As like a spirit of the air
She hangs upon his neck,
In falt'ring tones the lovely fair
At last essays to speak;
"And wilt thou, then, thy true love leave
For ever?"--thus the fair
Began, when, overcome by grief,
Her words are lost in air.
SCHUBART.
Albert was sitting in his room, in the forenoon of the day after the
ball, thoughtful and dejected. He had paid a visit to his friend
Breitenstein, from whom he heard little that was consoling to his
hopes. A council of war had been assembled early in the morning, and
war was irrevocably decided upon. Twelve pages were despatched through
the Goecklinger gate to convey the declarations of defiance of the Duke
of Bavaria, the nobility, and assembled states, to the Wuertembergers at
Blaubeuren. This news was speedily spread from mouth to mouth through
the streets, and joy at the prospect of marching at last into the
field, was visibly depicted on every countenance. To one alone was the
announcement a terrible blow. Grief drove him from the circle of the
joyous multitude, who adjourned to the wine shops, to celebrate, by
loud carousal, the birthday of the war, and to cast lots for the booty
of anticipated victory. Ah! his lot was already cast! A bloody field of
battle was spread between him and his beloved; she was lost to him for
a length of time, perhaps for ever.
Hurried steps ascending the staircase, roused him out of his melancholy
mood. His friend the scribe put his head in at the door, crying out,
"Good luck, my boy! the dance is about to commence in good earnest.
Have you heard the news? war is announced, and our messengers have been
despatched an hour ago, with the declaration to the enemy."
"I know that already," said his gloomy guest.
"Well, and does not your heart jump more freely? Have you also
heard--no, you could not," continued Dieterich, as he approached him in
confidence--"the Swiss have withdrawn their aid from the Duke."
"How? Have they deserted him?" replied Albert. "Well, then, I suppose
that will put an end to the war."
"I would not be quite certain of that," said the scribe, doubtfully.
"The Duke of Wuertemberg is young and bold, and has many knights and
followers at his command. He will not, indeed, run the risk of fighting
a battle in the field, but many fortified castles and cities remain
faithful to his cause. Hoellenstein, defended by Stephen von Lichow,
Goeppingen, which Philip von Rechberg will not give up at the first
shot, Schorndorf, Rothenberg, Arsperg, but, above all, Tuebingen, which
he has strongly fortified, still hold faithful to him. Many a one will
bite the grass before your steed drinks of the water of the Neckar."
"Well, well!" he continued, perceiving this news did not cheer up his
silent guest, "if this warlike message does not please you, you will,
perhaps, lend a willing ear to a more peaceful commission. Tell me,
have you not a cousin somewhere or other?"
"A cousin, yes; but why do you ask?"
"Only think! now I understand the confused conversation I had with
Marie a little while ago. As I came out of the town hall, she winked to
me from her window to come to her, when she desired me to bring my
guest this afternoon into her garden on the Danube. Bertha, who knows
your cousin very well, has something of importance to send to her, and
hopes you will be so kind as to be the bearer of it. Such secrets and
commissions generally consist in mere trifles. I would bet, it is
nothing but a little model of a weaver's loom, or a pattern of fine
wool, or some mysterious secret in the art of cooking; perhaps a few
seeds of some rare flower, for Bertha is a great florist. However, if
these girls pleased you yesterday, you will have no objection to
accompany me to-day."
In the midst of his painful thoughts, on the hour of separation from
his love, Albert could scarce refrain from laughing at the cunning
ingenuity of the girls; he proffered his hand heartily to the welcome
messenger, and prepared to follow his friend.
The garden was situated on the banks of the Danube, about two thousand
paces below the bridge. It was not large, and bore the appearance of
being kept with care and attention. The fruit trees were as yet not
clothed with foliage, neither were the curiously formed flower beds
ornamented with flowers; a long walk of yew trees skirting the bank of
the river, and terminating in a large arbour, formed a pleasing picture
by their bright green colour, and gave sufficient protection to a white
neck and arm, against the piercing rays of a burning sun. The two
girls, awaiting the arrival of the young men, were seated on a
commodious stone bench in the arbour, and had an extended view, up and
down the Danube, through apertures made in the side of it.
Bertha sat there in sorrowful thought, her arm resting on one of the
apertures, and her head, weary from grief and weeping, supported on her
hand. Her dark glossy hair threw out in strong relief her beautiful
white complexion, which sorrow had rendered a deadly pale colour;
sleepless nights had robbed her brilliant blue eye of its usual
animation, and given to it a languishing--perhaps so much the more
interesting--look of melancholy. Beside her sat the rosy Marie, fresh
and plump, a perfect specimen of a merry heart. Her golden tresses,
animated round face, bright hazel eyes, light and lively movements,
were peculiarly striking when compared with the dark locks, oval
careworn countenance, and thoughtful look of her dejected cousin.
Marie appeared to have summoned up her most agreeable mood, expressly
for the purpose of consoling her cousin, or at least to dissipate
her pain. She prattled about indifferent things--she laughed at
and mimicked the gestures and peculiarities of many of their
acquaintances--she tried a thousand little arts, with which nature had
endowed her--but with little success; for only now and then a painful
smile spread over Bertha's beautiful features.
As a last resource, she took to her lute, which stood in the corner.
Bertha was an accomplished performer on this instrument, and Marie
would not have been easily persuaded to play before so expert a
mistress on any other occasion; but now, she hoped to be able to elicit
a smile, at least, if it were only on account of her bad performance.
"What is Love, I'm ask'd to tell:
Fain we would his nature know;
You who've studied it so well,
Why he pains us, prithee show.
Joy it brings, if love be there;
If pain, of love 't is not the spell;--
Oh, then, I know the name that it should bear."
"Where did you get that old Swabian song?" asked Bertha, who had lent a
willing ear to the music and words.
"It is pretty, is it not? but the remainder is still more so; would you
like to hear it?" said Marie. "A music master, Hans Sacks, taught
it me in Nuernberg. It is not his own composition, but Walther's, the
bird-feeder, who lived and loved a good three hundred years ago. But
listen:
"How I rightly may divine
Love's enigma, prithee say.
'Tis the charm of pow'r to join
Two hearts, where each must own its sway;
One heart avails not, each must share
Its influence: dear mistress mine,
Say, wilt thou share with me, thou lovely May?
"Well, though you have shared your love equally with the poor young
man," said the playful Marie, "I pity you, from my heart, the painful
burden of its weight. If such be its chains, cousin Kraft, who would
willingly give me a portion of his, must wait awhile, and groan under
the load of carrying the whole charge of it on his own shoulders. But I
see you are again absorbed in thought," she added, "so I must sing you
another of Walther's songs:
"I know not what has chanced, I ween
My sight was never on this wise.
Since in my heart she first was seen,
I see her still without my eyes.
What miracle is this? What pow'r
Enables me, without the aid of sight,
To see her every day and every hour?
"Would you then learn the organs and the art,
By which I see to earth's extremest zone?
They are the thoughts I nourish in my heart;
They penetrate through walls of brick and stone;
And, should these watchers fail, her presence still
Is evermore, as 't were, before my eyes,
Seen by my heart, my spirit, and my will."
Bertha praised the song of Walther the birdfeeder, as being consolatory
in separation. Marie agreed with her. "I have one more verse," she
added, smiling:
"Though she wander'd in Swabia, far and wide,
Through castles and walls her course he espied.
O'er the Alb unto Lichtenstein had she gone,
His eyes would have follow'd through rock and stone."
Marie was going on with her singing, when the garden door opened.
Footsteps were heard in the walk, and the girls rose to receive their
expected visitants.
"Albert von Sturmfeder," began Marie, after the usual salutations were
over, "you will pardon me for having ventured to invite you into my
father's garden; but, as my cousin, Bertha wishes to give you some
commissions, for her friend, I have taken the liberty." She then turned
to Dieterich von Kraft, and said, "We will not interrupt their
conversation; so, come and talk over the ball of last evening." Upon
which she took the hand of her cousin, and led him away down the
yew-tree walk.
Albert seated himself beside Bertha, who laid her head on his breast,
and wept bitterly. His most soothing words were unable to calm her
grief. "Bertha," he said, "you were always so stout-hearted; how can
you thus give up all hope of a happier destiny?"
"Hope?" she replied, sorrowfully: "to our hope, to our happiness, there
is an eternal end."
"But hearken, dearest," replied Albert, who, to cheer up her drooping
spirit, endeavoured to inspire her with courage; "let not this slight
interruption to our hopes throw its chilling influence over the purity
of our love, as if it were to extinguish altogether its bright flame.
All will be well yet. Rather let us put our trust in God, and wait his
almighty will; for I never can believe that He who knows the secret of
our hearts, and has joined them together by the indissoluble tie of
faithful attachment, will not, in his own way, make all things to work
for our good." These consoling words produced a smile upon her
countenance; but it pourtrayed the character of despondency rather than
of hope.
She replied, after a short silence, "Listen to me with attention,
Albert. I must acquaint you with a profound secret, upon which hangs my
father's life. He is as bitter an enemy to the League, as he is the
firm friend of the Duke. He is not come here solely for the purpose of
fetching his daughter home; no, he is using his utmost endeavour to
find out the plans of the enemy, and with money and address to spread
distrust and confusion among them. Do you suppose, then, that such a
determined adversary to the League, would ever consent to give his
daughter to a man who seeks to raise himself by our destruction? to one
who has attached himself to a party, whose object is not justice, but
plunder?"
"Your zeal, Bertha, for the Duke's cause, carries you too far," the
young man interrupted her; "you ought to know that many an honourable
man serves in our army."
"And even if this were the case," she replied, with animation, "still
they are deceived and led away, as you yourself also are."
"How are you so certain of that?" answered Albert, who, though he
suspected she was somewhat right, blushed to find the party he had
espoused should be so vilified by his beloved: "might not your father
be also equally blinded and deceived? How can he serve with such zeal
the cause of that proud ambitious Duke, who murders his nobility,
treads his citizens in the dust, squanders the industry of the land in
riotous living, and allows his peasantry to starve with hunger?"
"Yes, his enemies represent him in this light," she replied; "this army
speaks of him in the same terms; but ask those below, on the banks of
the Neckar, if they do not love their hereditary Prince, though his
hand may lay heavy on them at times? Ask those faithful men who have
rallied around him, whether they are not willing and ready, to shed
their blood for the grand-child of Eberhard, rather than allow that
proud Duke of Bavaria, that rapacious nobility, those needy townsfolk
to tread their land?"
Albert was thoughtfully silent for a time. "But," he asked, "how can
his warmest supporters exculpate him from the murder of Hutten?"
"You are very ready to talk of your honour," Bertha answered, "and will
not suffer the Duke to defend his own. Hutten did not fall by
treachery, as his partisans have given out to the world, but in
honourable fight, in which the Duke's life was equally exposed. I do
not wish to excuse him for all his actions, but it is but just to
remember, that a young man, like him, surrounded by evil advisers, has
not the power always to act wisely. But he is really good, and if you
knew how mild and humane he can be!"
Albert was piqued that Bertha should speak in such glowing terms of the
Duke's virtues, and jealousy for a moment took possession of his soul
and ruffled his temper. He replied with a sarcastic and malignant
smile, "A little more, and you would call him the handsome Duke; who,
for aught I know, if he were aware what an advocate he had in you,
might think it worth his trouble to ingratiate himself in your heart,
and supplant poor Albert."
"I really did not think you capable of such petty jealousy," Bertha
answered, and turned away, with a tear of indignation starting into her
eye, from a feeling of wounded dignity. "Cannot you believe it possible
for the heart of a young girl to beat warm in the cause of her
country?"
"Do not be angry with me," Albert implored, and felt ashamed at the
injustice of his remark; "really, I meant it in joke."
"Can you indulge in a joke at this moment, when our life's happiness is
at stake! My father leaves Ulm to-morrow, war being declared. It will
be long, perhaps very long, before we see each other again--and can you
joke now? Ah! could you have witnessed the many nights I have prayed
God, with burning tears, to incline your heart to our side, to defend
us from the misery and pain of being separated for ever, you certainly
would not have trifled so cruelly with my feelings."
"He has not inclined it to happiness," said Albert, looking about him,
agitated.
"And is it still impossible," said Bertha, as she took his hand, with
the most expressive tenderness, "is it still impossible? Come along
with us, Albert; think how happy my father would be to present a young
warrior to his Duke? He has often said that one gallant sword is of
great price in such times; you will be highly esteemed by him, you will
fight by his side, my heart will not then be torn or divided between
the conflicting parties, my prayers for prosperity and victory, will
not wander in doubtful agitation between the two armies."
"Stop, for heaven's sake, stop!" cried the young man, and covered his
eyes with his hands; for the conquest of conviction beamed from her
looks, the power of truth was encamped on her sweet lips. "Do you wish
to persuade me to become a deserter? I entered but yesterday with the
army, war is this day declared, and shall I ride over to the Duke
to-morrow? Is my honour so indifferent to you?"
"Honour!" Bertha said, "is such honour dearer to you than your love?
How different were his words, when Albert swore eternal fidelity! Well,
then, go and be happier with them than with me! But when the Duke of
Bavaria creates you a knight on the field of battle, for carrying
desolation through our fields, when he decorates the neck of Albert von
Sturmfeder with the chain of honour, for having been the foremost in
crushing Wuertemberg's citizens, may the joy of your thoughts not be
troubled then, by having broken the heart of one so true to you--of one
who loved you so tenderly!"
"Dearest," answered Albert, whose breast was torn by conflicting
feelings, "grief does not permit you, to perceive how unjust you are.
But be it so; you conceive that I prefer the glory, which is leading me
onwards, to making a sacrifice of it to love. But hear me. I dare not
come over to your side. I will give in my resignation to the League.
Let those fight and conquer who will; my dream of glory is thus at an
end."
Bertha sent a look of gratitude to heaven for this avowal, and rewarded
the words of the young man by a sweet acknowledgment. "Oh! believe me,"
she said, "I know how much this sacrifice must cost you. But do not let
me see you look so sad, when you cast your eyes at your sword. The sun
will still shine upon our happiness one of these days. I can now bid
you farewell with consolation in my heart, for, whichever way the war
may end, you can appear unconstrained before my father, who will
rejoice to hear of your having made the heavy sacrifice for my sake."
Marie now gave her friends the signal that she was unable to retain the
clerk of the council any longer, which roused them from their absorbing
conversation. Bertha quickly composed herself, and with Albert quitted
the arbour.
"Cousin Kraft wishes to depart," said Marie, "and requires his friend
to accompany him."
"I must indeed go with you, if I wish to find my way home," replied the
young man, who was too well acquainted with the received customs of his
day, not to be aware that he, a stranger, could not remain with the
young ladies, without their cousin being of the party, precious as the
last moments, before a long separation from his love, might be to him.
They proceeded down the garden, the silence only broken by Dieterick,
who expressed his sorrow, in very courteous terms, at the prospect of
his cousin leaving Ulm so soon as the morrow. But Marie, thinking she
discovered something in the look of Albert's eye, which expressed a
wish not yet satisfied, and to the accomplishment of which witnesses
might be unwelcome, drew cousin Kraft on one side, and questioned him
so closely upon a plant, whose leaves were just bursting, that he had
not time to observe what was going on behind his back.
Albert took immediate advantage of the happy moment, and pressed Bertha
once more to his heart. The noise occasioned by her heavy silken dress,
and the clattering of his sword, drew the scribe's attention from his
botanical observations; he looked around, and oh, wonder! he saw his
very reserved cousin in the arms of his guest.
"That was a salute for the dear cousin in Franconia, I suppose?" he
remarked, after he had recovered from his surprise.
"No, Mr. Secretary," answered Albert, with firmness, "it was a salute
for me alone, and from her whom I hope one day to call my own. Have you
anything to say against it, my friend?"
"God forbid! I congratulate you with all my heart," answered Dieterick,
somewhat subdued by the determined look of the young man. "But, by the
powers, I call that an entire case of _veni_, _vidi_, _vici_. I have
been trying my luck with the beauty for more than a quarter of a year,
and I can scarcely boast of one kind look from her during the whole
time."
"Forgive the joke, cousin, which we have played upon you," said Marie;
"be reasonable, and let me explain the matter." She then gave him to
understand, why Albert and he had been invited into the garden, and
begged him to be silent upon the subject before Bertha's father. He was
softened into compliance by the kind look of Marie, upon condition,
that she would submit also to the same ordeal her cousin had just
undergone.
Marie gently repelled his unmannerly request, and, by way of teazing
him, asked him again at the garden door the natural history of a
violet, the first of the season. He was kind enough to give her a long
and learned dissertation upon the subject, without allowing himself to
be interrupted by the noise of a rustling silk dress or clattering
sword. A grateful look from Bertha, a friendly shake of the hand from
Marie, rewarded him at parting; and long floated the veils of the
pretty cousins over the garden hedge, as their eyes followed the path
of the young men.