caught him, and bestowed a ringing box on his ear. The child raised a very tempest of sobs, and flinging off his mother's arm, fled howling towards Wilhelmine. Johanna Elizabetha, beyond herself with anger and disgust, horrified at the notion of the child being brought into contact with the woman she regarded as debased, rushed forward and, pulling the child violently away, she cried wildly—

'Do not touch her; it is not fitting!'

Eberhard Ludwig, who had been conscientiously conversing with the few guests, hurried up.

'What is this?' he asked angrily. 'Madame, why does your son howl like a beggar's brat?'

The Duchess-mother came forward. 'A sorry spectacle, indeed,' she said grimly. 'The Landhofmeisterin, not being used to children, has frightened the Erbprinz.'

'Monseigneur,' broke in Wilhelmine, white to the lips, 'I crave permission to depart at once. I am not well.'

'Not well, Madame?' cried the Duke in an anxious tone; 'let me escort you immediately to your coach.'

Wilhelmine bowed to the two Duchesses, but her salute remained unacknowledged.

A petty social annoyance, a commonplace occurrence of disagreeable import, a moment's pique, have often brought about historic changes, the real cause whereof lies deep in the secret working of men's hearts and can only be understood by each one to himself. Thus in Wirtemberg's eighteenth-century record, the homely, unpleasant, trifling scene on Christmas Eve wrought a change in the history, destined to influence the affairs of the country for many years.

The GrÄvenitz returned to the JÄgerhaus profoundly humiliated, deeply wounded. The Duchess-mother's remarks had been embarrassing and painful; each word as a finger of scorn pointed at that disgraceful bargain with WÜrben, at the recollection whereof Wilhelmine winced. But when Johanna Elizabetha snatched the Erbprinz away from her as though her very touch was contamination for the child, her whole being had shuddered with the ignominy. She knew herself to be accounted vile, one of the outcasts from whose proximity every virtuous woman must shrink and instinctively seek to protect all she loves, all she esteems pure. There is a terrible anguish to the outcast woman in this withdrawal from her of a child. Suddenly, she learns to measure her shame with a new gauge: by the lofty instinct of a mother's reverence for her child's fair innocence. Then the pariah realises that she is thrust beyond the pale of human purity. She has chosen the black mud of vice as her portion, and her presence reeks; she is tainted, and may not approach the pure.

If in the stillness of that Christmas night Wilhelmine, realising this, agonised, as countless women have realised and suffered, the next morning she showed no sign of the night's anguish. Unless her mood of unrelenting decision was the outcome thereof.

She had decided to present to Eberhard Ludwig two alternatives: either Johanna Elizabetha must retire to a dower-house, leaving the favourite mistress of Stuttgart, or the court of Wirtemberg must follow their Duke and the Landhofmeisterin to TÜbingen, Urach, or wherever it suited her to direct, leaving the Duchess in a mournful, deserted Stuttgart.

In any case, it must be provided that no possibility should exist of an humiliation such as she had suffered on the preceding evening. And as she intended to remain at the head of Wirtemberg's court, it was imperative Johanna Elizabetha should be removed. Murder no longer being politic—the Emperor had frightened the GrÄvenitz off that track—it remained to devise some other scheme whereby the Duchess could be rendered unobnoxious.

Upon Eberhard Ludwig's arrival at the JÄgerhaus, he was immediately informed of his mistress's decision. Again a small event precipitated the formation of an important plan. Johanna Elizabetha had wept incessantly during the Christmas Eve supper, and the Duchess-mother's sharp tongue had rasped the Duke's irritable nerves till he had lost control of his temper and had roughly bidden his wife and mother to leave him in peace. There had followed a painful scene. Thus his Highness was well disposed towards any scheme which would release him from his inharmonious family circle. Yet he hesitated to acquiesce in the daring project of the entire removal from Stuttgart of court and government. Wirtemberg had been governed at Stuttgart, and the chief ducal residence had been there since the twelfth century. As to Johanna Elizabetha's retirement to a dower-house he reminded Wilhelmine that the proposal had been made, and that the Duchess's answer was decisive: so long as she did not mourn her husband's death she would remain in residence at Stuttgart's castle. The Duke added that he had no power to force her to leave.

Serenissimus and the Landhofmeisterin were together in the famous yellow damask room of the JÄgerhaus. The blue-tiled stove radiated a pleasant warmth, and from the windows the lovers could see the snow-covered Graben, the main thoroughfare of the town. The cheerful jingle of sleigh-bells rang out as the peasants' sledges glided over the snow. The Christmas Day service in the Leonards Kirche had ended, and the traditional dole of silver pieces had been distributed in the Duke's name, an old custom of mediÆval times.

It was one of those absolutely still winter mornings, so fraught with peace, so purified by the great white silence of snow. Something of the artificial elegance, the stilted formality of the eighteenth century with its scrupulous apeing of French airs, mannerisms, and vices, seemed to fall from the lovers in the JÄgerhaus, and for an hour they dreamed of simple natural homely peace. Alas! their dream was of such a life together. Like most dreams it was based on an impossibility.

A peasant couple in a sledge passed the window. The man, a sturdy, thick-set figure in the Wirtemberg peasant's short, well-fitting, dark-blue coat, adorned with rows of round knob silver buttons. He wore a peaked fur cap drawn down over the ears. The woman was in a thick blue frieze cape and elaborate Sunday headdress. She had slipped her hand through her husband's arm and they were talking gaily together. Eberhard Ludwig pointed towards them and a sigh escaped his lips. 'There is the peace of two loving hearts. They are happier than we, for their love is duty, their duty love,' he said sadly.

'Alas!' she answered; but she knew that for her such peace was not, and that she would not have wished for it; yet a regret smote her, a yearning to be all she was not. And with this pang came the bitter recollection of her painful humiliation. Her face hardened. 'That happiness is only possible in the protection of the strong,' she said. 'Do you think yonder peasant would suffer his beloved to be scorned, to be insulted? The Duke of Wirtemberg alone cannot protect the woman he loves.'

Eberhard Ludwig drew back from her.

'How cruel you are, dear heart,' he said, and a great sadness lay in his voice. She told him that the truth was often cruel to hear; that she but spoke these things because he let himself drift into weak conniving at the intrigues of Johanna Elizabetha. Then she recounted the petty spite and the thousand taunts to which she was subjected. She painted Stuttgart in sombre colours, the dullness, the stiffness. Why should Wirtemberg be the least brilliant, least gay, of all the German courts? She talked of Berlin and the splendours of the newly made King Frederick i. Of Dresden with the Elector-King of Poland, Augustus the Strong; of his splendid residence, the Zwinger, which, like an enchanted palace, had been built in so short a span, and to whose marvels each day was added a wonderful chamber, a gilded dome, or a fair work of art.

Why should not peace and happiness reign in Wirtemberg with splendour and gaiety? Why should not a gracious palace rise to rival even the glories of Versailles? She drew the picture with sure strokes, each word an added colour in the vision of a life of tranquil yet brilliant ease and distinguished magnificence.

Eberhard Ludwig, caught by the flame of her eloquence, flared into enthusiasm, and they fell to discussing which town or castle should be the chosen spot for their new court. Urach, TÜbingen, Wildbad, all were reviewed. They spoke no longer of whether the great flitting should take place; it was now merely a question of where and how it should be accomplished. From which it may be seen that Wilhelmine, as usual, had won the day.