The iron door upon its hinges creaks,
A lurid light upon the prison breaks,
The captive, starting at a footstep's sound,
Springs from his lonely couch, to gaze around.
WIELAND.
The troop, surrounding their prisoner, moved on in silence towards the
town hall. A single torch was their only light on the way, and Albert
thanked Heaven that it gave but a feeble glare; for he fancied that
every one who met him must suppose he was being led to prison. But this
was not the only thought which engrossed his mind. This was the first
time in his life he had been in any dilemma, and it was not without
dread that he figured to himself all the horrors of a damp dreary
dungeon, remembering to have visited the one in his old castle. He was
on the point of speaking to his leader on the subject, when it struck
him he might be accused of a childish fear, and therefore he proceeded
in silence.
He was, however, not a little surprised when he was led into a large
handsome room, not very habitable indeed, as its furniture consisted
only of a bedstead, and an uncommon large fire-place, but it was a
palace compared to what his imagination had conjured up. The old
soldier wished his prisoner a good night, and retired with the rest of
his party. A little thin old man then made his appearance; a large
bunch of keys, which hung by his side, rattling like a chain when he
moved, announced him as the gaoler or servant of the town hall. He laid
some large logs of wood in the fire-place, and made a blazing fire; a
cheering companion on a cold night in March. He then spread an ample
woollen covering on the bedstead, and the first word that Albert heard
from him was a friendly invitation to make himself comfortable. He
thanked the old man for his kind attention, though his place of rest
for the night did not offer much to tempt him to repose.
"This apartment is set aside for knights in your situation," said the
old gaoler; "the common people are confined under ground, and are not
so well off."
"Is it long since any one lodged here?" asked Albert, looking around
the room.
"A Herr von Berger was the last; he died on that very bed seven years
ago: God be merciful to his soul! He appeared to be fond of this place,
for he often rises from his coffin at midnight to visit his old
quarters."
"How?" said Albert, smiling, "has he been seen since his death?"
The old man looked fearfully around the room, now faintly lighted by
the dying embers of the fire: he put another log on, and murmured, "Ah,
many strange stories are about."
"Did he die on that covering?" said Albert, whilst an involuntary
shudder came over him.
"Yes, sir," whispered the gaoler, "he breathed his last on that very
covering; God grant he may not have descended lower than purgatory!
That covering is now called his winding-sheet, and this apartment the
knight's death-room!" With this, the old man quietly slipt out of the
room, as if he were afraid the slightest noise might awaken the
departed knight.
"And so I am to sleep on the winding-sheet in the death-room of the
knight," thought Albert, and felt his heart beat quicker, for his nurse
and old servants had often related ghost stories to him in his boyhood.
He was undecided whether he should lay himself on the bed. There was
neither stool nor bench in the room; and the brick paved floor was
still colder and harder than the appointed place of repose; but he
began to feel ashamed of his fears, and at once rolled himself in the
winding-sheet on the death-bed of the knight.
A clear conscience softens a hard bed. Albert said his prayers, and
soon fell asleep. But it did not last long, for he was awoke by strange
noises, which appeared to be in the room. He thought it was a dream; he
took courage--he listened--he listened again: it was no deception--he
heard heavy footsteps in his apartment. The fire at this moment blazed
up, and threw its light upon a large dark figure. The distance of the
fire-place from the bed was not great. The figure moved towards him; he
felt the winding-sheet shake; he was unable to control a momentary
shudder, when a cold hand, endeavouring to remove the covering, fell on
his forehead. He sprang up, and eyeing the figure which stood before
him by the light of the fire, he recognised the well-known features of
George von Fronsberg.
"Is it you, general?" said Albert, who now breathed more freely, and
threw his cloak aside to receive the knight with proper respect.
"Remain, remain where you are," said the other, and gently compelled
him to resume his seat; "I will set myself beside you, and have half an
hour's talk, for it is only just past nine o'clock, and no one is yet
in bed in Ulm, excepting such hot-brained fellows as you, whose heads
require cooling on a hard pillow."
"Oh! how can I merit this kind consideration at your hands," said
Albert, "after having treated your good intentions towards me with
apparent ingratitude?"
"No excuse, my young friend," answered the general, "you are but the
counterpart of your father; just like him, precipitate in praise and
blame, in decision and speech. That he was an honorable man, I know,
and I know also how unhappy his violent temper made him, as well as his
obstinacy, which he called firmness."
"But tell me, dear sir," replied Albert, "could I have acted otherwise
to-day? Did not the conduct of Truchses push me to extremities?"
"You might have acted otherwise, if you had humoured the ways of that
man, who gave you a specimen of his character the other day. You ought
to have known also that there were many present who would not have seen
you imposed upon. But you threw away the good with the bad, or as the
proverb says, 'You threw away the child out of the bathing tub with the
water,' and flew out of the room."
"Age and experience will, I trust, cool my blood in due time," replied
Albert; "I can put up with harshness and severity, when they do not
affect my honour. But premeditated insult, contempt for the misfortunes
of my family, is beyond all bearing. What pleasure could a man of his
high station find in wounding my feelings?"
"His wrath always manifests itself in that way," Fronsberg informed
him; "the more cool and collected he appears outwardly, the more
fiercely he burns within. It was his idea alone to send you to
Tuebingen, partly because he knew of no one else who was so well
acquainted with the place, partly because he wished to repair the
injustice he had done you. But you have affronted him by your refusal,
and lowered him in the eyes of the council of war."
"How!" cried Albert, "Truchses himself proposed me? I thought it was
your doing."
"No," answered the General, with a significant smile; "no, I did all I
could to prevent it; but to no purpose, for I could not tell him the
real state of the case. I knew, before you came before us, that you
would decline accepting the office. But do not open your eyes so wide,
as if you would pierce through one's leather jacket, and look into my
heart. I know enough of the history of my young hot-brain!"
Albert felt confused. "Were not my reasons satisfactory?" said he: "is
there any thing more you wish to know, and which you may think
mysterious?"
"There is nothing exactly mysterious; but you should have decided upon
your line of action beforehand, for if you do not wish to be noticed,
you ought not to conduct yourself at balls as if you were afflicted
with St. Vitus' dance, nor visit a couple of pretty girls at three
o'clock in the afternoon. Yes, yes, my son, I know many things," he
added, whilst he good-naturedly threatened with his finger: "I know
also that that impetuous heart of yours beats for Wuertemberg."
Albert blushed; and would gladly have avoided the piercing look of the
knight. "Beats for Wuertemberg?" he replied: "you do me wrong; you
cannot call that going over to the enemy; upon my honour, I swear----"
"Do not swear," Fronsberg quickly interrupted him: "an oath is an easy
thing to take, but not so easy to be absolved from; it is like an
oppressive chain which we cannot shake off. I am convinced your honour
will not suffer by your actions. Instead of an oath, you must promise
one thing to the League, namely, not to draw your sword against us for
the next fourteen days; and on these conditions only will you be
released from arrest."
"I see you still entertain a false opinion of me," said Albert,
agitated: "I could not have thought it! how unnecessary is that
promise! To whom else should I offer my services? The Swiss have
withdrawn their aid from the Duke, the peasantry have dispersed, the
knights guard the fortresses, and will take care not to let the army of
the League within their walls; the Duke himself has fled----"
"Fled!" cried Fronsberg: "that's not quite so certain;--where did you
hear this? Have you been tampering with any of the members of the
council of war? or is it true, as some maintain, that you carry on a
suspicious correspondence with Wuertemberg?"
"Who dares assert that?" cried Albert.
The piercing eye of Fronsberg darted a searching look at Albert. "You
are too young, and I believe too honourable, to be guilty of such a
villanous deed," said he; "and should you even have had such an
intention, we know you would have scarcely quitted the League, but have
remained among us as Wuertemberg's spy. This clears you in my mind.
Appearances, however, are against you."
"Am I then so evil spoken against? If you have a particle of regard for
me, tell me who is the wretch that has thus calumniated me," said
Albert, starting up in anger.
"Do not be so violent," replied Fronsberg. "Do you suppose, that if
George von Fronsberg had heard such things spoken of in public, or
believed the report, he would have come to visit you? But there must be
some foundation for the report. A suspicious-looking countryman often
came to old Lichtenstein in the town; he was not at first particularly
noticed among the many assembled here. But it was hinted to us, that
this man, a cunning, crafty fellow, was a confidential messenger from
Wuertemberg. Lichtenstein took his departure; and the countryman and his
mysterious occupation were forgotten. He appeared, however, again this
morning, and had a long conversation with you outside the town; and was
seen afterwards in your house. Now what is the meaning of this?"
Albert heard his friend with increasing astonishment. "As true as God
lives," said he, when Fronsberg had finished, "I am innocent. A
countryman came to me this morning----" Albert was silent.
"Well, why are you silent all at once?" asked Fronsberg; "you colour up
to the eyes: what have you to do with this messenger?"
"Ah! I feel ashamed of myself; but you have already guessed every
thing; he only brought me a--a few words from----, my love." The young
man then opened his waistcoat, and produced the strip of parchment
which he had concealed on his person. "There; this is all he brought to
me," said Albert, as he gave it to Fronsberg.
"And is that really all," laughed Fronsberg, after reading the
contents: "poor young fellow! and you know nothing more of that man? Do
you not know who he is?"
"No; he is nothing more to my knowledge than our messenger of love--I
am certain of it!"
"A pretty love messenger, who at the same time pries into our affairs!
Are you not aware that that dangerous man is the fifer of Hardt?"
"The fifer of Hardt?" asked Albert: "this is the first time I have
heard that name; what does it mean?"
"Nobody knows exactly; but he was one of the most formidable leaders in
the insurrection of Poor Conrad, for which he, however, afterwards
obtained pardon; since that time he leads a restless, roving life, and
is now a spy of the Duke of Wuertemberg."
"Is he arrested?" inquired Albert, for he involuntarily felt a warm
interest in his new servant.
"No; it is just that which is so incomprehensible; whatever notice we
may have of his being in Ulm, though communicated in the quietest
manner possible, becomes known to him immediately; for example, when we
heard of his being in your stable, and sent secretly to arrest him, he
was not to be found. But I trust to your honour that he comes to you on
no other business. You may be assured of this, however, if it be the
same man I mean, he does not visit Ulm for your sake alone. Should you
ever meet him again, be guarded how you trust such a vagabond. But the
watchman now calls ten o'clock. Lay down again, and dream away your
confinement. But before I go, give me your word about the fourteen
days; and, I can tell you, if you leave Ulm without saying farewell to
old Fronsberg----"
"I will not fail to do so!" cried Albert, touched by the pain which he
perceived his revered friend felt at parting, and which he tried to
smother under a smile. He gave him his hand as a pledge of his promise,
according to the desire of the council of war, upon which the knight
left the room, with long measured steps.