And is it mere illusion? Say--
Or will that one so kind, so true,
To whom my heart and life are due,
Be to my arms restored this day?
F. HAUG.
Albert was awoke the next morning by a tap at the door. He threw open
the curtains, and perceived that the sun was already high up. The
knocking increased, when, shortly after, his kind host entering,
inquired how his guest had slept, and explained to him the cause of his
early visit. The grand council had determined on the preceding evening
to celebrate the arrival of the confederates by a ball, which was to
take place that very evening in the town-hall. It was his province, as
secretary to the council, to make all the necessary arrangements for
this important affair. He had to secure the services of the town
musicians, and to invite the first families in the name of the senate.
But his first concern would be to hasten to impart this extraordinary
piece of good news to his charming cousins.
He related all this to his guest with an air of great importance, and
assured him he was so full of business that he scarcely knew where his
head was. Albert had only one thought, that of seeing and speaking with
Bertha, and he was so overjoyed in the anticipation of such-unlooked
for happiness, that he gladly would have embraced the bearer of the
good tidings, if prudence had not deterred him from thus exhibiting his
secret feelings.
"I can plainly see," said the scribe, "the pleasure this news gives
you; the love of dancing brightens up your eyes already. I can promise
you a couple of partners, such as you will not find every day. You
shall dance with my cousins; for I am their chaperon on such occasions,
and I will so arrange the matter that you and no other shall be the
first to engage them; they will be enchanted when I promise them the
best dancer in the room." With this he left the apartment, wishing his
friend good morning, cautioning him when he went out of the house not
to forget to notice it, so as to be able to find it again at dinner
time.
Herr Kraft being a near relation of the Herrn von Besserer, was
entitled to free access to his house, and upon this occasion he made an
earlier call than usual.
He found the maidens still at breakfast. Ladies of the present day may
perhaps be shocked at the homely meal which our two belles of Ulm, in
the year 1519, were partaking of when their cousin Dieterick entered
the room. It was not an elegant dejeune, served up in painted porcelain
in the form of beautiful antique vases, or curious-shaped chocolate
cups; no, the natural grace of Marie and Bertha was not impaired by the
occupation of breakfasting on humble _beer-soup_,[1] at six in the
morning, served up in the brown-coloured jug of that day. Can this
avowal, however, prejudice the attractive qualities of these two
beauties? In the eyes of some it perhaps may; but whoever could have
seen Marie and Bertha, in their pretty little morning caps and neat
clean dresses, would certainly, as cousin Kraft did, have no objection
to partake of the breakfast with them.
"I can see at once, cousin," began Marie, after the usual salutations
of the morning, "that you would like to partake of our soup, because, I
suppose, your old cross nurse has not taken care of you this morning;
but don't flatter yourself that you will get any here, for you deserve
punishment, and must expect----"
"Oh, we have been waiting for you so long," interrupted Bertha.
"Yes, to be sure we have," said Marie, with her usual quick way; "but
don't flatter yourself that we care as much about your society, as to
be informed of the news of what is going on, that's all."
The scribe had been long accustomed to be received by Marie in this
manner. He determined, therefore, to make himself as agreeable as
possible, satisfying her curiosity by giving her all the gossip of the
town, in order to pacify the jealous mood, which he thought he had
excited. He was about to begin, when Marie interrupted him. "We know,"
said she, "that you are too fond of a long story, and as we witnessed
most of your doings in the town-hall yesterday from the balcony, we'll
say nothing touching your drinking bout there, which speaks not much to
your credit; but answer me this question."--She placed herself before
him in an attitude of comic seriousness, and went on: "Dieterick von
Kraft, scribe of the most noble council of state, did you notice among
the confederates, at the dinner given yesterday in the town-hall, a
remarkably distinguished-looking young knight, with long light-brown
hair, a face not so milk-white as your own, but not less handsome; a
small beard, not so carefully combed as yours, but much more beautiful;
a light blue scarf with silver----!"
"Oh, that is no other than my guest," cried cousin Kraft; "he rode a
large brown horse, and wore a blue jacket, slashed at the shoulders,
and turned up with light blue."
"Yes, yes, go on; the very one," said Marie; "we have our particular
reasons for inquiring all about him."
"Well, that is Albert von Sturmfeder," answered the scribe, "a handsome
charming young fellow. It is curious that you should be the first he
noticed in coming into the town." Kraft then related all the
particulars of what had passed at the dinner, how he was at once struck
by the manly figure, the commanding and attractive countenance of the
young man, who, by good luck, became his neighbour at table, and that
the more he knew of him the more he liked him; so much so, that he had
invited him to his house.
Bertha rose from her seat, and went to look for her work-box, turning
her back at the same time upon both her cousins, in order to conceal a
blush which flew to her forehead, and which proved that not one word of
Dieterick's conversation was lost upon her.
"Come, that is very kind of you, cousin," said Marie, as he finished:
"I believe it is the first time you have ventured to have a guest in
your house. I should like to have seen the face of old Sabina, when
master Dieter, as she calls you, brought a stranger home so late at
night."
"Oh," said the scribe, "she resembled the dragon attacking St. George;
but I gave her to understand pretty clearly, that it was not at all
improbable, I might soon bring home one of my pretty cousins----"
"Ah, get away with you, and don't talk nonsense," resumed Marie, as
she tried to withdraw her hand, which he had taken, blushing highly at
the same time. She had never appeared so pretty in his eyes as at this
moment. Bertha's serious face, in proportion as this flirtation
increased, lost its attraction in his estimation, the balance of his
devotion was all in favour of the animated Marie, who now sat before
him in all the bloom of blushing beauty.
Bertha having slipt out of the room, Marie escaped the tender grasp of
Dieterick's hand, and profited by this opportunity to turn the subject
of the conversation.
"There she goes," she said, as she looked after her cousin; "I would
wager she is going to her room to weep again. She cried so violently
yesterday, that it has made me also quite melancholy."
"What is the matter with her?" asked Dieterick, with interest.
"I am as ignorant of the cause of her grief as ever," answered Marie;
"I have asked her over and over again; but she only shakes her head, as
if there was no hope left. 'This unhappy war!' is all she ever gave me
for answer."
"And is old Lichtenstein still determined to take her back to his
castle?"
"Certainly," answered Marie; "you should have heard how the old man
swore yesterday, when the confederates entered! Well, he is devoted to
his Duke, heart and soul, so he may go, with all my heart. As soon as
war is declared, he intends taking his departure with her."
Herr Dieterick appeared very thoughtful; he rested his head upon his
hand, and listened to his cousin in silence.
"And only think," she continued, "yesterday, after the entrance of the
leaguists into the town, she wept more than ever. You know she was
always serious and melancholy; but as if that circumstance were to
decide the fate of the war, she is now quite disconsolate, I don't
believe it is the idea of leaving Ulm that affects her; but I suspect,"
she added, mysteriously, "she has some secret attachment at heart."
"Yes, I have long remarked that," sighed Herr Dieterick; "but how can I
help it?"
"You! how can you help it?" laughed Marie, all signs of sorrow on
Bertha's account vanishing from her face at these words. "No, indeed,
you need not flatter yourself that you are the cause of her suffering.
She was in this state long before you ever saw her."
The worthy secretary was very much put out by this assurance. He
thought in his heart that a farewell from him was the real cause of
Bertha's state, and her care-worn countenance at this moment almost
regained the preponderance in his changeable heart. Marie went on to
deride his conceitedness, when all of a sudden he recollected the main
object of his visit, which he had lost sight of during the
conversation. Marie sprang up with a scream of joy, as her cousin
imparted to her the news of the ball.
"Bertha, Bertha!" she cried out, at the height of her voice, so that
her cousin, startled, and fearing lest some accident had happened,
hastened to her assistance. But before she had scarcely had time to
enter the room, Marie said again, "Bertha, a ball at the town-hall this
evening!"
This news was a happy surprise to her also. "When? are the strangers
invited also?" were her rapid questions, whilst a deep red covered her
cheeks, and a ray of joy shot from her sorrowful eyes, scarcely able to
contain their tears.
Marie and her cousin Kraft were both astonished at Bertha's rapid
change from depression of spirits to sudden joy, and Dieterick could
not help remarking, that he supposed she must be passionately fond of
dancing. But he was equally mistaken in this instance, as he was when
he mistook Albert von Sturmfeder for a connoisseur of wine.
Herr Kraft, supposing his cousins would now wish to occupy themselves
with the important preparation of dress, rather than listen to anything
else he might have to say, took his departure, to fulfil the rest of
his weighty duties. He hastened to give the requisite orders, and to
invite, in person, the principal guests, and higher families. He was
received everywhere as the messenger of good news; for tradition says,
that the pleasure of dancing is not the passion of the present day
only.
His arrangements were soon accomplished. In those days, in order to be
merry and cheerful, it was not absolutely necessary there should be a
long suite of apartments, lighted up with flaming chandeliers, and
furnished with numerous unmeaning things, which encumber the
fashionable apartments of the present age. All was simple. The room in
the town-hall was, from its size, well adapted for the purpose, and the
humble rude-shaped lamps which hung on the walls, had, up to that time,
thrown out light enough to show off the dresses and illumine the pretty
faces of the maidens of Ulm.
But not only had the arrangements of the active scribe succeeded in
everything he had undertaken on this important occasion; he had also in
the course of his visits learned some secret intelligence which had
been confided solely to the committee of the council, and the principal
officers of the League.
Satisfied with the result of his various avocations, he returned home
at noon, when his first step was to inquire after his guest.
Albert had been employed, during the absence of his host, in looking
over a beautifully-written book of chronicles, which he found in his
room. The neat painted figures which formed the first letter of the
chapters, the pictures of fields of battle, and triumphal entries of
victorious troops, delineated with a bold outline, and painted with
peculiar care and labour, and which were dispersed throughout the
volume, had amused him for some time. His mind being full of the
warlike figures he had been examining, induced him to think of his own
weapons, and of polishing his helmet, armour, and the sword which he
had inherited from his father. He accordingly set to work, at the same
time singing sometimes a cheerful, sometimes a serious song, to the
great annoyance of the unmusical organs of Frau Sabina.
Dieterick heard the sounds of his agreeable voice as he walked up
stairs, and he could not resist listening at the door until he had
finished his song. It was one of those touching strains, bordering
almost on the melancholy, which has been brought down to our times, and
is to be heard even now in the mouth of the Swabians. Often and with
pleasure have we listened to those strains on the charming banks of the
Neckar, struck with the beautiful simplicity and lengthened sound of
their harmony.
Albert went on singing:
Swift as thought
All our pleasures come to nought!
The charger yesterday he press'd,
To-day the death-shot pierced his breast,
To-morrow opes the chilly grave.
Such the measure
Of all earthly bliss and pleasure!
In that comely cheek of thine,
The lily and the rose combine;
But rose and lily fade and die.
Then resigned
To God's will, I yield my mind:
Should the trumpet sound a call,
Should it be my fate to fall,
Say "A gallant soldier's gone."
"Really you have a fine voice," said his host, as he entered the
apartment; "but why sing such melancholy songs? I prefer a merry and
cheerful one, such as a young fellow of twenty-eight ought to sing."
Albert put his sword aside, and gave his hand to his friend. "Every one
to his taste," said he, "but I think that to those whose occupation is
war, and whose life is in constant jeopardy, a song which carries
consolation and encouragement to the heart of the soldier, gives death
a milder aspect."
"That's just what I mean, also," said Dieterick; "but what is the use
of being melancholy upon a subject which is certainly the lot of all?
'If you paint the devil on the wall, he will surely appear,' says the
proverb; however, that saying does not hold good as the case now
stands."
"How? is not war decided," asked Albert, with curiosity; "has the
Wuertemberger accepted conditions?"
"Conditions? none will be made with him," answered the secretary, with
an air of contempt; "he has lived his longest day as Duke; it is our
turn now to govern. I will let you into a secret," added he, looking
big with importance and mystery, "but it must be strictly between us.
Your hand! You think the Duke has fourteen thousand Swiss with him?
They are scattered to the winds. The messenger we despatched to Zurich
and Bern has returned. All the Swiss at Blaubeuren and on the Alb will
be obliged to return home immediately."
"Return home?" said Albert, with astonishment, "and for what purpose?
Are they at war themselves in their own country?"
"No," was the answer, "they are in profound peace, but have no money.
Believe me, before a week passes over our heads, messengers will arrive
to order the whole army home."
"But will they go? they came to the Duke's assistance of their own
accord; who can order them to leave his colours?"
"That's very easily managed; do you suppose they will disobey the
orders of their magistrates at the risk of the loss of their property,
and imprisonment? Ulerich has too little money to retain them, and they
will not serve him upon mere promises."
"But you cannot call that behaving honourably," remarked Albert, "to
deprive the enemy of the arms with which he wishes to meet you in fair
contest."
"In politics, as we call it," answered the scribe, thinking to
establish his knowledge of state affairs in the mind of the
inexperienced young soldier, "in politics, honour at best is assumed
but for appearance sake; for example, the Swiss will explain to the
Duke, in excuse for deserting him, that it would be against their
conscience to allow their troops to serve against the independence of
the free towns; but the truth is, that we can fill the pockets of the
bears with more gold florins in order to keep them at home, than the
Duke can to assist him."
"Well, after all, let the Swiss desert the Duke," said Albert,
"Wuertemberg will still be able of herself to send forth valiant and
ready hearts sufficient to prevent any dog passing the Alb."
"We have thought of an expedient in that case also," replied the
scribe, in explanation; "we will address a letter to the states of
Wuertemberg, and warn them against the insufferable government of their
Duke, exhorting them at the same time to cast off their allegiance to
him, and join the League in the laudable undertaking of crushing his
tyrannous conduct."
"How!" cried Albert, with horror, whose generous mind was as yet
unacquainted with the intrigues of politics: "I call that playing the
traitor. Would you force the Duke out of his country by such underhand,
unworthy means, and corrupt his confiding subjects to induce them to
become his bitterest enemies?"
"I believe you have been thinking, all along, that we wish nothing more
than that he should restore Reutlingen again to its former rank of a
town of the empire? But how then is Hutten, with his forty-two
associates, to be remunerated? In what way is Sickingen to satisfy the
demands of his thousand cavalry and twelve thousand infantry, if he
does not get a good slice of the country to pay them? And the Duke of
Bavaria, do you suppose he will not require a share of it also? And we
Ulmers, our frontier borders on Wuertemberg----"
"But the Princes of Germany," interrupted Albert, impatiently, "do you
suppose they will quietly look on and see you parcel out his rightful
possession among strangers? The Emperor, surely, will not suffer you to
hunt a Duke of the empire out of his country!"
Herr Dieterick had a ready answer to this question also. "There is no
doubt," said he, "that Charles succeeds his father the Emperor: we
shall then offer to place the country under his protection, and, should
Austria throw her mantle over it, who can resist her power? But what
makes you look so downcast? if you thirst for war, you will readily
find means to gratify your wish. The nobility still hold to the Duke,
and many a one will have his head broken before his castle walls. But
we shall lose our dinner if we go on talking thus, come soon, and we'll
see what old Sabina has provided for us." Upon which the secretary left
the room of his guest with a proud step, as if he himself were already
installed in the office of protector of Wuertemberg.
Albert did not send the most friendly look after his host as he
withdrew. He replaced his helmet again in the corner, which he had but
an hour ago taken such pleasure in polishing; with sorrow he looked at
his sword, that faithful piece of steel, which his father had proved in
many a hard conflict, and which he had sent to his orphan son from the
field of battle, as his sole legacy. "Fight honourably," was the device
engraved on its blade, and he asked himself, could he now draw it in a
cause, which bore injustice on its front? Instead of the contest being
decided by the military talents of experienced men, and the bravery of
individuals, as he had supposed, he now learned that secret intrigue,
designated by Herr Dieterick "politics," was to settle the question!
Instead of the exhilirating clash of arms, and the prospect of glory,
which had induced him to take part in the struggle, he perceived that
he was to promote the covetous plans of designing men! Would his honour
permit him to assist these low-minded Philistines of townsfolk, in
expelling an ancient princely house from its rights, which his
ancestors had served with willing arm? No, the thought was intolerable;
and to be tutored by this Kraft was still more repugnant to his
feelings.
He could not however long entertain any ill-will against his
kind-hearted host, when he considered that this plan was not concocted
by his own brain, and that men, like this political scribe, when they
get hold of a state secret, or some great political scheme, foster it
as their own, and as such try to instil it into the minds of their
adopted children, as if the wisdom of Minerva had sprung out of their
own thick heads.
He therefore met his friend in good humour, when dinner was announced.
The conversation between them was dull and common-place. The scribe's
thoughts appeared to be occupied with some important project; and
Albert taking a review in his mind of the whole state of affairs as
they stood, consoled himself with the idea that, as the father of
Bertha had sided with the League as he supposed, and such men as
Fronsberg had proffered their services in the same cause, there might
be less reason to doubt the justice of it than he imagined.
Youth's ever ready with its word; it seizes
The first that comes to hand, as 'twould a knife:
And thus ye cry or "shame," or "nobly done,"
On every thing--all's either good or bad.
These words of the poet well describe the feelings of Albert at this
moment, and the sudden change in his sentiments was also to be
attributed to his inexperienced mind in worldly affairs, acting
as he did alone, without the aid and advice of any tried friend.
Anticipating, therefore, the happy moment of meeting his love at the
ball in the evenings where he would be able to speak with her, and from
her lips have his doubts cleared up respecting her father's intentions,
the gloom with which his mind had been overcast in his conversation
with his friend the secretary gave away to the pleasing prospect of
seeing her again.
FOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER V.:
[Footnote 1: Beer-soup was a mixture of beer, eggs, sugar, cinnamon,
and a little milk, with crums of bread, in quantity according to the
taste.]