and his knights and squires, advancing with their flag unfurled; but on
viewing him more narrowly, and noticing his trouble, he grew wroth; for
he thought the Count was faint of heart, and out of humour with the
expedition, and following it against his will. Therefore his brow
wrinkled down into frowns, and the landgraphic nostrils sniffed
displeasure. Count Ernst had a fine pathognomic eye; he soon observed
what ailed his lord, and going boldly up, disclosed to him the reason of
his cloudy mood. His words were as oil on the vinegar of discontent; the
Landgraf, with honest frankness, seized his vassal's hand, and said:
"Ah, is it so, good cousin? Then the shoe pinches both of us in one
place; Elizabeth's good-b'ye has given me a sore heart too. But be of
good cheer! While we are fighting abroad, our wives will be praying at
home, that we may return with renown and glory." Such was the custom of
the country in those days: while the husband took the field, the wife
continued in her chamber, solitary and still, fasting and praying, and
making vows without end, for his prosperous return. This old usage is
not universal in the land at present; as the last crusade of our German
warriors to the distant West,[17] by the rich increase of families
during the absence of their heroic heads, has sufficiently made
manifest.
[17] Of the Hessian troops to America, during the Revolutionary
War.--ED.
The pious Elizabeth felt no less pain at parting from her husband than
her fair companion in distress, the Countess of Gleichen. Though her
lord the Landgraf was rather of a stormy disposition, she had lived with
him in the most perfect unity: and his terrestrial mass was by degrees
so imbued with the sanctity of his helpmate, that some beneficent
historians have appended to him likewise the title of Saint; which,
however, must be looked on rather as a charitable compliment than a real
statement of the truth; as with us, in these times, the epithets of
great, magnanimous, immortal, erudite, profound, for the most part
indicate no more than a little outward edge-gilding. So much appears
from all the circumstances, that the elevated couple did not always
harmonise in works of holiness; nay, that the Powers of Heaven had to
interfere at times in the domestic differences thence arising, to
maintain the family peace: as the following example will evince. The
pious lady, to the great dissatisfaction of her courtiers and
lip-licking pages, had the custom of reserving from the Landgraf's table
the most savoury dishes for certain hungry beggars, who incessantly
beleaguered the castle; and she used to give herself the satisfaction,
when the court dinner was concluded, of distributing this kind donation
to the poor with her own hands. According to the courtly system, whereby
thrift on the small scale is always to make up for wastefulness on the
great, the meritorious cook-department every now and then complained of
this as earnestly as if the whole dominions of Thuringia had run the
risk of being eaten up by these lank-sided guests; and the Landgraf, who
dabbled somewhat in economy, regarded it as so important an affair,
that, in all seriousness, he strictly forbade his consort this labour of
love, which had through time become her spiritual hobby. Nevertheless,
one day the impulse of benevolence, and the temptation to break through
her husband's orders in pursuit of it, became too strong to be resisted.
She beckoned to her women, who were then uncovering the table, to take
off some untouched dishes, with a few rolls of wheaten bread, and keep
them as smuggled goods. These she packed into a little basket, and stole
out with it by a postern gate.
But the watchers had got wind of it, and betrayed it to the Landgraf,
who gave instant orders for a strict guard upon all the outlets of the
castle. Being told that his lady had been seen gliding with a heavy load
through the postern, he proceeded with majestic strides across the
court-yard, and stept out upon the drawbridge, as if to take a mouthful
of fresh air. Alas! The pious lady heard the jingling of his golden
spurs; and fear and terror came upon her, till her knees trembled, and
she could not move another footstep. She concealed the victual-basket
under her apron, that modest covering of female charms and roguery; but
whatever privileges this inviolable asylum may enjoy against excisemen
and officers of customs, it is no wall of brass for a husband. The
Landgraf, smelling mischief, hastened to the place; his sunburnt cheeks
were reddened with indignation, and the veins swelled fearfully upon his
brow.
"Wife," said he, in a hasty tone, "what hast thou in the basket thou art
hiding from me? Is it victuals from my table, for thy vile crew of
vagabonds and beggars?"
"Not at all, dear lord," replied Elizabeth, meekly, but with
embarrassment, who held herself entitled, without prejudice to her
sanctity, to make a little slip in the present critical position of
affairs: "it is nothing but a few roses that I gathered in the garden."
Had the Landgraf been one of our contemporaries, he must have believed
his lady on her word of honour, and desisted from farther search; but in
those wild times the minds of men were not so polished.
"Let us see," said the imperious husband, and sharply pulled the apron
to a side. The tender wife had no defence against this violence but by
recoiling: "O! softly, softly, my dear husband!" said she, and blushed
for shame at being detected in a falsehood, in presence of her servants.
But, O wonder upon wonder! the _corpus delicti_ was in very deed
transformed into the fairest blooming roses; the rolls had changed to
white roses, the sausages to red, the omelets to yellow ones! With
joyful amazement the saintly dame observed this metamorphosis, and knew
not whether to believe her eyes; for she had never given credit to her
Guardian Angel for such delicate politeness, as to work a miracle in
favour of a lady, when the point was to cajole a rigorous husband, and
make good a female affirmation.
So visible a proof of innocence allayed the fierceness of the Lion. He
now turned his tremendous looks on the down-stricken serving-men, who,
as it was apparent, had been groundlessly calumniating his angelic wife;
he scornfully rated them, and swore a deep oath, that the first
eaves-dropping pickthank who again accused his virtuous wife to him, he
would cast into the dungeon, and there let him lie and rot. This done,
he took a rose from the basket, and stuck it in his hat, in triumph for
his lady's innocence. History has not certified us, whether, on the
following day, he found a withered rose or a cold sausage there: in the
mean time it assures us, that the saintly wife, when her lord had left
her with the kiss of peace, and she herself had recovered from her
fright, stept down the hill, much comforted in heart, to the meadow
where her nurslings, the lame and blind, the naked and the hungry, were
awaiting her, to dole out among them her intended bounty. For she well
knew that the miraculous deception would again vanish were she there, as
in reality it did; for, on opening her victual-magazine she found no
roses at all, but in their stead the nutritious crumbs which she had
snatched from the teeth of the castle bone-polishers.
Though now, by the departure of her husband, she was to be freed from
his rigorous superintendence, and obtain free scope to execute her
labours of love in secret or openly, when and where it pleased her, yet
she loved her imperious husband so faithfully and sincerely, that she
could not part from him without the deepest sorrow. Ah! she foreboded
but too well, that in this world she should not see him any more. And
for the enjoyment of him in the other, the aspect of affairs was little
better. A canonised Saint has such preferment there, that all other
Saints compared with her are but a heavenly mob.
High as the Landgraf had been stationed in this sublunary world, it was
a question whether, in the courts of Heaven, he might be found worthy to
kneel on the footstool of her throne, and raise his eyes to his former
bedmate. Yet, many vows as she made, many good works as she did, much as
her prayers in other cases had availed with all the Saints, her credit
in the upper world was not sufficient to stretch out her husband's term
a span. He died on this march, in the bloom of life, of a malignant
fever, at Otranto, before he had acquired the knightly merit of chining
a single Saracen. While he was preparing for departure, and the time was
come for him to give the world his blessing, he called Count Ernst from
among his other servants and vassals to his bedside; appointed him
commander of the troops which he himself had led thus far, and made him
swear that he would not return till he had thrice drawn his sword
against the Infidel. Then he took the holy viaticum from the hands of
his marching chaplain; and ordering as many masses for his soul, as
might have brought himself and all his followers triumphantly into the
New Jerusalem, he breathed his last. Count Ernst had the corpse of his
lord embalmed: he enclosed it in a silver coffin, and sent it to the
widowed lady, who wore mourning for her husband like a Roman Empress,
for she never laid her weeds aside while she continued in this world.
Count Ernst of Gleichen forwarded the pilgrimage as much as possible,
and arrived in safety with his people in the camp at Ptolemais. Here, it
was rather a theatrical emblem of war than a serious campaign that met
his view. For as on our stages, when they represent a camp or field of
battle, there are merely a few tents erected in the foreground, and a
little handful of players scuffling together; but in the distance many
painted tents and squadrons to assist the illusion, and cheat the eye,
the whole being merely intended for an artificial deception of the
senses; so also was the crusading army a mixture of fiction and reality.
Of the numerous heroic hosts that left their native country, it was
always the smallest part that reached the boundaries of the land they
had gone forth to conquer. But few were devoured by the swords of the
Saracens. These Infidels had powerful allies, whom they sent beyond
their frontiers, and who made brisk work among their enemies, though
getting neither wages nor thanks for their good service. These allies
were, Hunger and Nakedness, Perils by land and water and among bad
brethren, Frost and Heat, Pestilence and malignant Boils; and the
grinding Home-sickness also fell at times like a heavy Incubus upon the
steel harness, and crushed it together like soft pasteboard, and spurred
the steed to a quick return. Under these circumstances, Count Ernst had
little hope of speedily fulfilling his oath, and thrice dyeing his
knightly sword in unbelieving blood, as must be done before he thought
of returning. For three days' journey round the camp, no Arab archer was
to be seen; the weakness of the Christian host lay concealed behind its
bulwarks and entrenchments; they did not venture out to seek the distant
enemy, but waited for the slow help of his slumbering Holiness, who,
since the wakeful night that gave rise to this Crusade, had enjoyed
unbroken sleep, and about the issue of the Holy War had troubled
himself very little.
In this inaction, as inglorious to the Christian army, as of old that
loitering was to the Greeks before the walls of bloody but courageous
Troy, where the godlike Achilles, with his confederates, moped so long
about his fair Briseis,--the chivalry of Christendom kept up much
jollity and recreation in their camp, to kill lazy time, and scare away
the blue devils; the Italians, with song and harping, to which the
nimble-footed Frenchmen danced; the solemn Spaniards with chess; the
English with cock-fighting; the Germans with feasting and wassail.
Count Ernst, taking small delight in any of these pastimes, amused
himself with hunting; made war on the foxes in the dry wildernesses, and
pursued the shy chamois into the barren mountains. The knights of his
train "disagreed" with the glowing sun by day, and the damp evening air
under the open sky, and sneaked to a side when their lord called for his
horses; therefore, in his hunting expeditions, he was generally attended
only by his faithful Squire, named the mettled Kurt, and a single groom.
Once, his eagerness in clambering after the chamois, had carried him to
such a distance, that the sun was dipping in the Mid-sea wave before he
thought of returning; and, fast as he hastened homewards, night came
upon him at a distance from the camp. The appearance of some treacherous
_ignes fatui_, which he mistook for the watch-fires, led him off still
farther. On discovering his error, he resolved to rest beneath a tree
till daybreak. The trusty Squire prepared a bed of soft moss for his
lord, who, wearied by the heat of the day, fell asleep before he could
lift his hand to bless himself, according to custom, with the sign of
the cross. But to the mettled Kurt there came no wink of sleep, for he
was by nature watchful like a bird of darkness; and though this gift had
not belonged to him, his faithful care for his lord would have kept him
waking. The night, as usual in the climate of Asia, was serene and
still; the stars twinkled in pure diamond light; and solemn silence, as
in the Valley of Death, reigned over the wide desert. No breath of air
was stirring, yet the nocturnal coolness poured life and refreshment
over herb and living thing. But about the third watch, when the morning
star had begun to announce the coming day, there arose a din in the
dusky remoteness, like the voice of a forest stream rushing over some
steep precipice. The watchful squire listened eagerly, and sent his
other senses also out for tidings, as his sharp eye could not pierce the
veil of darkness. He hearkened, and snuffed at the same time, like a
bloodhound, for a scent came towards him as of sweet-smelling herbs and
trodden grass, and the strange noise appeared to be approaching. He laid
his ear to the ground, and heard a trampling as of horses' hoofs, which
led him to conclude that the Infernal Chase was hunting in these parts.
A cold shudder passed over him, and his terror grew extreme. He shook
his master from sleep; and the latter, having roused himself, soon saw
that here another than a spectral host was to be fronted. Whilst his
groom girded up the horses, the Count had his harness buckled on in all
haste.
The dim shadows gradually withdrew, and the advancing morning tinted the
eastern hem of the horizon with purple light. The Count now discovered,
what he had anticipated, a host of Saracens approaching, all equipped
for fight, to snatch some booty from the Christians. To escape their
hands was hopeless, and the hospitable tree in the wide solitary plain
gave no shelter to conceal horse and man behind it. Unluckily the massy
steed was not a Hippogryph, but a heavy-bodied Frieslander, to which, by
reason of its make, the happy talent of bearing off its master on the
wings of the wind had not been allotted; therefore the gallant hero gave
his soul to the keeping of God and the Holy Virgin, and resolved on
dying like a knight. He bade his servants follow him, and sell their
lives as dear as might be. Thereupon he pricked the Frieslander boldly
forward, and dashed right into the middle of the hostile squadron, who
had been expecting no such sudden onset from a single knight. The Pagans
started in astonishment, and flew asunder like light chaff when
scattered by the wind. But seeing that the enemy was only three men
strong, their courage rose, and there began an unequal battle, in which
valour was surpassed by number. The Count meanwhile kept plunging yarely
through the ranks; the point of his lance gleamed death and destruction
to the Infidel; and when it found its man, he flew inevitably from his
saddle. Their Captain himself, who ran at him with grim fury, his manly
arm laid low, and with his victorious spear transfixed him writhing in
the dust, as St. George of England did the Dragon. The mettled Kurt went
on with no less briskness; though availing little for attack, he was a
master in the science of dispatching, and sent all to pot who did not
make resistance; as a modern critic butchers the defenceless rabble of
the lame and halt, who venture with such courage in our days into the
literary tilt-yard: and if now and then some fainting invalid, with
furious aim, like an exasperated Reviewer-hunter, did hurl a stone at
him with enfeebled fist, he heeded it little; for he knew well that his
basnet and iron jack would turn a moderate thump. The groom, too, did
his best to make clear ground about him, and kept his master's back
unharmed. But as nine gad-flies will beat the strongest horse; four
Caffre bulls an African lion; and, by the common tale, one troop of mice
an archbishop, as the _Maeusethurm_, or Mouse-tower, on the Rhine, by
Huebner's account, gives open testimony; so the Count of Gleichen, after
doing knightly battle, was at length overpowered by the number of his
enemies. His arm grew weary, his lance was shivered into splinters, his
sword became blunt, and his Friesland horse at last staggered down upon
the gory battle-field. The Knight's fall was the watch-word of victory;
a hundred valiant arms stormed in on him to wrench away his sword, and
his hand had no longer any strength for resistance. As the mettled Kurt
observed the Knight come down, his own courage sank also, and along with
it the pole-axe, wherewith he had so magnanimously hammered in the
Saracenic skulls. He surrendered at discretion, and pressingly entreated
quarter. The groom stood in blank rumination; bore himself enduringly;
and awaited with oxlike equanimity the stroke of some mace upon his
basnet, which should crush him to the ground.
But the Saracens were less inhuman victors than the conquered could have
expected; they disarmed their three prisoners of war, and did them no
bodily harm whatever. This mild usage took its rise not in any movement
of philanthropy, but in mere spy's-mercy: from a dead enemy there is
nothing to be learnt, and the special object of this roaming troop had
been to get correct intelligence about the state of matters in the
Christian host at Ptolemais. The captives, being questioned and heard,
were next, according to the Asiatic fashion, furnished with
slave-fetters; and as a ship was just then lying ready to set sail for
Alexandria, the Bey of Asdod sent them off with it as a present to the
Sultan of Egypt, to confirm at Court their description of the Christian
resources and position. The rumour of the bold Frank's valour had
arrived before him at the gates of Grand Cairo; and so pugnacious a
prisoner might, on entering the hostile metropolis, have merited as
pompous a reception as the Twelfth of April saw bestowed upon the Comte
de Grasse in London, where the merry capital emulously strove to let the
conquered sea-hero feel the honour which their victory had done him: but
Moslem self-conceit allows no justice to foreign merit. Count Ernst, in
the garb of a felon, loaded with heavy chains, was quietly locked into
the Grated Tower, where the Sultan's slaves were wont to be kept.
Here, in long painful nights, and mournful solitary days, he had time
and leisure to survey the grim stony aspect of his future life; and it
required as much steadfastness and courage to bear up under these
contemplations, as to tilt it on the battle-field among a wandering
horde of Arabs. The image of his former domestic happiness kept hovering
before his eyes; he thought of his gentle wife, and the tender shoots of
their chaste love. Ah! how he cursed the miserable feud of Mother-church
with the Gog and Magog of the East, which had robbed him of his fair lot
in existence, and fettered him in slave-shackles never to be loosed! In
such moments he was ready to despair altogether; and his piety had
well-nigh made shipwreck on this rock of offence.
In the days of Count Ernst there was current, among anecdotic persons, a
wondrous story of Duke Henry the Lion, which at that period, as a thing
that had occurred within the memory of man, found great credence in the
German Empire. The Duke, so runs the tale, while proceeding over sea to
the Holy Land, was, in a tempest, cast away upon a desert part of the
African coast; where, escaping alone from shipwreck, he found shelter
and succour in the den of a hospitable Lion. This kindness in the savage
owner of the cave had its origin not in the heart, but in the left
hind-paw; while hunting in the Libyan wilderness, he had run a thorn
into his foot, which so tormented him, that he could hardly move, and
had entirely forgotten his natural voracity. The acquaintance being
formed, and mutual confidence established between the parties, the Duke
assumed the office of chirurgeon to the royal beast, and laboriously
picked out the thorn from his foot. The patient rapidly recovered, and,
mindful of the service, entertained his lodger with his best from the
produce of his plunder; and, though a Lion, was as friendly and
officious towards him as a lap-dog.
The Duke, however, soon grew weary of the cold collations of his
four-footed landlord, and began to long for the flesh-pots of his own
far-distant kitchen; for in readying the game handed in to him, he by no
means rivalled his Brunswick cook. Then the home-sickness came upon him
like a heavy load; and seeing no possibility of ever getting back to his
paternal heritage, the thought of this so grieved his soul, that he
wasted visibly, and pined like a wounded hart. Thereupon the Tempter,
with his wonted impudence in desert places, came before him, in the
figure of a little swart wrinkled manikin, whom the Duke at first sight
took for an ourang-outang; but it was the Devil himself, Satan in proper
person, and he grinned, and said: "Duke Henry, what ails thee? If thou
trust to me, I will put an end to all thy sorrow, and take thee home to
thy wife to sup with her this night in the Castle of Brunswick; for a
lordly supper is making ready there, seeing she is about to wed another
man, having lost hope of thy life."
This despatch came rolling like a thunder-clap into the Duke's ear, and
cut him through the heart like a sharp two-edged sword. Rage burnt in
his eyes like flames of fire, and desperation uproared in his breast. If
Heaven will not help me in this crisis, thought he, then let Hell! It
was one of those entangling situations which the Arch-crimp, with his
consummate skill in psychological science, can employ so dextrously when
the enlisting of a soul that he has cast an eye on is to prosper in his
hands. The Duke, without hesitation, buckled on his golden spurs, girded
his sword about his loins, and put himself in readiness. "Quick, my good
fellow!" said he; "carry me, and this my trusty Lion, to Brunswick,
before the varlet reach my bed!"--"Well!" answered Blackbeard, "but dost
thou know the carriage-dues?"--"Ask what thou wilt!" said Duke Henry;
"it shall be given thee at thy word."--"Thy soul at sight in the other
world," replied Beelzebub.--"Done! Be it so!" cried furious jealousy,
from Henry's mouth.