The sky was as black as ink; not a star was to be seen through the
dark veil of clouds; no moon had yet risen to shed even a faint
glimmer through the heavy vapours that over spread the heaven. Woods
and hills were around, and all was darkness over the scene, except
where from a tall and extensive building, with six long pointed
windows on either side, streamed forth a red and somewhat sombre
blaze, lighting some of the larger objects in the immediate
neighbourhood: the large masses of an oak, a tall projecting rock, and
a crucifix of stone mounted on six steps. It was the chapel between
Hardenberg and Mosbach, and the hour of midnight was nearly come. On
either side of the door of the chapel stood a man-at-arms of the house
of Leiningen, with a broad battle-axe on his shoulder; and the large
door itself was thrown back, emitting the light, as well as the
windows. Within, the scene was somewhat striking. For many years the
old building had not beheld such a light, for the abbey to which it
had been formerly attached, had been suppressed about thirty years
before, on account of gross irregularities, and the revenues
attributed, part to the Bishop of Spires, and part to the Abbey of
Limburg. Doubtless it was the intention of the authorities who
performed this act of severity, that the chapel, which had been a
great convenience to the neighbouring peasantry, should be kept up,
and service performed therein; but, as in the act of suppression, it
was not distinctly specified who was to bear the expenses of its
maintenance, neither of the parties who benefited by the confiscation
had thought fit to undertake the task: the service ceased; the
building was neglected; and ruin and dilapidation was fast taking hold
of it.
Now, however, between each pair of the twelve tall columns that
supported the broken roof, stood a man with a torch in his hand, the
red glare of which poured over the grey stone-work, and showed even
the green stains that damp winter had left upon the masonry. Just
within the door stood a trumpeter with his trumpet in his hand; and at
the farther end of the chapel, with one or two of his friends and
attendants round him, his head somewhat bent, and his face thoughtful,
stood Count Frederick of Leiningen. A little farther down, gathered
together in a small knot under one of the arches, appeared four
gentlemen wrapped in long, dark mantles, but bearing on their heels
the gilded spurs of knighthood; and in various parts of the building,
two or three other figures were seen, some with their countenances
turned towards the light, some gazing forth from the windows. A number
of seats were placed in a semicircle a few yards in advance of the
spot where the altar had stood, and a small table with a lamp, some
writing materials, and an hour-glass, appeared in front of the
settles. On either hand, behind Count Frederick of Leiningen, was a
small arched doorway, leading probably into the rooms where the
priest's vestments used formerly to be kept, and above the altar was a
round window, the stained glass of which was still perfect.
As if somewhat impatient, Count Frederick twice advanced to the table,
and looked at the hour-glass, and then, turning to one of those who
were with him, he observed, "It is nearly out. Think you he will not
come?"
"I hear the sound of horses, my lord," said one of the persons who had
been standing near the window; "he is coming now. They seem a goodly
troop, by the noise they make."
Count Frederick smiled; and in a few minutes, the Count of Ehrenstein,
followed by a considerable number of armed men, entered the chapel.
His face was less gloomy than it had lately been; and whatever he
might feel, he greeted Count Frederick in friendly terms, but at the
same time shaded his eyes with his hand, as if the glare affected
them.
"Why, what a blaze!" he exclaimed; "do you not think, Leiningen, that
we had better extinguish some of these torches? The Emperor, I find,
is at Spires; his men are all about; and this may call attention to us
and our proceedings."
"Be it as you will," replied Count Frederick; "but I have taken good
care, my friend, to guard against all surprise. I have three hundred
men, scattered in parties round, within the call of a trumpet."
The Count of Ehrenstein's face evidently fell, and he replied in a
tone of some surprise, looking to his companions as he spoke,
"Indeed!"
The Count took no notice of his exclamation, but ordered all the
torches except two to be extinguished, and then, turning to the Count
of Ehrenstein, inquired, "Had we not better bid the trumpeter call
upon Ferdinand of Altenburg to appear? It is now midnight; you see the
sand is run out."
"Let us first take our places," said the Count of Ehrenstein,
thoughtfully. "These four gentlemen, I presume, are those whom you
have selected?"
"They are," replied Count Frederick; "you have Mosbach I see with you,
but where is my old friend Seckendorf?"
"I left him to guard the castle," replied the Count; "but here are
three others, knights, and of good degree."
"Well, then, let us take our seats," said Count Frederick, "and to the
judgment of these noble gentlemen refer the free decision of all that
may be brought before them. You and I, my friend, taking our places
with them to witness and execute their judgment, but having no voice
in their decision."
Thus saying, Count Frederick moved towards one of the two seats placed
in the midst of the others, courteously waving the Count of Ehrenstein
to the one next to him on the right hand. It was the place of honour,
but the latter would fain have declined it; for, by the position in
which the several parties stood, it placed Count Frederick between
himself and his followers, so that no private communication could be
held by him with those whose judgment he might wish to influence. His
old companion, however, courteously insisted on retaining his seat to
the left, and the knights having taken their places, after some little
debate on this point, Count Frederick said aloud:--
"To you, noble gentlemen, as men impartial and of true honour, we
defer the cause which you will hear, calling upon you, however, most
solemnly to remember your knightly oath, and to cast from your mind
all prejudice, but judging solely according to your consciences in the
sight of God. Now let the trumpeter go out, and call before us
Ferdinand of Altenburg, according to his written word and promise. Let
him be called three times; and if he appear not, let judgment go
against him."
The trumpeter went forth as he was ordered, and immediately after,
there was heard a loud, shrill blast, and a voice pronouncing some
words which could not be distinguished within. A short space of time
then elapsed, and again the trumpet sounded, and the proclamation was
repeated.
No one appeared, however, and the Count of Ehrenstein muttered between
his teeth, "He comes not--I knew he would not."
"Patience, patience, my good friend," said Count Frederick; "many
things come when we least expect them. Let the trumpet sound again,
and we shall see."
Almost as he spoke the blast was repeated, and to the surprise of all,
it was instantly echoed by another trumpet.
"He has got a herald with him, the mighty prince;" said Count
Frederick's jester, who was standing behind.
Little attention, however, was bestowed upon his words, for all eyes
were eagerly bent forward upon the doorway of the chapel, and every
ear turned to hear whether any one was approaching. The moment after,
the sound of horses' feet beating the sandy road at a rapid rate,
could be distinguished. They came quickly on, without pause till they
reached the chapel, then halted, apparently opposite the crucifix, and
a brief interval followed. Then approaching steps were heard, and the
figures of several men were seen through the long aisle making
straight towards the door. The first that entered, with bonnet on his
bead, and sword and dagger by his side, was Ferdinand of Altenburg.
His look was calm and firm, his bearing was high and almost stern, and
he walked on up the aisle without pause or hesitation, gazing over the
faces of those before him with a steadfast and unwavering eye. Close
upon his steps came four men completely armed, all except the head,
which was covered only by the common velvet cap of the time; but the
persons assembled round the table remarked that each in his bonnet
bore three long feathers, usually the sign of knightly rank; and as
the eye dropped to the heel of each armed figure, the gilded spurs
buckled to the broad strap across the instep, showed that the honours
of chivalry had indeed been received. Most of them were men well
advanced in life; and on the faces of two were sundry scars, as if
from ancient wounds; but on those two countenances the eye of the
Count of Ehrenstein fixed with an eager and inquiring look, and his
cheek grew pale as they came nearer and more near.
"Surely," he exclaimed at length, "I have seen you before."
Whether the two knights did not perceive that his words were addressed
to them, or whether they were unwilling to reply, they spoke not; and
Ferdinand of Altenburg, taking another step forward, laid his hand
upon the table, saying, in a firm, clear tone, "My lords and noble
knights, I am here according to my word, to answer aught that may be
brought against me, and to pray your judgment in all causes between me
and this good lord here present, he and I having both pledged
ourselves to abide by your decision, in whatever the one may have
against the other."
"Stay, stay, bold boy!" exclaimed the Count of Ehrenstein; "the cause
we have here to try, is solely my charge against you, for treason
against your sworn lord."
"Not so, noble Sir," replied Ferdinand, calmly and respectfully; "such
was not the tenor of my letter; therein I said that I would bow
without appeal to the decree of this court in all matters between you
and me, provided you would pledge yourself to do the same. To that
pledge Count Frederick assented in your name, and to him appeal as
witness if I speak the truth."
"You do assuredly, young gentleman," replied Count Frederick; "such
were the terms of the compact."
"I have been deceived," muttered the Count of Ehrenstein, bitterly,
gnawing his lower lip.
"Bird-lime! bird-lime!" said the jester, from behind.
"Well," cried the Count, after an angry pause, "it matters not. Let it
go forward: you can have no cause of complaint against me; and first,
as in due order, I will call for judgment upon you. What you will deny
and what you will admit, I know not; but I am armed with full proof of
your base treachery, should your impudence fail you here, and you deny
your guilt."
"My lord, I am here," replied Ferdinand of Altenburg, "to acknowledge
and to justify every act that I have done. I refuse you, however, for
my judge, as you are my accuser; and I call upon these noble gentlemen
to pronounce a just sentence upon me, being ready to answer every
question they may ask, truly and freely, as if I were before the
throne of Heaven."
"What is the charge, my lord?" said one of Count Frederick's knights,
turning to the Count of Ehrenstein; "we must have it clearly stated,
if you please."
"I have written it down here," said the Count of Ehrenstein: "it is
this:" and he proceeded to read as follows:--"that he, Ferdinand of
Altenburg, being my sworn retainer and customary man, eating my bread,
and drinking my wine, and I--having the power of high and low justice
in my own domains,--did, contrary to the laws and customs of the land,
seduce the affections of my only daughter, Adelaide of Ehrenstein; and
did with her, secretly and privately, and contrary to my knowledge and
consent, contract marriage on the night of the fourteenth of this
month, in the chapel of our Lady of Strangers, on the hill of
Ehrenstein; and, moreover, that he, being imprisoned for judgment in
my castle of Ehrenstein, did break forth thence, and fly from the
award of my court; and that he did persuade and induce my daughter
aforesaid to fly with him, or to follow after, to the great wrong and
detriment of his sworn lord. That is the charge. I can prove it fully;
and I claim judgment of death against him, according to the law."
As he spoke, he laid the paper on the table, and the knight, on his
right, took it up and read it over again in silence.
"You hear the charge, Ferdinand of Altenburg," said the gentleman when
he had done perusing it, "and you have expressed a determination to
confess freely all that you have done. It will save us much time and
trouble, if, as I read these charges over to you once again, you
separately state which of them you acknowledge to be true, and which
of them you deny. After you have done so, we will examine the proofs
of all that you declare to be false, and then, upon the whole, hear
your defence. Is there any one who can write here?"
The knights around were silent; but Count Frederick's chaplain came
forward, saying, "I can, noble Sir."
"Then let me ask you, Father, to take down this young gentleman's
replies," said the knight who had before spoken; and as soon as the
chaplain was seated, he continued, addressing Ferdinand of Altenburg,
"Do you acknowledge that you are the sworn retainer and customary man
of the noble Count of Ehrenstein?"
"No, I am not," answered Ferdinand of Altenburg, in a firm and decided
tone.
The Count of Ehrenstein looked round to Karl von Mosbach with a laugh,
saying, "We will soon prove that."
But the knight who had spoken waved his hand impatiently, saying, "The
proofs hereafter.--Do you acknowledge, Ferdinand of Altenburg, that
you did seduce the affections of the Lady Adelaide of Ehrenstein, and
contract marriage with her in secret, on the night of the fourteenth
of this month, in the chapel of our Lady of Strangers, on the hill of
Ehrenstein?"
"I did win her love," replied Ferdinand, boldly, "and I did contract
marriage with her at the place and on the night you have mentioned;
but neither contrary to law, nor without right, but fully justified in
all I did."
"Bold, on my life!" said the Count, setting his teeth hard. "Would I
had you for an hour within the walls of Ehrenstein!"
Ferdinand made no reply, and the knight, after looking over the priest
till he had finished writing the answer, turned again to the paper
containing the charges, and went on to inquire:--
"Did you, Ferdinand of Altenburg, being imprisoned, and awaiting
judgment of the court of the Count of Ehrenstein, break forth and fly
to escape the award of the said court?"
"No," answered Ferdinand, again; "I left the castle of Ehrenstein as I
would leave my own house, with full right and power to do so. I was
not imprisoned to await the judgment of any lawful court, but was held
by very empty bonds, that I might be done to death privately, as yon
knight, Karl von Mosbach, knows right well."
The old soldier looked down with an embarrassed air, and played
somewhat nervously with the hilt of his dagger; but Ferdinand, after
having eyed him for a moment, went on, "I may as well answer the last
charge at once, to save further trouble. I did not induce the Lady
Adelaide to fly with me, though, as her husband and her rightful lord,
I was fully entitled to take her whither I pleased; but I held no
communication with her, and indeed I could not."
"What does he mean," cried Karl von Mosbach, anxious to escape from
the immediate question of what was the Count's object in placing the
young gentleman in confinement--"what does he mean by his not being a
sworn retainer and customary man of my good lord the Count? Why, a
dozen of us heard him take the oath."
"Let us proceed in order," said the other knight; and taking up the
paper which the priest had written, he continued.--"Thus, then, stands
the case: Ferdinand of Altenburg acknowledges that he did, as he is
charged, contract marriage secretly with the Lady Adelaide of
Ehrenstein; but he denies that he was then the sworn retainer and
customary man of the Lord of Ehrenstein. Perhaps we had better keep
this part of the charge separate from the rest, as his guilt or
innocence, both in regard to the act which he acknowledges, and to all
the other charges, must depend upon whether he was or was not, at the
time of this marriage, what is here stated, namely, the sworn retainer
and customary man of him whose daughter he secretly married. What is
your proof, my Lord of Ehrenstein, that he is that which you have
stated?"
"It shall be quite sufficient," answered the Count; "there are three
or four men here present who have heard the oath taken by him,
Ferdinand of Altenburg, when admitted to serve in arms. Here, Albert,
come forward. Were you, or were you not present when that youth took
the usual oath?"
A stout soldier stepped forward with some degree of reluctance
apparent in his countenance and manner; but the question being
repeated, he replied, "I was: we all take it."
"Repeat the precise words of the oath," said the knight.
The man rubbed his head, as if to awaken memory, and then answered,
"As far as I can recollect, it was to serve my lord, in arms, well and
truly, and to defend him in life and goods at the peril of his head."
Count Frederick's knights looked at each other, and the one who had
been the only spokesman said, "This renders him an armed retainer in
military service, but not a customary man. Where is the proof of
that?"
"It is a fact of common notoriety," answered the Count of Ehrenstein,
"that he for years has taken my bread and wine, and that, together
with this oath, makes him my customary man."
"Nay," replied the knight; "he might be your guest, my noble lord.
There is more required to show him your customary man than that. Have
you given him wages or hire, fee or reward?"
"Wages or hire he has not had," answered the Count of Ehrenstein; "for
he had ever money of his own; but he has had arms and horses of me."
"Fine fee or reward that," cried the jester from behind; "the means of
getting his skull cracked, or breaking his neck."
"This is something in the shape of recompense, assuredly," said Count
Frederick's knight, musing.
"You seem learned in the law, Sir," said the Count of Ehrenstein, with
a sneer.
"I am, my good lord," answered the knight, with cold calmness. "I have
studied the laws and customs of knighthood and nobility since first I
buckled on my spurs, now five-and-twenty years ago; and I have often
found the knowledge serviceable to myself and others, as here also it
is likely to prove. But let us proceed: you have given this young
gentleman arms and horses, you say, as recompense and wages for the
services he has sworn to perform. It is a somewhat doubtful point
whether this will render him your man; but I think it will, if--"
"Ha!" cried the Count, "what is the _if_? The case is as clear as
light. He is my man; and I claim him as such. Where is there an _if_?"
"I was about to show you," said the knight; "for there are several
conditions which would bar your claim. He must have received them and
acknowledged them as payment, not as a free gift, not as a loan to
serve you with in war. He must be of inferior degree."
"I thank you, noble Sir," said Ferdinand of Altenburg, interposing,
"for your strictness in seeing justice done me; but I will avail
myself of no doubtful points of law to shield what I have done. The
Lady Adelaide's love I have won, the Lady Adelaide's hand I have
gained. I have done it boldly, and boldly will I justify it; denying
all power in her father to judge me as his man, or to do aught but
treat me as noble to noble. He has no law that can touch me; he has no
authority that can bind me. I here proclaim, and by this I will abide,
that by no possibility could I ever become his man, though he might
become mine. Nay more, I say that his bread I have never eaten; that
his wine I have never drunk; that his horses or arms have I never
received; that to the Count of Ehrenstein have I taken no oath."
"The youth is mad," exclaimed the Count; and all present looked from
one to the other with surprise, as boldly and even vehemently
Ferdinand of Altenburg poured forth such startling assertions.
"Ay, he is mad enough," said old Karl von Mosbach; "that is clear."
"Pray, good youth," said the Count, with a look of contemptuous pity,
"by what title have you fed in my castle, ridden with my band, or used
my arms, and in what position do you stand as to the oath between us?"
"As your sovereign lord," replied Ferdinand of Altenburg, in a clear
distinct voice. "As the head of your house, the chief of your name;
and you as my poor kinsman without wealth, or land, or station. The
bread I ate, the wine I drank, was mine, from my own fields and
vineyards; the horses, arms, are all my own. The castle in which you
held me was mine, and Ferdinand of Ehrenstein is not come here so much
to answer your vain charge, as to claim his own. Whisper not to
Mosbach, my good uncle, with so pale a cheek. The troops with which
you so carefully surrounded me here this night, thinking--if those
noble knights acquitted me--to secure your prey in violation of your
word, are prisoners and disarmed; and Mosbach can do nothing of all
that you would wish him. Ay, noble Count Frederick, you may well gaze
at him with surprise; for though you doubted some foul play, as I
judged by the precautions you had taken, you know not the extent of
the treachery, and that every vassal from the lands of Ehrenstein, far
outnumbering your parties, have been drawn round us, like a net to
catch the deer. But his craft has fallen upon his own head; and the
castle, which he thought secure when he left it, is now beyond his
power. He stripped it of all that could defend it, and now it is safe
enough; but in other hands."
At this last intimation the Count of Ehrenstein startled up and laid
his hand upon his sword, with his eyes flashing fire, and exclaiming,
"Liar and villain! do you come here with such an idle tale, trumped up
by your crafty uncle, to thrust his brother's bastard into the
patrimony of a noble house. I can prove that you are the child of
Charles of Altenburg. Out upon it! Listen not to him, noble knights;
but proceed to judgment on this foul calumniator. Count Frederick, my
noble friend, you will not doubt me, I am sure. I brought with me but
what force was needful to guard me in these troublous times, and if
that youth has dared with any bands--perchance the remnants of
Eppenfeld's force--to--"
"I will confound you in a moment!" cried Ferdinand of Altenburg, in a
loud voice. "Ho! without there! Bring in the Baron of Eppenfeld. Now,
Sir, if, in your heart, there be secrets connected with this man that
you would have concealed; if you have plotted, colleagued, deceived
with him; if, for dark and secret purposes, you obtained him as your
prisoner from your noble friend there, and then, having driven your
bargain with him, set him free to commit fresh crimes--tremble, I say;
for every long-hidden act is about to be made manifest. Deep, deep,
did you think them covered by the blackest shade of night; but, thanks
to the care and foresight of the eyes that were upon you, they have
all been gathered and recorded so as to leave you no escape. Every
foul crime of the last twenty years shall now be blazoned to the eyes
of the world; and your charge against your brother's son, shall be the
spell that dissolves even the silence of the tomb."
"Stay, stay," exclaimed Count Frederick of Leiningen, as the Count of
Ehrenstein sank back, pale and quivering, against the column behind
him. "These are bold assertions, young gentleman; and should be proved
calmly and deliberately; perhaps were better proved more privately and
temperately."
"What! shall I be temperate when my father's blood cries out for
vengeance," exclaimed Ferdinand; "shall I be temperate when my
mother's voice rises from the depth of the waters, and demands
punishment on her murderer? Proved! my Lord Count; I call upon you as
knight, and noble, true, and loyal--and such I hold you to be, if ever
yet man was so--to say here, in presence of all, if, in the castle of
Eppenfeld, you did not find, if even now you do not hold in your
hands, the proofs of this man's treachery towards his brother's wife
and child?"
"Thus adjured, I must not deny it," answered Count Frederick, in a
firm but sad tone. "I did find proofs indubitable, that the late Count
of Ehrenstein, left behind him a widow, an Italian lady of high rank,
and one boy--who might now be of the age of this young man; and,
moreover, that practices most terrible had been used against their
lives."
"Still we shall need evidence to show that this young gentleman is the
child so left," said the knight who had chiefly conducted the
proceedings of the court, on the charges against Ferdinand of
Altenburg. "If he can bring forth proof of that fact, of course the
accusation against him falls to the ground."
"And I can bring such proof," replied Ferdinand. "Here are my
witnesses beside me."
As he spoke, two of the armed men who had accompanied him, advanced,
and the elder laid a paper on the table saying, "I tender a copy of
proofs of marriage between Ferdinand Charles, Count of Ehrenstein, and
the Lady Eleanore Sforza, laid before the Imperial chamber, and
registered after examination; and also of the birth of one son,
baptized by the name of Ferdinand, issuing from the same marriage."
"And I tender proofs," said the other knight, "of the arrival of the
same lady and her child at Nuremberg, in the month of August, 14--."
"We are witnesses to the marriage, to the baptism of the child, and to
the passing of the same lady and her son, as far as Augsburg, in the
month of September, in the year preceding," said one of the two elder
knights, who had not yet spoken; "and that at that time she went under
the assumed name of Meissen."
"I will now call farther witnesses," said Ferdinand, in a lower tone
than he had yet used, and gazing with feelings difficult to define
upon the bowed figure of the Count, as he sat, apparently almost
crushed to the earth with the torrent of discovery and disgrace which
had poured upon him, "and God is my witness that I do all this with
deep regret. But though the task is a bitter one, yet it must be
accomplished. First, I will call the Baron of Eppenfeld to show--"
"Stay," cried the Count, rousing himself by a great effort; "young
man, you play your part boldly, so boldly that I--even I am inclined
to believe, you credit the tale you tell. I know you well, Ferdinand
of Altenburg, and am aware that you are not by nature a good
dissembler. Either you must have faith in what you say, or you must
have learned the great trade of the world quickly."
"Grace after meat is a good rule," cried the jester, "but I never yet
did hear of so much grace after a bad supper."
"Nevertheless," continued the Count of Ehrenstein, without heeding the
interruption, "this cause cannot be judged by this court. Long and
close examination, thorough scrutiny of every proof, and the presence
of men well versed in the law, is ever required to convey rich lands
and lordships from a possessor of well nigh twenty years to a new
upstart claimant, first heard of but yesterday."
"It required fewer formalities, it seemed," said the jester, "to
convey his head from his shoulders, though, after all, to my thinking,
a man's head is his best possession, for without it he will want the
chief of his title-deeds."
"Pshaw!" cried the Count, "this is no jesting matter. I boldly
pronounce this claim to be false and fabricated, and I appeal to the
court of the Emperor."
He spoke in a loud and resolute tone; and instantly a voice from the
farther part of the chapel answered, "So be it!"
The view down the nave had been obstructed by the forms of Ferdinand
and his four companions; and since he had entered, a number of
persons, retainers of the two Counts and others, had gathered round to
hear the proceedings; but at the sound of that voice every one turned
his head, and then drew somewhat back. A lane was formed--the light of
the two torches farther down streamed through--and a tall figure was
seen advancing with slow and stately steps towards the place where the
judges sat.