"In the still cloister's solitary grove,
A maiden walk'd, and thought upon her love;
The virgin moon, as if in mockery,
Shed forth her splendour on her misery,
And the bright lustre of the beams that fell
Lit up the tears that coursed her cheek so pale."
L. UHLAND.
During the following days, Ulm resembled a large camp. Instead of the
peaceable peasant, the busy citizens, passing, as in ordinary times,
through the streets with sober tranquil step to their several
avocations, were now to be seen strange figures, with helmets and caps
of iron, carrying lances, cross bows and fire-arms. In lieu of
statesmen in their plain black dresses, proud knights clad in steel,
and wearing helmets adorned with waving plumes, strode about the
squares and market places, accompanied by numerous bands of followers.
Still more animated was this warlike scene without the gates of the
town. In an open space on the banks of the Danube, Sickingen was
exercising his cavalry, whilst, in a large flax-field towards the
village of Soeflingen, Fronsberg was occupied in man[oe]uvring his
infantry.
One fine morning, about three or four days after Bertha von
Lichtenstein had left Ulm with her father, an immense concourse of
people were assembled in the above field, to witness Fronsberg's
infantry going through their evolutions. They looked upon this man,
whose military reputation had long preceded him, with not less interest
than we should, perhaps, were we to see the imperial or royal son of
Mars performing the part of a field marshal. The state of an army
depends in great measure on the character and experience of its leader;
and we are more or less interested in the accounts given in history, or
the public papers, of battles, according to the renown of the general
who fought them. Such might have been the motive, which induced the
inhabitants of Ulm on that morning to quit their narrow streets, to see
the celebrated man of the day, employed in his military occupations.
The dexterity with which he kept his men in solid masses, who before
were accustomed to fight in scattered bodies; the celerity with which
they moved on all sides at his word, or closed together, producing a
formidable array of pikes and fire-arms; his powerful voice, which even
rose above the noise of the drums, and his noble warlike figure, formed
a sight so novel and attractive, that even the citizen most fond of his
ease, was tempted to pass a long forenoon on foot, to enjoy the
spectacle.
The general appeared, on this morning, more cheerful and friendly than
usual. The warm interest which the good people of Ulm took in him, and
which was visibly depicted on every countenance, perhaps produced this
feeling; or perhaps he felt himself happier when engaged in military
exercises, than confined to the cold narrow streets. Whatever might
have been the cause, the crowd took his gay mood in such good part,
that each individual thought himself specially noticed and saluted by
him as he passed, and the cheer, "A gallant man, a brave knight!"
followed his path.
But there was a certain spot, to which his attention appeared to be
more particularly drawn; for, every time he rode by it, he was observed
to salute some one, either with his sword or hand, and to nod
familiarly. Those in the rear of the spectators stood upon tiptoes to
find out the object of his friendly nod, those in front looked
inquisitively at each other, wondering who the favoured one could be,
as none of the assembled citizens thought themselves worthy of the
honor. When Fronsberg passed the same spot again, and repeated his
salutation, an hundred heads were on the stretch to satisfy their
curiosity, and they discovered that it was directed to a tall slim
young man, who stood in the front rank of the spectators. His jacket of
fine cloth, slashed with silk, the high feather in his cap playing in
the morning breeze, his long sword and his scarf or sash, distinguished
him as a man of quality from among his surrounding neighbours, who were
less adorned than he was, and whose diminutive stature and broad faces
did not set them off to the best advantage beside him.
The good townsfolk felt hurt that the young man did not appear
flattered by the high favour conferred on him in their very presence.
His attitude, also, standing there as he did, with sunken head, and his
arms folded across his breast, they thought did not betoken good
breeding, so especially noticed as he was by an old warrior. Besides
which, the salutation of the general seemed to spread confusion over
his countenance, for he returned it by a slight inclination of the head
only, and followed it with a gloomy though friendly look.
"That gentleman must be a strange fellow," said the chief of the Ulm
weavers to his neighbour, a sturdy armourer; "I would give my Sunday
jacket for such a salute from Fronsberg; but he scarcely notices it.
Would it not be the inquiry of the whole town, what has Fronsberg done
to Master Koehler, that he did not return his salute, for they were
lately like two brothers? 'Oh! they are long acquainted,' would be the
answer, 'they knew each other from their youth up.' But it vexes me
much, that so sensible and superior a man should salute such an
apparent coxcomb."
The armourer, a little old fellow, nodded assent to his friend's
remark. "May God punish me, but you are right, Master Koehler. There are
many other people here, whom he might have noticed. The burgomaster is
on the ground, and my godfather Hans von Besserer, who lives in the
corner house, stands among the crowd also,--both as good as that
youngster! If I were his master, I would soon teach him to bend his
head, though he looks to me, as if it would require an emperor to make
him do so. He must be a man of some consequence, for the secretary to
the council, my neighbour in town, who is otherwise an enemy to
receiving guests, has given him a lodging in his own house."
"Kraft?" asked the weaver, astonished; "but stop, there may be
something in it. He must be a young nobleman, or, likely enough, the
son of the burgomaster of Cologne, who intends to join the army also.
Is that not old John, Kraft's servant, standing there?"
"Yes, that's him," said the armourer, whose curiosity was excited by
the weaver's inquiry: "it is him; and I will stand confessor to him, in
spite of the provost of Elchingen." But though the space between the
two citizens and Kraft's servant was small, the smith could not accost
him, on account of the density of the crowd. The important bearing,
however, of the chief of the weavers among his brother tradesmen, for
he was rich, and respected in the town, enabled him to force his way,
and he succeeded in getting possession of John, and forthwith conducted
him to the armourer. Old John, when questioned, could not give them
much information on the subject of their inquiry; all he could say was,
that his master's guest was a Herr von Sturmfeder, and that he could
not have come from any great distance, as he had only one horse, and no
servant. "But my master will get the worst of it," he said, "for our
old Sabina is as furious as a dragon, because he has destroyed the
economy of the house by inviting a stranger, booted and spurred,
without consulting her."
"No offence," interrupted the chief of the weavers, "but your master,
John, is a fool! I would have thrown that old witch--God forgive
me!--long ago out of the window. The gentleman has already arrived at
years of discretion, and why does he allow himself to be treated as if
he were still in swaddling clothes?"
"You have spoken well, Master Koehler," answered the old servant, "but
you don't understand matters properly. Throw her into the street,
indeed! who would take care of the house, then, I should like to know?"
"Who," cried the inflamed weaver, "who? he should take a wife, a
housekeeper, as other Christians and citizens do. Why does he remain a
bachelor, and run after all the young girls in the town? Did I not
catch him, not long ago, saying pretty things to our Katharine? I
should like to have thrown my looms, beams and all, at his worship's
head; but when I recollected, that his good mother had many a good
piece of linen wove by me, I was obliged to take off my cap, and say,
'An humble good evening, and has your honour any commands?' May
the----"
"Upon my word," said John, with a displeased look, "I have always
thought that a gentleman, like my master, the secretary to the grand
council of state, might exchange a word in all honour with your
daughter, without the wicked world----"
"Really! exchange a word! and after vesper bell in March! He will not
marry her, nevertheless; and do you suppose the reputation of my
daughter must not be kept as clean as the white cravat of your master?
I should like to know that!" Master Koehler's voice during this
conversation was raised to so high a pitch as to draw the attention of
the bystanders, and having grasped Old John by the collar, there was no
saying what might have been the consequences, had not the master smith
dragged the querulous couple away by force, and separated them. He
thereby quelled the dispute, but he could not stop the report, which
was speedily circulated through the whole town, that Old John, having
an intrigue in his old age with Master Koehler's young daughter, had
been brought to an account by her angry father, in the open field.
The man[oe]uvres of the infantry were by this time at an end, the crowd
separated, and the young man, who had been the original cause of the
foregoing conversation, was observed to bend his way also towards the
town. His step was slow, and undecided; his face looked paler than
usual, his eyes sought the ground, or wandered occasionally, with an
expression of silent grief, towards the distant blue mountains, the
boundaries of Wuertemberg. Albert von Sturmfeder had never felt so
unhappy as in these moments. Bertha had left Ulm with her father; she
had made him swear again to be faithful to his promise, an act which he
unavailingly felt to create a lurking regret in his breast. It had cost
him no small struggle at the time, to consent to her wishes, but the
overwhelming pain at parting from her, and the grief exhibited by the
beloved girl, had mastered every feeling but that of desire to soothe
the agony of her mind. His position was now one of extreme difficulty,
when he calmly considered his future plans. To crush in the bud all
those golden dreams and bright hopes of glory and honour, with which he
thought to render himself worthy the hand of the daughter of
Lichtenstein, was nothing, he felt, compared with the disgrace and
contempt, which he must expect to meet at the hands of men, whose
esteem was dear to him, for having deserted their colours, at a moment
when the struggle was about to commence. How could he give a reason, or
find words sufficiently convincing, to justify his conduct, before that
gallant old friend of his father, Breitenstein? How could he appear
before the noble Fronsberg? Ah, that friendly salute, with which he
appeared to encourage the son of his brave companion in arms, produced
a thousand torments. His father had fallen by his side, and he had
heard him, in his dying moments, bequeath to his orphan child the
renown of his name and a brilliant example, as his sole inheritance.
Before this man, who, mindful of his father's bequest, had kindly
opened to him a path which would lead to the accomplishment of his
parent's wishes, he must now appear in very doubtful light.
Troubled with these gloomy forebodings, he had slowly approached the
gate of the town, when he was suddenly seized by the arm, and turning
around, a man, to appearance a peasant, stood before him.
"What is your business with me?" asked Albert, rather angrily, annoyed
at being disturbed in his musing.
"My answer will depend upon whether you are the person I am looking
for," answered the man. "Tell me, what belongs to _Licht_ and
_Sturm_?"
Albert was astonished at this singular question, and observed him more
closely. He was not very tall, but strongly built, broad-chested, and
of mean appearance. His face, much tanned by the sun, might have passed
as plain and insignificant to a superficial observer, but, upon a
narrower inspection, there was a certain expression about the eyes and
mouth which, in addition to cunning and acuteness, bespoke daring and
audacity. His hair and beard were dark yellow, and smooth; he carried a
long dagger or knife in his leathern girdle; in one hand he held an
axe, in the other a low round leathern cap, such as the Swabian peasant
of the present day wears.
Whilst Albert made these hasty observations, he narrowly watched the
expression of his features.
"Perhaps you did not thoroughly understand me, sir knight," continued
the other, after a short silence; "so I will explain myself more fully.
Let me ask, what should be added to _Sturm_ and _Licht_, to form two
noble names?"
"_Feder_ and _stein_," answered the young man, to whom it was
immediately clear, what was to be understood by the question; "but what
is your business?"
"So you are Albert von Sturmfeder?" said the other; "and I come from
Bertha von----"
"For heaven's sake be silent, friend; mention no names," said Albert;
"tell me quickly, have you got any thing for me?"
"A note, sir," said the peasant; when, unbuckling a broad black leather
band, wound under his knee, he produced a small strip of parchment.
Albert took the parchment with hasty joy; there were a few words
written on it with black shining ink. It appeared to have cost some
trouble to the writer, and proved that the young ladies of 1519 were
not so ready with their pen, to express their tender feelings, as those
of the present day, when every village beauty can write an epistle to
her swain as long as her garter. The chronicle whence we have taken
this history, has happily preserved every word of the confused traces
on the parchment, which Albert's greedy eye now speedily deciphered as
follows:
"Remember your oath--fly bytimes. God conduct thee. Your Bertha----to
eternity."
These few words expressed a pious, tender feeling, dictated by a loving
heart. No wonder then that Albert was for some moments lost in a state
of joyous intoxication. He sent a look of gratitude toward the distant
blue mountains in the direction of Lichtenstein, and thanked his love
for the consolation these lines afforded him, for truly, never had he
stood so much in need of comfort, as at this moment. He was now
convinced, that a being, the dearest that existed in the world to him,
had not forsaken him. His heart resumed its usual cheerfulness, he
proffered his hand to the trusty messenger, thanked him cordially, and
asked him how he came by the strip of parchment.
"Did not I know," he answered, "that that little scrap of paper
contained no evil enchantment, for the young lady smiled most kindly as
she pressed it into my rough hand! I came to Blaubeuren last Wednesday,
where our army is encamped. There is a magnificent high altar in the
convent church there, over which the history of my patron, John the
Baptist, is represented. About seven years ago, when I was in great
distress of mind, and upon the point of suffering an ignominious death,
I made a vow, to perform a pilgrimage to the spot every year about this
time. I have never neglected this duty, having been saved from the
hangman's hand, by a miracle performed by my saint. When I have
finished my prayers, I always go to the abbot to present my offering of
a couple of fine geese or a lamb, or any thing else he may prefer. But,
sir, you will be tired with my gossip."
"No, no,--go on," said Albert; "come, sit down on that bench, beside
me."
"That would not be proper," answered the messenger; "for a common
peasant to place himself beside a gentleman, whom the general took such
notice of before all the people this morning, would be out of all
character: I would rather stand, with your permission." Albert seated
himself on the stone bench by the road side, and the countryman,
leaning on his axe, went on with his story. "I had little inclination
to prosecute my pilgrimage in these unsettled times, but it is said, an
unfulfilled oath is displeasing to the Almighty; so I was obliged to
perform my vow. This year, when I rose from my prayer, and, as usual,
was going to present my offering to the abbot, one of the priests told
me, I could not go to his reverence this time, because many nobles and
knights were waiting on him; but I insisted on it, for I knew the abbot
to be a kind benevolent man, and he would have been displeased, had I
gone away without seeing him. Should you ever visit the convent, don't
forget to notice a long and narrow staircase leading from the high
altar to the dormitory, through a thick wall, which separates it from
the church. There it was that the lady met me. She approached me, a
delicate-formed female, descending the stairs, covered with a long
veil, with breviary and rosary in her hands. I pressed myself close to
the wall, to allow her to pass, but she stood still, and said, 'Well,
Hans, whither are you going?'"
"But how did the lady know you?" Albert interrupted him.
"My sister is her nurse, and----"
"How, is old Rosel your sister?" said the young man.
"Do you know her also?" said the messenger, "only think! but let me
proceed. I was very happy to see her again, for I visited my sister
often in Lichtenstein, and I have known the young lady, ever since she
was taught to walk with the help of her father's sword belt. I should
scarcely have known her again, she is grown so much, but her rosy
cheeks have disappeared, like the snow on the first day of May. I don't
know how it was, but I was so much struck by her looks, that I could
not help asking her if any thing was the matter with her, and whether I
could render her any assistance. She thought for a moment, and then
said, 'Yes, Hans, if you can be discreet you may indeed render me a
very great service!' I promised, and she appointed a meeting after
vespers."
"But how is it, that she is in the convent?" Albert asked; "for
formerly no female foot dared cross its threshold."
"The abbot is a friend of her father's, and as there are so many people
in Blaubeuren at present, she is in greater safety in the convent than
in the town, where strange things come to pass. After vespers,
therefore, when all was quiet, I stole softly into the cloister, and
met her. I cheered her sunken spirits, as well as we peasants know how
to do, when she gave me that strip of parchment, and bid me find you
out."
"I thank you heartily, good Hans," said Albert; "but is that all she
charged you with?"
"No," answered the messenger; "she moreover commissioned me to tell
you, by word of mouth, to be upon your guard, for there was a plot laid
against you."
"Against me?" said Albert; "you must have misunderstood her. Who, and
what can any one have to say about me?"
"Ah, there you ask me more than I can answer," replied the other; "but,
if I dare guess, I believe the League has an eye upon you. The lady
added also, that her father had spoken about it. I saw Fronsberg nod to
you to-day, and honour you like the Emperor's son, to the astonishment
of every one present. Believe me, there is something in the wind, when
such a man beckons in so friendly a manner to another."
Albert was surprised at the plain remark of the simple countryman. He
recollected, however, that Bertha's father, having pryed deeply into
the secrets of the leaders of the League, might have heard something,
which more immediately concerned him; but, whichever way he turned his
thoughts, he could discover no ground upon which Bertha's mysterious
warning could be founded. His mind was torn with doubt and conjecture;
and he abruptly asked the messenger, how he had found him out so soon?
"Without Fronsberg's aid, it had not been such an easy matter," said
he: "I was desired to inquire for you at Dieterick von Kraft's house.
But as I was entering the gate of the town, I saw a large crowd of
people in the field. I thought half an hour would make no great
difference, so I joined the spectators to see the infantry exercise.
Really, Fronsberg has done wonders. Well; it struck me I heard your
name mentioned. I looked round, and saw three old men talking about
you, and pointing to you. I noticed your figure, and followed your
steps; but not certain if I was quite right, I put the enigma of Sturm
and Licht to you."
"You have acted cleverly," said Albert, smiling; "but come to my house,
and get something to eat. When do you go home again?"
Hans considered a moment; at last, he said, with a cunning smile on his
mouth, "No offence, sir; but I have pledged myself to the young lady,
not to quit you before you have taken your leave of the League."
"And then?" asked Albert.
"And then I go direct to Lichtenstein, to give her good news from you.
How she longs to hear the happy tidings! She stands on the rock of the
garden every day, and all day long, to see whether old Hans is coming."
"She shall soon have that pleasure," answered Albert; "I will be off
to-morrow, if possible; and will write to her in the mean time."
"But be cautious what you do," said Hans; "the strip of parchment must
not be longer than the one I brought you, for I must conceal it also
under my knee-band. We cannot be too careful in these times; and no one
will look for it there."
"Let it be so, then," answered Albert, as he rose from his seat. "And
now adieu for the present; come to me at noon at Dieterick von Kraft's
house, it is not far from the cathedral, and any one will shew it you.
If they ask you where you come from, say you are a countryman of mine
from Franconia, because the Ulmers are not well affected towards the
Wuertembergers."
"Don't be afraid, sir; you will not have any fault to find with me,"
replied Hans, as he parted from Albert. He looked back at the slim
young man, and thought his sister's foster child, had made no bad
choice in the object of her love.