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Updated: June 12, 2025
"What sort of pledge does your excellency mean?" inquired Nietzel anxiously. "Why, I mean the fair Rebecca, whom you brought with you from the Ghetto of Venice, and whom it pleases you here to give out to be your wife, married at Venice.
All this must, indeed, be risked; then Master Gabriel Nietzel must nevertheless still go to The Hague; only I shall give him other instructions, and he will have a wholly different errand to fulfill. Yes, yes, it shall be so; I shall have him summoned directly." He had already stretched out his hand for the whistle, when the outer door opened, and the valet entered. "Pardon, your excellency.
But Nietzel sprang past him, and already stood before the door, confronting him again! As he saw the dagger glitter in the air, he remembered, with the rapidity of thought, the instant when he had stood before Rebecca, with the drawn dagger in his hand. She had cried "Mercy! mercy!" He wanted to cry so, too, but could not!
"Not until the day after to-morrow will Marwitz set out on his journey," said Count Schwarzenberg contentedly to himself, when he had left the Elector, and was once more alone in his own cabinet. "Not until the day after to-morrow! So Gabriel Nietzel will have three days the start of him, and, moreover, he can travel more rapidly.
The count's voice aroused him from his stupefaction. "Now, Master Nietzel, come here, for from this point you can best survey the pictures, and judge of their merits." Nietzel advanced with long strides, breathless from expectation, blissful in hope. Now he stood at the count's side, and lifted his eyes to the pictures. With one rapid glance he swept the whole wall.
Count Schwarzenberg had risen from his chair and given the rash chamberlain a look of displeasure. Yet he felt so embarrassed by his own anxiety that he dared not call him. "Gabriel Nietzel! Gabriel Nietzel!" rang ever in his ears, frightening away all other sounds, until they seemed to reach him only as dim and hollow echoes from afar.
"It is my future fate that is about to enter," he murmured. "Ah, there he is! There is Gabriel Nietzel!" And in his vehement agitation he rushed forward a few steps to meet the painter, whom he saw approaching through the entrance hall. But forcibly constraining himself to an appearance of moderation and reserve, he stood still and assumed a calm, unimpassioned expression.
It was a mere act of self-defense to put him out of the way. If it miscarries, I am lost, for I shall not soon have courage for a second attempt. I am a coward in this young man's presence, I am afraid of him! He is my fate, my evil fate! And I can not avert it, can undertake nothing more. I lack a tool. Oh, what a blockhead I was to dismiss Nietzel!
I swear to you that I will make good what I missed, that I " "I do not believe your oaths, Gabriel Nietzel," interposed the count. "You are liberal with your oaths and promises, but come short in deeds, in performances. Nobody will pay for a picture before he has seen it, or at least a sketch of the same. Therefore take yourself off, devise a plan, sketch your outline, and bring it to me.
"Tell the count, that I expect him with impatience," cried the father. The valet hurried out, and Gabriel Nietzel was in the act of following him, when Schwarzenberg called him back. "Do not go out that way now," he said; "my son is coming, and it is not worth while for him to see you. Go through yonder door.
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