CHAPTER XIII.

The herdsman says, "If you will trust in me

And follow boldly, I will bring you free;--

A secret path there is, to man unknown,

And trodden by the mountain goat alone."

L. UHLAND.

There were two ways from the spot where Albert had decided upon

following his mysterious guide, leading to the neighbourhood of

Reutlingen, in which the castle of Lichtenstein was situated. One was

the high road from Ulm to Tuebingen. It went through the beautiful

Blauthal, or blue valley; when, reaching the town of Blaubeuren, at the

foot of the Alb, it crossed immediately over that mountain, passing the

fortress of Hohen Urach, near the villages of St. John and Pfullingen.

This was the usual and most convenient road for travellers on

horseback, in litters, or carriages; but at the time of our story, when

Albert and the fifer of Hardt had to cross the country, it was not

advisable to choose this route. The troops of the League already

occupied Blaubeuren, their advanced posts stretched as far as Urach,

and any one whom they found on the road, that did not belong to the

army, or acknowledge their party, were rudely handled and otherwise

ill-treated. Albert, therefore, had good reason to avoid this road; and

his companion was too mindful of his own safety to dissuade him from

it.

The other, a mere footpath, and known only to the inhabitants of the

country, passed through thick woods, and deep ravines, where but a few

single detached houses were to be met with, scattered over a distance

of twelve hours (stunden), or between thirty to forty miles. Here and

there the track made a circuit to avoid the high road, and for this

reason possessed the greater advantage of security. It was very

fatiguing, and, indeed, in many places scarcely passable for horses.

The fifer of Hardt chose this route, which his young master joyfully

acceded to, as being the least likely to fall in with the League's

troops. They set forward accordingly, the countryman walking on

Albert's side: in the difficult parts of the path, he carefully led the

horse by the bridle, and showed so much attention generally, for both

man and horse, that Albert by degrees began to lose sight of

Fronsberg's warning, and to look upon his companion as a trustworthy

servant.

They conversed upon different subjects, when the peasant reasoned and

argued in so clear-sighted a manner, upon many things which in general

do not come within the compass of a common countryman's mind, that his

master could not at times control an involuntary smile. He had stories

to relate of every tower and castle they saw in the distance, through

the break of the forest; and the clearness and liveliness with which he

described them, proved that he had been present as musician at many a

marriage feast and village dance; but as often as Albert endeavoured to

turn the conversation to the subject of his own life, and particularly

to that period when the fifer of Hardt played so prominent a part in

the insurrection of Poor Conrad, he either cut it short or turned it to

some other channel, with a facility which bespoke a man of discernment.

In this way they proceeded on their journey, without stopping, except

to refresh man and beast. Hans was well acquainted with the places

where they would find accommodation. He was known everywhere, and

received in a friendly manner, though, as it appeared to Albert, his

appearance excited astonishment at times. He generally had a quarter of

an hour's whisper with the host, during the time that the bustling

hostess would wait on the young knight with bread, butter, and pure

home-made cider; whilst the little boys and girls were lost in

admiration at the tall figure of the guest, with his fine clothes, his

brilliant scarf, and the waving plumes of his cap. After the frugal

meal was finished, the whole family accompanied the travellers to the

door; but, strange to say, the young cavalier could never induce the

good people, upon any account, to accept a remuneration for their

hospitality. When he asked his conductor to solve this riddle, his

answer, "that when they visit Hardt, they always come to my house,"

appeared a mere parry to the question.

They passed the night in one of those solitary houses, where the

hostess, with equal readiness, prepared a bed for her distinguished

guest, and sacrificed, in honour of him, a couple of pigeons for his

supper, served up with a dish of oatmeal.

They pursued their journey the following day in the same manner,

excepting that it struck Albert, his leader appeared more cautious than

on the day before: for, when they came within five hundred paces of a

dwelling, he bid his master stop, whilst he approached it warily; and

not till after he was perfectly satisfied that all was right, did he

make him a sign to follow. In vain did Albert question him, whether the

road was now more dangerous, or whether the troops of the League were

in the neighbourhood? He could not elicit a direct answer.

Towards noon, as the country became more open, and the path descended

into the plain, their route consequently was attended with more danger.

The musician of Hardt, thinking it no longer prudent to approach any

habitation, had provided himself at the last place with a sack of

fodder for the horse, and a sufficient supply of provisions for his

master and himself; he sought the most unfrequented paths, and it

appeared to Albert that they did not follow the first direction, but

had turned sharp to the right.

They halted on the skirt of a shady beechwood, by the side of a clear

stream with fresh grass on its banks, which invited them to repose.

Albert dismounted, whilst his provident guide produced the contents of

his wallet, and set before him a good dinner. After he had looked to

the horse, he placed himself at the feet of the young knight, and set

to eating, with a hearty appetite.

Albert having satisfied his hunger, surveyed the neighbourhood with an

attentive eye. He looked down upon a beautiful broad valley, at the

bottom of which flowed a small rapid rivulet; the surrounding fields,

with inclosed orchards here and there, appeared in high state of

cultivation, a cheerful village reared its head on a hill at the

further end of the valley, and the whole country was of a more pleasing

description than that over which they had passed on the crest of the

mountain.

"We have now quitted the district of the Alb, it seems," said the young

man, as he turned to his companion; "this valley and those hills greet

the eye with much more cheerful effect than the rugged rocks and

deserted meadows we traversed yesterday. The air also feels milder and

warmer here than higher up on the hills, where the wind was so

piercing."

"You have spoken rightly, sir," said Hans, as he carefully put the

remains of their meal into the wallet; "these vallies form part of the

lowland, and that rivulet which you see yonder flows into the Neckar."

"But how comes it that we have gone so much out of the way?" Albert

asked. "I noticed that circumstance when we were on the mountain, but

you would not listen to me then. As far as I know about the situation

of Lichtenstein, this road will take us much too far to the right."

"Well, now I'll tell you the reason," answered the countryman, "why we

have made this circuit. I did not wish to create an unnecessary anxiety

in your mind when we were on the Alb, but at present, with God's will,

we are in safety; for, let the worst come to the worst, we are scarcely

four hours distant from Hardt, where no harm can happen to us."

"In safety," Albert interrupted him in astonishment, "what have we to

fear?"

"The Leaguists, to be sure," replied the musician; "their cavalry

overrun the Alb, and some of them were not a thousand paces from us at

times. For my part, I would not like to fall into their hands, for, as

you well know, they bear me no good will; and perhaps it would not be

quite so pleasant for you to be brought prisoner before old Truchses."

"God defend me from Truchses!" cried Albert. "I would rather allow

myself to be shot on the spot than undergo such disgrace. But what are

they doing here? There is no fortress of Wuertemberg in this

neighbourhood, and yet you say they scour the country hereabouts; what

is their object?"

"Look ye, sir! Wicked men are to be found everywhere; a true

Wuertemberger would rather let himself be flayed alive than betray the

Duke, after whom the League is now on the search. But Truchses has

secretly offered a bribe of a heap of gold to any one who takes him;

and for this purpose has sent his cavalry out all over the country; the

report is, that many peasants, instigated by money, willingly assist

these bloodhounds in searching all the caverns and holes of the rocks

after their prey."

"Searching after the Duke? I thought he had already fled the country,

or, as others say, has shut himself up in Tuebingen with forty knights!"

"Yes, the forty nobles are there, true enough," answered the

countryman, with a knowing look; "the Duke's young son, Christoph, is

also with them; that's as it should be; but where the Duke himself is,

no one can tell. Between you and I, sir, knowing him as well as I do,

nothing but dire necessity will compel him to seek shelter in a

fortress; he is a bold restless man, and prefers the freedom of woods

and mountains to other resources, even if there is danger attending

it."

"So they are searching after him? is it possible he can be in this

neighbourhood?"

"Where he is at present, I know not," answered the fifer of Hardt; "and

I would bet that no one but God alone knows; but where he will be," he

added, and appeared to Albert as if he were inspired with the idea, "I

know where he will be should fate push him to extremities; I know the

spot where his faithful friends will find him in case of need, where

many a true breast will be assembled and form a wall of defence to

protect their lord against his enemies. For though he may be a severe

master, he is still a Wuertemberger, and his heavy hand is dearer to us

than the slippery words of Bavaria or Austria."

"And should they happen to fall in with the unfortunate prince, would

they be able to recognise him? Has he not disguised his person? You

described his appearance to me once, particularly his brilliant

commanding eye, so that I almost fancy I see him now before me? Can you

describe his figure to me?"

"As I told you then, he may be eight years older than you," replied the

other; "not quite so tall, but your figures resemble each other so

much, particularly when you are on horseback, that when I look at you

from behind, I say to myself, 'there goes the Duke himself.'"

Albert got up to look after his horse; the conversation of the

countryman had made him anxious for his own safety; and he now thought,

for the first time, that he had acted foolishly in stealing about the

country occupied by an enemy. It would have been particularly

unpleasant to be taken prisoner at this moment; for though there was

certainly nothing against his oath in travelling as he did, provided he

took no active part against the League: still he felt the

disadvantageous light into which he would be thrown were he found in

this neighbourhood, and in company with a man of whom the officers of

the League were suspicious, and indeed were afraid of. To retrace his

steps would, he thought, be imprudent, as it was almost certain the

road would be occupied by the enemy's patroles; the safest way,

therefore, appeared to be to hurry on as fast as possible, and get

beyond reach of their advanced posts.

Albert, to his great dismay, when he came to examine his horse, found

him somewhat lame.

His companion remarked the distress of the young man. After having

looked at his feet, he thought the beast only wanted rest, and

therefore proposed remaining in their present situation for some time

longer, and travel part of the night; for, to Albert's consolation, he

assured him he was sufficiently acquainted with their route to find it

in the dark.

CHAPTER XIII.

Sent by the Suabian League,

The hunters do not tarry;

But range the plain, and seek

To strike a princely quarry.

G. SCHWAB.

The youth resigned himself to his fate, and sought to dissipate time in

the enjoyment of the beautiful prospect which, in proportion as the

countryman led him higher up from the place where they had made their

mid-day meal, presented itself to his view on a much more extended

scale. They stood upon the crest of a rock commanding a large circuit

of the Swabian Alb. An extended panorama spread itself before the

spectators, to Albert's delight, who was so enraptured with the

diversified colouring which the evening gradually threw over the whole,

that he was for a time lost in ecstasy. And, in truth, whoever

possesses a mind sufficiently pure for the enjoyment of the beauties of

nature as existing in the peaceful landscape, the quiet valley, and

lonely dell, such as are to be found in the Rhinegau, let him but mount

the Swabian Alb, and he will be gratified by the sight of scenery which

he will long cherish as among the most charming images in his

remembrance. A range of mountains, so distant as scarcely to be reached

by the eye, skirted the horizon, graduated with soft grey tints and

different shades of blue, whilst a foreground of dark green hills

completed the picture. On the summit of the extended ridge innumerable

castles and towers were conspicuous, placed like watchmen as it were on

these heights to overlook the country. Their remains are now in ruins,

their stately gates and approaches no longer exist, the moats are

filled with rubbish and overgrown with moss, and their halls, once the

scenes of jovial mirth, now tell their tale in mournful silence. At the

moment, however, when Albert and his companion stood on the rock of

Beuren, many of them were to be seen in all the pride of solid and

substantial defence, ranging themselves in array like an unbroken band

of powerful men.

"This Wuertemberg is a beautiful country," cried Albert, his eye

wandering from hill to hill; "how bold, how sublime the summit and

declivities of those mountains, how picturesque those rocks and

castles! And when the eye turns to the valley of the Neckar, how truly

charming are those soft hills interspersed with orchards and vineyards,

and watered by gentle streams and rivulets; the whole being blessed by

a mild climate and a good race of people!"

"Yes, indeed," said the countryman, "this is a fine country; but it is

not to be compared to the neighbourhood of Stuttgardt, the true

lowland! There it is a real pleasure to wander about in summer or

spring, on the banks of the Neckar; nature is prolific in all her

bounties of cultivation; the vine grows to a large size and plentiful

on the hills; the boats and rafts on the river float up and down in

cheerful activity; the people are gay and happy at their work; and the

girls sing like larks!"

"Those vallies, on the Rems and Neckar, may indeed possess their

beauties," replied Albert; "but this one at our feet, and those heights

about us, possess also a peculiarly peaceful charm: what is the name of

that tower on the hill yonder? and tell me how are those distant

mountains called?"

The countryman scanned the neighbourhood, and pointed to the most

distant ridge of mountains, which, on account of the mist, was scarcely

visible. "That, between the east and south, is the Rossberg mountain;

in the same direction,' but nearer towards us, those many-pointed rocks

which you see are the heights of Urack: more to the westward, is the

Achalm; not far from which, but you cannot see it from hence, lies the

rock of Lichtenstein."

"There it is," thought Albert to himself, "there, where that small

cloud hovers amidst the evening tints; in that direction, a true heart

beats for me; at this very moment she, perhaps, stands on the pinnacle

of the rock, and looks this way, among that world of mountains. Oh,

that the evening breeze might waft her my remembrance, and that rosy

cloud acquaint her with my vicinity!"

"You see that sharp corner, further in the distance, that is the castle

of Teck; our dukes call themselves Dukes of Teck: it is a strong

fortress. Look to the right, that high steep mountain was once the

residence of a renowned Emperor; and is called Hohenstaufen."

"But what is the name of that castle, near us, which appears to rear

its head out of the deep mist?" asked the young man. "Only observe how

the sun plays on its white walls; how the golden mist seems to rest

about its battlements; and how beautifully the red light illumines its

towers!"

"That is Neuffen, sir; also a strong castle, which the League would be

glad to get possession of."

The sun was fast going down during this conversation. The shades of

evening threw a dark veil from the mountains over the vallies, and

obscured the distant objects. The moon rose pale, and surveyed her

nightly province. The high walls and towers of Neuffen only were

lighted up by the last rays of the sun; and with its departure, Neuffen

was enveloped in darkness; the night air began to whisper through the

trees of the surrounding wood mysterious salutations to the rays of the

rising moon.

"This is the proper time for robbers and travellers fearful of the

light of day, such as we are," said the countryman, as he bridled the

horse; "in an hour hence, the night will, I hope, be dark as coal; and

then, before the sun rises again, no Leaguist dog of a horseman shall

come upon our scent."

"If there is any likelihood of our being attacked," said Albert, "we

had better prepare for the worst; for I am resolved not to allow myself

to be taken for a mere trifle." And taking his cap off, he was

preparing to substitute in its place his helmet, which hung by his

saddle.

"You had better keep on your cap, sir," said the countryman, smiling;

"it will be warmer in the night breeze than your helmet; they will

scarcely look for the Duke in this neighbourhood, and should we meet

them, we two are a match for any four of them."

The young man thought he had betrayed a want of courage; and a feeling

of shame rose in his breast, when he noticed the unconcern of his

conductor, on foot, who had nothing but a thin leathern cap on his

head, and armed only with an axe and knife. He mounted his horse, and

his guide, taking the bridle, led him down the hill.

"You believe, therefore," asked Albert, after a pause, "that the

Leaguist cavalry do not venture thus far?"

"It is not very likely," answered the fifer of Hardt; "because Neuffen

is a strong fort, and contains a good garrison; the Leaguists will,

however, soon besiege it; but vagabonds, such as Truchses' cavalry,

will not venture in small bodies so near an enemy's position."

"Look how clear and beautiful the moon shines!" cried the young man,

whose mind, still dwelling on the sight of the mountains they had left,

admired the fantastic shades of the wood, and the brilliant shining

rocks; "look how the windows in Neuffen glimmer in the moonlight."

"I would much rather she did not shine this night," replied the

countryman, who at times looked anxiously about him; "a dark night

would have suited us better; the moon has betrayed many a brave man.

She now stands directly over the Reissenstein, where a giant once

lived; it will not be long, however, before she goes down."

"What is that you say of a giant, who lived on the Reissenstein?"

"Yes," said Hans, "tradition says that many years back a giant lived on

that spot; there, just where the moon shines on the mountain, stands

his castle, called Reissenstein, or Achalm; it belongs now to the

Helfensteiners; it is built on the declivity of the rock, high up in

the air; and has no nearer neighbours than the clouds, and the moon.

Just opposite the castle, on another eminence, upon which now stands

Heimenstein, is a cavern, in which a giant formerly lived. He possessed

an enormous treasure of gold, and could have lived nobly and in luxury,

had there been other giants and giantesses besides him to keep him

company. He was determined to build a castle, such as other knights

possessed on the Alb. The rock opposite appeared to him the most

convenient spot. He however was a bad architect; he dug out rocks of

the height of a house from the Alb, with his nails, and placed them one

upon another; but, as they always fell, he found his labour was in

vain. He then mounted on the top of the Beuren rock, and cried out in

the valley below for workmen; carpenters, masons, stone-cutters,

blacksmiths, any one who would come and help him should be well paid.

His voice was heard all over Swabia; from Kocher to the lake of

Constance; from the Necker to the Danube; the call brought masters and

workmen from all parts, who came to assist the giant build his

castle.----Keep in the shade here, out of the moonshine, sir," he

added, "your armour shines like silver, and could easily be seen by

some of those bloodhounds.

"Well, to go on with the giant's history; it was curious to see him

sitting in his cavern, in the sunshine, overlooking the progress of the

workmen in building his castle on the top of the rock; masters and

workmen worked merrily, and had their jokes with the giant, who

understood nothing of their art. At last the castle was finished, and

the giant took possession of it; when viewing the valley below from the

uppermost window, where the master and his men were assembled, he

angrily remarked, 'that one nail was wanting in the outside of the

building, and that they had deceived him in reporting it complete.' The

master blacksmith excused himself, and said: 'no one would venture to

perch himself outside the window, to drive the nail in.' The giant

would hear of no excuse; and refused to pay the reckoning until the

nail was in its place. They all returned again to the castle; the most

daring among them swore it was not a feat worth talking of to drive the

nail in; but when they came to look out of the window, and beheld the

great depth of the valley below, with its perpendicular rocks, they

shook their heads, and retired in shame. The master offered a ten-fold

reward to him who would venture on the perilous undertaking; but a long

time elapsed before one bold enough could be found. There was a smart

young fellow among the rest, who loved the master's daughter, and she

loved him; but as he was poor and the master a hard man, he could not

gain his consent to marry her. Taking courage, and thinking this a good

opportunity to be able either to merit his love or to die in the

attempt; for life without her was a burden to him: he went to his

master, her father, and said, 'Will you give me your daughter if I

drive the nail in?' The other thought this a good chance to get rid of

him should he fall into the valley, and answered 'Yes.'

"The youth took the nail and hammer, said a prayer, and prepared to get

outside the window and drive in the nail for the sake of his beloved. A

burst of joy broke from the bystanders, which awoke the giant out of

his sleep, when he asked what was the matter; and, when he heard that a

volunteer was found to drive the nail in, he looked at the young

locksmith for some time, and said: 'You are a fine fellow, and have

more courage than all your milk-hearted companions; come, and I'll

assist you.' He then took him by the nape of the neck, almost crushing

him to atoms, lifted him out of the window in the air, and said, 'drive

in, now--you shall not fall.'

"When the young lover was suspended in the air over the immense depth

below, though held by the iron grasp of the giant's hand, fear came

over him, his sight became dim, giddiness seized his brain, and,

thinking he was on the point of being hurled into the abyss beneath, he

would have cried out 'Ach Allmaechtig!' (Oh, Almighty!) but had only

time enough to pronounce, 'Ach Allm,' when the giant secured him from

his perilous situation, and landed him again in safety. From that

moment the mountain has retained the name of the Achalm.

"The lad drove the nail in firmly,--the giant kissed him for his

fortitude,--and a tender hug which he gave him almost cost him his

life,--he then led him to the master, and said: 'Give your daughter to

the brave lad.' He afterwards went to his cavern, took out his money

bag, and paid each his due. But when he came to the bold young

blacksmith, he said, 'Go home, my daring young fellow, fetch your

master's daughter, and take possession of the castle, for it belongs to

you now.'

"His companions all rejoiced at his good fortune; the young blacksmith

went home, and----"

"Hark! did not you hear the neighing of horses?" said Albert, not

feeling quite at his ease, as they were passing through a deep ravine.

The moon still shone bright, the shadows of the trees waved with the

breeze, there was a rustling among the bushes, and he often fancied he

saw dark figures passing in the wood.

The fifer of Hardt stopt, vexed that his companion had interrupted him

in his story, and answered, "I thought so, likewise, just now, but it

is nothing but the noise of the wind among the trees. If we were but on

the other side of the meadow, which is open and as clear as day, we

should regain the wood, and be free from all anxiety, for there it is

dark enough. Give your horse the spur, and trot on; I'll run by your

side."

"But why do you want to get on faster now? do you think there is

anything to be apprehended? Own it, did you not see some figures in the

wood sneaking along not far from us? Do you think they belong to the

League?"

"Well, yes," whispered the countryman, looking round, "it struck me as

if some one was watching us; hurry on, therefore, and let's get out of

this cursed hollow path: a good round trot across the valley will carry

us clear of danger, and then we may bid defiance to it."

Albert looked to his sword, and held the reins firmer in his hand. They

descended in silence the gorge through which the path led, and, by the

light of the moon, he could perceive each motion of his guide, and saw

him raise his axe to his shoulder, and, taking out a knife, which he

had concealed under his jacket, stick it into his girdle.

Just as they were entering the open valley from the hollow way, a voice

was heard in the bush: "That's the fifer of Hardt--seize him! he on the

horse must be the right one."

"Fly, sir, fly," cried the faithful guide, and placed himself in a

position of defence with his axe. Albert drew his sword, and, in a

moment, was attacked by five men, whilst his companion was engaged with

three others hand to hand.

The confined spot where this rencontre took place prevented Albert

profiting by the advantage he otherwise would have had over his

opponents. One of them seized his bridle, but, in the same moment,

Albert's blade fell with such force on his head that he sank to the

ground without a groan; the others, furious at the loss of their

companion, pressed him with increased vigour, calling out to him to

surrender; but, though Albert began to bleed copiously from many wounds

he had already received in his arms and legs, he answered only by fresh

blows.

"Dead or alive," cried one of the combatants, "if the Duke will have it

so, let him take the consequences!" and with these words a heavy blow

on the head, brought Albert von Sturmfeder from his horse to the

ground. His eyes closed in a state of fainting stupor, but he still was

sufficiently conscious, to feel himself raised and carried away, amidst

the sarcastic jeers of his opponents, who appeared to triumph and

rejoice over their royal captive, as they supposed him to be.

He was placed on the ground shortly after, when a horseman galloped up,

dismounted, and spoke to the men who carried him. Albert, having

somewhat recovered from the violence of the stunning blow he had

received, opened his eyes and surveyed the surrounding group. An

unknown figure bent over him, as if to examine his features. "Who have

we here?" said this man: "this is not him we are looking for--leave him

to his fate; we must hurry away without loss of time--alarm is already

spread in Neuffen, and the garrison is on the alert." Falling again

into a state of stupor from excessive weakness, Albert closed his eyes

a second time, his ear only was alive to the confused sound of

indistinct voices, which soon were hushed into dead silence, and he was

left alone. The damp ground of the meadow chilled his limbs, but a

sweet slumber coming to his aid, he sank under it, his beloved Bertha

occupying his last thought.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Swabian League displays her mighty power,

Her warriors people many a castle wall,

Her banners wave from many an ancient tower,

And every city answers to her call.

Alone, will Tuebingen no homage proffer,

But stand apart, and grim resistance offer.

G. SCHWAB.

The forces of the Swabian League had advanced in large numbers into

Wuertemberg. Uninterrupted success crowned all their undertakings,--its

army became daily more formidable. Hollenstein and the strong castle of

Heidenheim were the first that fell into their hands after a long and

brave defence. The latter was defended by Stephan von Lichow; but with

only a couple of culverins and a handful of men at his command, he

could not hold out against the thousands of the League and the military

experience of a Fronsberg. Goeppingen soon after experienced the same

fate. Not less brave than Lichow, Philip von Rechberg distinguished

himself there, and obtained an honourable retreat for himself and

garrison; but his gallant conduct was not able to turn the fate of the

country. Teck, at that time a strong fortified position, was lost

through the imprudence of the garrison. Moeckmukh held out the longest;

it possessed a man within its walls, who would have been a match for

twenty of the besiegers, and whose determined resistance was equalled

only by the power of his iron hand. Its walls were, however,

demolished, and Goetz von Berlichingen was also reckoned among the

prisoners. Schorndorf could not withstand Fronsberg's cannon; it was

reckoned, of all places, one of the strongest holds, and with it the

rest of the low country belonging to Duke Ulerich fell into the hands

of the League.

The whole of Wuertemberg, as far as the neighbourhood of Kirchheim,

being now in the power of the League, the Duke of Bavaria broke up his

camp, for the purpose of besieging Stuttgardt in person. An embassy

from the town met him, however, at Denkendorf, to beg for mercy. The

ambassadors did not attempt to make any excuse before the bitter

enemies of their Duke, nor to shelter themselves under the allegiance

they owed to their hereditary Prince; they merely asserted, that as he,

the cause of the war, was no longer within their walls, they craved

exemption for their town being occupied by the troops of the League.

But this petition found no grace in the stern mind of Wilhelm of

Bavaria and the covetous desires of the other members of the League.

The only answer they received was, that Ulerich's conduct had merited

punishment, and that, as the country had supported him, Stuttgardt

therefore must also open its gates unconditionally.

The townsfolk of the capital being unable to defend themselves against

the powerful forces of the League, were obliged to submit to these hard

terms, and admit a garrison within their walls.

The conquest of the country was, however, far from being complete

with the capture of the capital. The greatest part of the hill

country still held for the Duke, and, judging from the spirit of its

inhabitants, they were not likely to submit to the first summons. This

elevated district was commanded by two fortified places, Urach and

Tuebingen;--and so long as they remained firm to the Duke, the

surrounding neighbourhood also determined not to desert his cause. In

Urach, however, the citizens, fearful of the power of the League,

wished to come to terms, whilst the garrison held faithful to their

master. The two parties at last came to blows, in which the brave

commander was killed, and the garrison was then obliged to surrender.

By the middle of April Tuebingen, which had been strongly fortified, was

the only place left to the Duke. Ulerich confided the defence of the

castle, with the care of his family and the treasure of his house, to

forty gallant and experienced knights, having under them two hundred of

the bravest of his countrymen. The position of this fortress was

strong, and being well supplied with ammunition and provisions, all

eyes in Germany looked to its fate with anxiety; for, Tuebingen being a

town of great repute in those days, it was thought that if it could but

hold out until the Duke relieved it, he might then be able to

re-conquer the country. The League, to frustrate their enemy's last

hope, now marched against it with their whole force. The heavy steps of

armed bodies of men sounded through the forests in their march towards

the place; the vallies of the Neckar trembled under the tread of

cavalry; the artillery, with the baggage and ammunition waggons, and

all the apparatus for a long siege, which was brought with the army,

left deep ruts in the fields as a witness of the coming event.

Albert von Sturmfeder knew nothing of the progress of the war. A deep

but sweet slumber, like a powerful enchantment, suspended the

operations of his faculties for a long time. He suffered no

inconvenience in this state of stupor, but resembled a child who,

sleeping on the breast of its mother, occasionally opens its eyes to

gaze at a world it knows not, and closes them again for a time.

Pleasing dreams of better days soothed his situation, a placid smile

often played upon his pale countenance, and comforted those who nursed

him with tender solicitude.

We will now introduce the reader to the humble cottage, which had

received him with hospitality, and treated him with tender care the day

after he had been wounded.

The morning sun of this day threw its enlivening rays on the round

frame of a small window, and illumined the largest room of a needy

peasant's house. Though the furniture bespoke poverty, cleanliness and

order reigned throughout. A large oaken table stood in one corner of

the room, on two sides of which were placed wooden benches. A carved

chest, painted with bright colours, contained, as was generally the

case in such habitations, the Sunday wardrobe of the inhabitants, and

fine linen spun by themselves; around the dark wainscot of the walls

was a shelf, upon which were ranged well polished cans, goblets, and

smoothing irons, earthen utensils with mottos in verse painted on them,

and all kinds of musical instruments, such as cymbals, hautboys, and a

guitar, hung on the walls. At the further end of the room stood a

bedstead, with cotton curtains, of a coarse texture, ornamented with

figures of large flowers. It was partly concealed from view by a range

of clean linen hanging to air around an earthenware stove, which

projected far into the apartment.

A young girl, of about sixteen or seventeen years of age, sat beside

the bed. She was dressed in that picturesque costume which, with little

difference, has been handed down to our days among our Swabian

peasantry. Her golden hair was uncovered, and fell in two long tresses

plaited with different coloured ribands, over her back. Her cheerful

face was somewhat tanned by the sun, but not so much as to obscure the

lovely youthful colour of her cheeks; a lively blue eye sparkled from

beneath a long eyelash. Plaited full sleeves of white linen covered her

arm down to the hand; a scarlet bodice, laced with a silver chain, and

trimmed with fancy-worked linen, of a finer texture than the sleeves,

sat close to her shape; a short black petticoat fell scarcely below the

knee. This ornamental dress, together with a clean white apron and high

clocked stockings of the same colour, fastened up with pretty garters,

did not appear quite in keeping with the humble furniture of the room,

nor with the week-day costume of a peasant's daughter.

The young girl was busily employed spinning fine thread; at times she

opened the curtains of the bed, and peeped in. But, as if she had been

caught in the act, she quickly closed them again, and smoothed the

folds, so that no one might remark what she had been about.

The door opened, when a little plump elderly woman entered, dressed

much in the same way as the girl, but not so smart. She brought a basin

of hot soup for breakfast, and then arranged the plates on the table.

When she saw her daughter (for such she was) sitting beside the bed,

she was so startled at her appearance, that a little more and she would

have dropped the jug of cider which she also held in her hand.

"For God's sake, what are you thinking about, Barbelle," said she, as

she placed the jug on the table and approached the maiden; "what are

you thinking about, to sit and spin there with your new bodice on? And

she has got her new petticoat on, too, and the silver chain, I declare,

and has taken a clean apron and stockings out of the chest! What a

piece of vanity, you foolish thing! Don't you know that we are poor

folks, and that you are the child of an unfortunate man?"

The daughter patiently allowed her bustling mother to expend her

astonishment; she cast her eyes down, it is true, but there was a

roguish smile on her face, which proved that the lecture did not sink

very deep. "Ah! what's the use of being angry?" she answered; "what

harm can it do to my dress, if I wear it once on a week day? The silver

chain will not suffer, and I can easily wash the apron."

"So! as if we had not washing and cleaning enough? But tell me, what

has put it into your head to make yourself so smart to-day?"

"Ah! don't you know, mother," said the blushing Swabian child, "that

to-day is the eighth day? Did not my father say the gentleman would

awake on the eighth day, if his medicines had their desired effect? And

so I thought----"

"Yes, this is about the time," replied the mother, kindly; "you are

quite right, child: if he awakes and sees everything about him slovenly

and dirty, we shall get into trouble with the father. And I am not fit

to be seen! Go, Barbelle, and fetch me my black jacket and red bodice,

and a clean apron."

"But, mother," said the young one, "you had better go and dress

yourself, while I remain here, for perhaps the gentleman may awake when

you are putting your things on."

"You are right again, girl," replied the mother, and, leaving the

breakfast on the table, retired to adorn her person. Her daughter

opened the window to the fresh morning air, for the purpose, according

to her usual practice, of feeding her pigeons, which were assembled

before the house waiting for their accustomed meal; larks and other

little birds saluting her in full chirping chorus, partook also of her

bounty, which the young girl enjoyed with innocent pleasure.

At this moment the curtains of the bed were opened, when the head of a

handsome young man looked out; we need not say it was Albert von

Sturmfeder.

A slight colour, the first messenger of returning health, played on his

cheeks; his look was as brilliant as ever, and his arm felt as

powerful. He surveyed his situation in astonishment; the room, with its

furniture, were strangers to him; everything about him was a riddle.

Who had bandaged his head? who had put him in this bed? His position

appeared to him like that of one who had passed a jovial night with his

companions, and, having lost his senses, awoke in some out-of-the-way

place.

He observed the girl at the window for some time. He could not keep his

eyes off her, as she was the first object he had seen; for the purpose

of drawing her attention, he made a rustling noise with the curtains as

he threw them further back.

She' started when she heard the noise, and looking round, exhibited, to

Albert's astonishment and delight, the beauty of her countenance, now

slightly tinged with a blush. His sudden apparition appeared for a

moment to deprive her pretty smiling mouth of the power of finding

words to welcome the invalid to returning life. She soon collected

herself, however, and hastened to the bedside, but immediately after

checked her steps, as if she were not quite certain of her patient

being really awake, or whether it were proper to be in the room when he

returned to his senses.

The young man, observing the embarrassment of this beautiful maiden,

was the first to break silence.

"Tell me, where am I? how came I here?" asked Albert. "To whom belongs

this house, in which, it appears, I awake out of a long sleep?"

"Are you really in your senses again?" cried she, clasping her hands

for joy. "Ah! thank God, who would ever have thought it? But you look

at one as if it were true, though you have been so long ill as to make

us very fearful and anxious about you."

"Have I been ill?" inquired Albert, who scarcely understood the dialect

of the Swabian girl. "I have only been a few hours without

consciousness?"

"Eh! what are you thinking about," giggled the girl, and bit the end of

the tress, to suppress a rising laugh; "a few hours, did you say? This

night will just be the ninth that I have been watching you."

The young man could not comprehend what he heard. Nine days, and not

arrived at Lichtenstein, to see Bertha? And with this thought his

recollection of the past returned in full force to his mind; he

remembered having renounced the service of the League,--that he had

determined to visit Lichtenstein,--that he had crossed the Alb by

unfrequented paths, and that he and his leader had been attacked. But

now, when he looked about him, fearful doubts oppressed his mind. Am I

a prisoner, he thought to himself; and immediately put the same

question to his pretty attendant.

She had noticed, with increasing anxiety, the placid countenance of the

young knight, as it became ruffled, and the wild look his features had

suddenly assumed. Fearful he might relapse again into his former

situation, which the languid tone of his voice seemed to indicate, she

hesitated what to do, whether to remain in the room, or call in the

assistance of her mother.

She did not return an answer, and retired towards the door. Her heart

was touched at the distress which appeared to oppress her patient; and

Albert, judging by her silence and the anxious expression of her

countenance, which he construed into an affirmation to his question,

that he was now in the hands of his enemies, exclaimed, "I am a

prisoner then, separated from her without hope, without consolation,

without the possibility of hearing from her perhaps for a long time!"

The shock was too great for his weak state of body to withstand; a tear

stole from his eye.

The girl observed the tear: her anxiety was changed into pity, she

approached nearer, and seating herself again by the bed-side, ventured

to take the hand of the young man. "You must not give way to grief,"

she said, "your honour is well again, and----you can very soon proceed

on your journey," she added, with a cheerful smile.

"Proceed on my journey?" asked Albert, "then I am not a prisoner?"

"Prisoner? no, certainly not; you might have been so, indeed, once or

twice, for the patroles of the League often came to our house, but we

always concealed you, because my father told us not to let any one see

you."

"Your father!" cried the young man, "who is your father? Where am I?"

"Where are you?" answered Barbelle, "why, in Hardt, to be sure."

"In Hardt?" a glance at the walls adorned with musical instruments

convinced him that he was indebted to the man for his life and liberty,

who had been sent to him from Bertha as a guardian angel. "So I am in

Hardt? and your father is the fifer of Hardt, is he not?"

"He does not like to be called by that name," said the girl; "he is

certainly a musician, but he prefers being known by the name of Hans."

"But how did I come here?" inquired Albert.

"Don't you recollect anything about it?" smiled the young girl, and

played with her hair again. She then related, in Swabian dialect, that

after her father had been absent many weeks, he suddenly arrived nine

days ago, in the night, and knocked at the door some time before it

awoke her. Having recognised his voice, she hurried down to let him in.

He was accompanied by four men, carrying a wounded man, covered with

his cloak, whom they brought into the house. When her father withdrew

the cloak from the sick man, and desired her to bring a light, she was

terribly frightened at seeing a person bleeding, and apparently half

dead. He then ordered her to heat the stove immediately, and they

brought the wounded man into the room, and laid him on the bed. His

dress was that of a person of distinction. "My father," added she,

"applied some herbs to his wounds, he also prepared a cordial for him,

for he understands the art of medicine both for man and beast. The

young man was for two days very restless and violent, which caused us

all great anxiety. But after my father had given him a third dose of

medicine he became easy and quiet, and then he said that, on the eighth

morning, the invalid would be himself again, and his prediction has

actually come to pass."

Albert listened to the story of the young girl with much interest; he

was obliged occasionally to interrupt her in her narration, when he did

not exactly understand the expressions she made use of in her Swabian

dialect, or when she described more minutely the herbs with which the

fifer of Hardt had prepared his medicines.

"And where is your father?" he asked.

"How can we know where he is?" she answered, as if she wished to avoid

the question; but, recollecting herself, she added, "I think I may tell

you, because you must be a good friend of his; he is gone to

Lichtenstein."

"To Lichtenstein?" cried Albert, and blushed deeply; "and when will he

come back again?"

"He ought to have been here two days ago, as he told us, if nothing

happened to detain him. Folks say the cavalry of the League are on the

look-out for him."

The mere mention of Lichtenstein seemed to invigorate his weak frame

with renewed strength. He fancied himself strong enough to mount his

horse immediately, and, by the rapidity of his movements, make up for

the time he had lost on the bed of sickness.

His next and most important question, therefore, was to inquire after

his horse; and when he heard it was quite well in the cow-house, he

thought he would be able to set out without further loss of time. He

thanked his kind little nurse for the care she had taken of him, and

asked for his jacket and cloak. She had long since cleaned his clothes,

and carefully washed out all spots of blood; and taking them out of the

carved painted chest, where they had been placed among her Sunday's

attire, spread them out one by one before him, and appeared pleased

with the grateful acknowledgements which he expressed for her

attention. She then hurried out of the room to acquaint her mother with

the joyful news of the young knight's restoration to health and vigour.

We know not whether she told her mother that she had had half an hour's

gossip with the handsome gentleman; we have reason however to doubt it,

for that good lady had learnt from the experience of her youthful days,

and thought it necessary to repeat the warning constantly to her

daughter, that "she should take good care not to speak to a smart young

fellow longer than it would take to repeat an 'Ave Maria.'"

END OF VOL. I.

J. B. Nichols and Son, 25, Parliament-street.

THE BANISHED.

VOL. II.

LONDON: PRINTED BY J. B. NICHOLS AND SON,

25, PARLIAMENT STREET.

THE BANISHED:

A

SWABIAN HISTORICAL TALE.

EDITED BY

JAMES MORIER, ESQ.

AUTHOR OF HAJJI BABA, &c.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,

GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.

1839.

THE BANISHED.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XV.

Art thou troubled, maiden? Tell me what,--

Thou speak'st of matters which beseem thee not.

SCHILLER.

Barbelle went up stairs to her mother, who was still occupied in

adorning her little plump person, to appear before her guest in proper

attire. They then descended together to the kitchen on the ground

floor, which adjoined the apartment of Albert. The attention of the

good matron was more excited by getting a peep at him through a small

window looking into his room, than in preparing a mess of oatmeal

porridge for his mid-day meal. Barbelle was also determined to satisfy

her curiosity in like manner, and standing upon tiptoes, looked over

her mother's shoulders.

She beheld the young man with wondering eyes, and her heart beat

violently for the first time in seventeen years at the sight of his

fine figure. She had been often moved to tears as he lay on the bed of

sickness, insensible, almost lifeless; deeply affected at the pallid

appearance of his fine manly features struggling with death, as she

imagined, she had watched him with the tender anxiety of a pious mind;

but now she felt he was quite a different object to behold. His eye was

reanimated by a beautiful expression, and it struck Barbelle, young

though she was, that she had never seen the like before. His hair fell

no longer in wild disorder over his forehead; it now hung down his neck

arranged with care and combed into neat curls. The colour had returned

to his cheeks, and his lips were as fresh as cherries on the festivals

of Peter and Paul; and how well did his embroidered silk jacket become

him, and the broad white collar which he had put on over his dress! But

the little girl could not comprehend why he was so much occupied with a

certain white and blue silk scarf; she even thought that he pressed it

to his heart and raised it to his lips, full of the devotion which is

paid to some esteemed relic.

The elderly matron had, in the meantime, satisfied her curiosity in the

examination of her guest, and returned to her culinary occupations.

"The gentleman looks like a prince," she said, as she gave the mess of

oatmeal porridge a stir, "what a jacket he has! no Stuttgardt beau can

boast of a finer one. But what is he always doing with that band he

holds in his hand? He never ceases to look at it. Perhaps there is a

spot of blood on it which he cannot get out?"

"No, that's not it!" said Barbelle, who could now look into the room

with greater ease. "But do you know, mother, what I think? he looks at

it with such ardent eyes, that it must certainly be something from his

love."

The matron could scarcely help smiling at the supposition of her child,

but she soon recover her dignity, and replied, "Ah, what do you know

about love! Such a child as you must not think of the like. Get away

from the window, and fetch me a napkin. The gentleman has been

accustomed to good living, so I must put more melted butter in the

porridge." Barbelle left the window rather in a pet. She knew that she

dare not disobey her mother, but nevertheless thought that she was in

the present instance decidedly in the wrong. For, had she not been in

the habit of joining the other girls of the village for a whole year

past, when they talked and sang of their loves and favourites? Had not

some of her companions, who were only a few weeks older than herself

their appropriate sweethearts? and should she alone be debarred from

even speaking on the subject,--not even to know anything about it? No,

it was too bad of her mother; who now forbad her knowing anything about

such affairs, when but a moment before she had not objected to her

standing upon tiptoes to look over her shoulder. But, as it often

happens that prohibition excites transgression, so Barbelle was

determined not to rest satisfied until she had discovered why the young

knight regarded his scarf with such enraptured eyes.

The breakfast of the young man was, in the meantime, ready, wanting

only a can of wine to complete it; this was also soon provided; for,

though the fifer of Hardt was a man of low condition, he was not so

poor that his cellar could not produce a bottle or two upon

extraordinary occasions. The girl carried the wine and bread, whilst

her mother, dressed in her complete Sunday's attire, preceded her

daughter into the room, bearing the dish of oatmeal porridge in both

hands.

Albert had some difficulty to dispense with the ceremonious respect,

which the fifer's wife thought was due to such a distinguished guest.

She had once served in the castle of Neuffen, and knew what good

manners were, and therefore remained on the threshold of the door, with

the smoking hot dish in her hands, until the young man positively

ordered her to approach. Her daughter stood blushing behind the round

plump matron, and her confused countenance was only occasionally

visible to Albert when her mother curtsied very low. She also followed

her mother through the number of requisite ceremonies, but felt,

perhaps, less embarrassment now than she might have done, had she not

had half an hour's previous conversation with their guest.

Barbelle covered the table with a clean cloth, and put the porridge and

wine before Albert, who was to sit on the end of the bench under the

crucifix, which hung on the wall. She then stuck a curiously carved

wooden spoon into it, which, standing unassisted upright, was a proof

that the meal was of the best cooking. When the young man had seated

himself, the mother and daughter also took their places at the table to

partake of the breakfast, but placed themselves at a respectful

distance, not forgetting to put the salt between them and their

distinguished guest, for such was the custom in the good old times.

During the time that each was occupied with their repast, Albert had

sufficient opportunity to make a few passing observations upon his

companions. In the appearance of the stately personage who filled the

situation of honour in the fifer of Hardt's house, self importance and

dignity seemed pre-eminent whilst much kindliness of expression was

marked on her features. Had not her better half been a man of

determined character, and positive in maintaining the upper hand in the

essentials of domestic government, there was something in the bearing

of his wife which indicated, that one less bold might easily have been

brought under her dominion.

In her daughter's countenance, the combined charms of simple unaffected

goodness and innocence beamed forth in all their glory. The purity of

her heart, and kindliness of her feelings, were delineated in the

delicate lines of her features, and the soft modest expression of her

eye bespoke unconsciousness of nature's best gifts. Such was this child

of nature, bred and born in the lonely cottage of a restless intriguing

peasant; Albert could not behold her without admiration, and owned to

himself that, had his heart not been already fully occupied with

another, and the distance between the heir to the name of Sturmfeder

and the lower born daughter of the fifer of Hardt been immeasurably

great, she might have won no insignificant place in it. His eye rested

with peculiar pleasure and interest upon her innocent face, and, had

not her mother been so much occupied with her porridge, she could not

have avoided noticing the blushes of her child, when a stolen look at

the young knight by chance met his glance.

"Now that the platter is empty, is the time to gossip," is a true

saying; which was put in practice as soon as the table cloth was taken

away. Albert had two things particularly at heart. He wished to know

for certain, when the fifer of Hardt would return from Lichtenstein,

because he only awaited intelligence from Bertha to hasten immediately

to her; and, secondly, it was highly necessary for him to learn where

the army of the League was at the present moment. To the first question

he could not expect any further information, than that which the maiden

had already given him, namely, that her father had been absent about

six days, but, having promised to be back on the fifth, she now looked

for his arrival every hour. The good matron shed tears as she bewailed

to her guest how her husband, since the commencement of the war, had

been but a few hours at home; how he had always had the reputation of

being a restless character; and how people rumoured all sorts of

stories about him, which would certainly bring his wife and child into

misfortune and trouble by his dangerous mode of life.

Albert tried all means to console her and stop her tears; and so far

succeeded, as to enable her to answer his questions respecting the army

of the League.

"Ah! sir," she said, "terror and misery are our portion now-a-days! it

is just as if a wild huntsman were riding on the clouds, driving over

the country with his ghost hounds. They have overrun all the low

country, and now the whole force is gone to attack Tuebingen."

"So all the fortresses are in their hands?" said Albert, astonished:

"Hoellenstein, Schorndorf, Goeppingen, Teck, Urach--are they all taken?"

"All of them, I believe; a man from Schorndorf told me that the

confederates were in Hoellenstein, Schorndorf, and Goeppingen. But I can

tell you for certain about Teck and Urach, as we are only three or four

hours' distance from them." She then related that, on the 3rd of April,

the League's army advanced to Teck; one part of the infantry was posted

before one of the gates of the town, and had a parley with the garrison

about surrendering. Every one flocked to the spot to hear the summons,

and in the meantime the enemy scaled the other gate. But, in the castle

of Urach, there were four hundred ducal infantry, which the citizens

would not admit into the town when the enemy advanced. A battle took

place between them, in which the soldiers were forced into the market

place, where the commander was wounded by a ball, and afterwards run

through the body by a halbert; the town then surrendered to the League.

"It is no wonder," said the fifer of Hardt's wife, as she concluded her

narration, "that they take all the towns and castles; for they have

long falconets and bombarding pieces which shoot balls as large as my

head, breaking down walls and upsetting towers."

Albert could easily foresee from this information, that the journey

from Hardt to Lichtenstein would not be less dangerous, than that which

he had already performed over the Alb, for he knew that he would be

obliged to pass directly between Urach and Tuebingen. But, as the army

of the League had been withdrawn from Urach several days back, and the

siege of Tuebingen necessarily required a large force, he might hope

there was no post of any importance occupied by the enemy, in the

country through which he would have to travel. He therefore awaited the

arrival of his guide with impatience.

The wound on his head was quite healed; though the blow had been severe

enough to deprive him of his senses for many days, it was not deep,

owing to the feathers of his cap and the thickness of his hair having

blunted the sharpness of the cut. He had recovered also of the wounds

on his legs and arms, and the only inconvenience he suffered from the

result of that unfortunate night, was a debility arising from the loss

of blood, and lying so long upon the bed of sickness. But his

constitution hourly gained strength, his natural buoyancy of spirit

resumed its sway, and his only thought was to proceed onwards to his

destination.

He was, however, compelled to summon up all his spirits, to make the

tedious hours he was still doomed to pass in his present quarters at

all bearable. The daughter of the fifer, perceiving how the prolonged

absence of her father distressed him, did her best to beguile the time

by amusing him with her cheerful conversation. The delay was

nevertheless not without its advantages, for he became acquainted with

the character and life of the Swabian peasant. Their manners and

dialect were quite new to him. His countrymen, the Franconians,

although bordering so near on this part of Wuertemberg, were to his mind

a race more subtle and crafty,--in many respects less polished,--than

these. But the kind-hearted honesty of the Swabians, which their looks,

address, and actions bespoke,--their cheerful industry, their

cleanliness and order, giving to poverty a respectable, indeed a

substantial, appearance; in short, everything he saw induced him to

think they possessed more intrinsic good qualities than their shrewder

neighbours.

He was very much taken with the unaffected simplicity of the young

girl's talk. Her mother might scold as much as she liked, and remind

her continually of the high rank of the knight, she was not to be

deterred from entertaining him, and she was particularly bent upon not

giving up her secret plan to ascertain whether she or her mother were

right in their views respecting the white and blue scarf. Upon this

subject she had her own thoughts, arising out of the following

circumstance:

One night when Albert was very ill, she had remained up late to keep

her father company, who was watching by his bed-side. But having fallen

asleep over her work, she was aroused, it might have been about ten

o'clock, by a noise in the room. She saw a man in earnest conversation

with her father, whose features did not escape her notice, although he

tried to conceal them under a large cap. She thought she recognised in

the stranger a servant of the knight of Lichtenstein, who had often

been in the habit of coming in a mysterious way to the fifer of Hardt,

upon which occasion she was always obliged to leave the apartment.

Bent upon knowing what this man had to communicate to her father, she

feigned to be asleep thinking he would not disturb her. She was right

in her conjecture; and heard the stranger speak of a young lady, who

was inconsolable, on account of a certain young man. She had

commissioned him to go to Hardt to ascertain the truth of the report

which had given her great concern, and had determined to acknowledge

every thing to her father respecting her acquaintance with the invalid,

and in case he returned to her with unsatisfactory intelligence, she

would immediately proceed to nurse him herself.

The messenger from Lichtenstein spoke in an under tone, as if afraid of

being overheard; and her father, lamenting the case of the lady,

represented the state of the patient as being likely soon to be

ameliorated, and promised that, when he was decidedly better, he would

immediately convey the consoling news to her himself. The stranger then

cut off a lock of the sick man's hair, folded it up carefully in a

cloth, which he carried under his jacket, and being led out of the room

by her father, took his departure.

The many occupations of the following days, had driven the conversation

of the stranger from the recollection of the fifer's daughter; but when

she witnessed the scene from the kitchen window, it came back in full

force to her mind. She knew that the knight of Lichtenstein had a

daughter, because her aunt had been her nurse, and now was her

attendant. It could be no other than this very lady, who had sent the

servant to inquire about the sick man, and intended to come herself to

nurse him.

All the stories she had ever heard as she sat at the spinning-wheel on

a long winter's evening,--and there were many terrible ones, of king's

daughters in love, of gallant knights sick in prison, saved by the

hands of noble ladies,--came to her remembrance. She did not exactly

know what people of quality thought of love, but she supposed that

sensation must be much the same kind of thing, which girls of her

village felt, when they surrendered their hearts to handsome young

fellows of their own rank in life. With this idea strong in her mind,

she thought how painful must be the situation of the noble lady, living

in the high and distant castle, not to know whether her treasure were

dead or alive, nor to be able to come to him, to see him, and to watch

over him.

These reflections brought tears into her eye, generally so animated and

cheerful. Her heart was touched at the idea of the narrow escape the

lady had run of losing her lover; and supposing her to be the daughter

of a noble, rich knight, she necessarily must be very beautiful, her

imagination led her to fancy her situation to be doubly inconsolable.

But was not the young man to be equally pitied, if not more so? thought

she. Her father had surely ere this imparted to the lady the gratifying

news of her lover's recovery; whilst he, poor man, had not heard one

word from her for many days! Has he not been deprived of his senses

during nine whole days; and since their return been left in anxious

suspense on her account? These circumstances, therefore, left no doubt

upon her mind, of the reason why he cherished the scarf with such

tender regard, and convinced her from whose hands it came, at the same

time that it satisfied her why he constantly pressed it to his heart

and lips. Thinking to give him comfort, she determined to relate to him

what had passed on that night, when she overheard the conversation

between her father and the stranger.

Whilst Barbelle was occupied at her spinning wheel, Albert remarked

that she was not so cheerful as usual, that there was a cast of

seriousness on her countenance, which he had never observed before. Her

mind appeared occupied with a thought that distressed her; nay, he even

perceived a tear in her eye. He was so much struck by the change, as to

wish to know the cause of it. "What have you at heart, girl?" he asked,

just after her mother had left the room. "What makes you all at once so

silent and serious? you even moisten your thread with tears!"

"And can you be gay, sir?" asked Barbelle, and looked at him

inquisitively in the face. "I think I saw something once fall from your

eye also, which moistened that scarf. I am sure it was given you by

your love; and I was just thinking how much I grieved that you were not

by her side."

Albert was taken by surprise at this remark of his young friend, and

blushed deeply, which satisfied her she had made a better guess about

the mysteries of the scarf than her mother had. "You are not far

wrong," he answered, smiling; "but I am not uneasy on that account, as

I hope to see her again very shortly."

"Ah! what joy there will be at Lichtenstein when that happy event comes

to pass," said Barbelle, whose countenance had now resumed its wonted

gaiety.

What could be the meaning of this, thought Albert? could her father

have made known to her the secret of his love? "In Lichtenstein, did

you say? what do you know about me and Lichtenstein?"

"Ah! I rejoice to think of the happiness the noble lady will have when

she sees you again. I have heard how miserable she was when you were

ill."

"Miserable, did you say?" cried Albert, springing upon his feet, and

approaching her; "was she aware of my state? O speak! what do you know

of Bertha? Are you acquainted with her? What has your father said of

her?"

"My father has not said a single word to me; and I should not have

known there was such a person as a lady of Lichtenstein, if my aunt was

not her nurse. But you must not be offended at me, sir, if I listened a

little; look ye, this is the way I know it." She then related how she

became acquainted with the secret; and that her father was probably

gone to Lichtenstein to give the lady comforting intelligence of his

recovery.

Albert was painfully affected at this news. He had all along cherished

the hope that Bertha would have heard of his misfortune and recovery at

the same time, and have been spared much anxiety on his account. He

well knew how the cruel uncertainty of his being safe from the

vigilance of the enemy's patroles, even had his health been restored,

would wear upon her spirits; perhaps affect her health also. Truly his

own misfortune appeared nothing, when he compared it to the distress of

that dear girl. How much had she not gone through in Ulm! how painful

the separation from him! and now scarcely had she enjoyed the thought

of his having quitted the colours of the League, scarcely had she been

able to look forward to a more cheerful futurity, when she was

terrified by the news of his being almost mortally wounded. And all

this she was obliged to suffer in secret, to conceal it from the looks

of her father--without possessing one single soul as a friend, to whose

sympathy she could confide the secret of her heart--and from whom she

might seek consolation. He now felt more than ever how necessary it

became to hasten his departure for Lichtenstein; and his impatience was

inflamed into anger, that the fifer of Hardt, otherwise a cautious and

clever man, should just at this moment remain so long absent.

The maiden guessed his thoughts: "I plainly see you long to be

away--oh, were but my father here to shew you the way to Lichtenstein!

It would be imprudent in you to go alone, for there would be no

difficulty in detecting your not being a Wuertemberger by your speech.

Do you know what? I'll run to meet my father, and hurry him home."

"You go to meet him?" said, Albert touched by the proposal of the

good-hearted girl; "do you know whether he be in the neighbourhood? he

may be still some distance from home; and it will be dark in an hour."

"And were it so dark, that I should be obliged to grope my way

blindfolded to Lichtenstein, I'll wager you could not go faster to

your----." Blushing, she cast her eyes down; for although her good

heart induced her to proffer her services as a messenger of love, she

felt confused when she touched upon the tender subject, which had been

made so clear to her this day, and which confirmed her in her former

suspicions.

"But if you volunteer to go to Lichtenstein out of regard for me, there

is no reason why I should not accompany you, rather than remain behind,

to await the arrival of your father. I'll saddle my horse immediately,

and ride by your side; you can shew me the way until I am far enough

not to mistake the rest of it."

The girl of Hardt scarcely knew which way to look, when Albert made

this proposal; and playing with the ends of her long plaits of hair,

said, almost in a whisper, "But it will be so soon dark."

"Well, what does that signify? So much the better, because I shall then

be able to arrive in Lichtenstein by cock-crow," answered Albert; "you

yourself proposed finding the way through the darkness."

"Yes, to be sure, so I could," replied Barbelle, without looking up;

"but you are not strong enough yet to undertake the journey; and he who

has just risen from a sick bed, must not think of travelling six hours

in the night."

"I cannot pay any more attention to that," said Albert; "my wounds are

all healed, and I feel as well as ever I was; so get ready, my good

girl, we will start immediately; I'll go and saddle my horse." He took

the bridle, which hung on a nail on the wall, and went to the door.

"But, sir! hear me, good sir!" cried the girl, in a beseeching tone,

after him: "pray do not think of going now. It would not be proper for

me to travel alone with you in the dark. The people in Hardt are very

censorious, and they would certainly say some ill-natured thing of me

if----; better stay till to-morrow morning, when I will willingly go as

far as Pfullingen with you."

The young man respected her reasons, and replaced in silence the bridle

on the nail. It would certainly have been much more agreeable to him,

if the folks of Hardt had been less inclined to think evil of their

neighbours; but he could not do otherwise than meet the well-meant

scruples of Barbelle in their proper light. He therefore determined to

remain the night waiting the arrival of the fifer of Hardt; should he

not then come, he would mount his horse by daybreak, and set out for

Lichtenstein, under the conduct of his young friend.

CHAPTER XVI.

The whispering breezes fan the day,

And gently blow around;

With fragrance passing sweet they play,

And break with dulcet sound.

Now, my poor heart, be not oppress'd by fear,

Those breezes will a better fortune bear.

L. UHLAND.

But the fifer of Hardt did not return home that night; and as Albert

could no longer restrain his desire to prosecute his journey, he

saddled his horse at break of day. His good hostess, after no small

struggle, allowed her daughter to accompany him. She was afraid lest

such an extraordinary event should furnish conversation, perhaps not to

the credit of her child, for many an evening's gossip in the spinning

occupations of her neighbours, and therefore reluctantly gave her

consent. Upon the consideration, however, of the interest her husband

must have taken in the welfare of the young knight, having treated him

like a son in concealing him in his house, she thought she could not

well refuse him this last piece of service. She accordingly permitted

her daughter to go as his guide, upon the sole condition, that she was

to proceed a quarter of an hour's distance in advance, and wait for him

at a certain milestone.

Albert was affected in taking leave of the kind-hearted matron, who,

out of respect for him, had decked herself out in her best Sunday's

attire. He had placed a gold ducat in the carved chest, as a mark of

gratitude for the attention he had received from her; a considerable

present in those days, and a large sum out of the travelling purse of

Albert von Sturmfeder. It would appear that the fifer of Hardt never

knew a word about this deposit whether it was, that his wife did not

find the piece of gold, or that she did not like to inform him of it,

fearing lest he might return the present to the donor, and thereby

affront him. But so much is certain, that the musician's wife was

shortly after seen in church dressed in a new gown, to the astonishment

and envy of all the women of the neighbourhood, and her daughter

Barbelle wore a beautiful bodice of the finest cloth, trimmed with

gold, which had never been seen before, at the next feast, kept in

commemoration of the dedication of the church. She was always seen to

blush, also, whenever any of her companions felt the texture of the new

bodice and congratulated her upon the acquisition of it. Such was the

effect which a single piece of gold produced in the village of Hardt,

in those good old times!

Albert found his conductor sitting on the appointed milestone. She

jumped up as soon as he arrived, and walked with a quick pace beside

his horse. The girl appeared much more cheerful than the day before.

The fresh air of an April morning had given her cheeks a high colour,

and her eyes sparkled with kindness. Her costume was well adapted for a

long walk, for her short petticoats did not impede her progress. A

basket hung on her arm, as if she were going to market. But neither

vegetables nor fruit were contained in it, which was generally the case

on such occasions; she only carried a large shawl, as a precaution

against April showers. The young man thought to himself, as his

companion walked by his side, what a housekeeper she would make for

some country swain, who should be fortunate enough to possess her for a

wife!

She had inherited much of the vivacity of her father's character. For

in the same way that he beguiled the time of his companion on their

journey over the Alb, by relating stories and pointing out the

principal features of the country, did she draw his attention to the

most beautiful points of view of the surrounding vallies and mountains;

or imparted to him, unsolicited, the popular anecdotes of castles, or

other striking objects.

Choosing the most unfrequented paths, she led her guest only through

two or three villages, and rested awhile after every two hours' walk.

At last, after having made four such stations, a town was seen about a

short half-hour's walk from them; the road parted at the spot of their

last halt, and a foot-path to the left conducted to a village. At this

point of separation, the girl said: "That is Pfullingen which you see

yonder, from whence any child will show you the road to Lichtenstein."

"How! are you going to leave me already?" asked Albert, who was so much

charmed with the cheerful conversation of his companion, that the

thought of parting from her took him by surprise. "Will you not come at

least as far as Pfullingen, where you can rest yourself, and have some

refreshment? You don't intend to return home immediately?"

The girl endeavoured to look merry and unconcerned; but she could not

conceal an expression about her mouth and eye, which betrayed the pain

she felt at parting from her guest, whose presence might have been much

dearer to her than she was, perhaps, altogether aware of. "I must leave

you here, sir," she said, "much as I would willingly go on with you;

but my mother will have it so; I have a cousin in that village on the

hill, where I will remain to-day, and return to Hardt to-morrow. And

now may God and the Holy Virgin protect you, and all the Saints take

you under their care! Remember me to my father, should you meet him;

and," she added with a smile, as she quickly dried a tear, "give my

respects to the lady also whom you love."

"Thanks, many thanks, Barbelle," replied Albert, as he took her hand to

wish her goodbye; "I can never repay your faithful care of me; but when

you get home, look into the carved chest, where you will find something

which will, perhaps, provide you with a new bodice or petticoat for

Sunday. And when you put it on for the first time, and your true love

kisses you, then think of Albert von Sturmfeder."

The young man gave his horse the spur, and trotted across the green

plain towards the town. When he had gone about two hundred paces, he

turned around to have one more look at his young guide. There she stood

on the same spot where he had left her, watching him as he increased

his distance from her, with her hands up to her eyes; but whether to

guard them from the rays of the sun, as she followed him with her look,

or whether to wipe away the tear which stood on the brink of her eyelid

as they parted, Albert could not precisely tell.

He was soon at the gate of the town, and, feeling tired and thirsty,

inquired where the best inn was? He was shown a small gloomy-looking

house, having the sign of a Golden Stag, and a spear and shield, over

the door. A little bare-footed boy led his horse to the stable, whilst

he was received at the entrance by a young, good-natured looking woman,

who conducted him into the room common to all. This was a large dark

apartment, around the walls of which were placed heavy oak tables and

benches. The number of well-polished cans and jugs, placed in regular

order upon shelves, proved that the Stag was much frequented. As it

was, there were already many men seated, drinking wine, although it was

only just mid-day. They scrutinized the distinguished-looking knight

very closely, as he passed their table to the place of honour which was

situated at the top of the room, in a kind of bow window of the shape

of a lantern, with six glass sides; but their conversation was in no

wise interrupted by the appearance of the stranger, for they went on

talking of peace and war, battles and sieges, in the way which

independent citizens were wont to do, Anno Domini 1519.

The hostess appeared pleased with the bearing of her new guest. She

peered at him with a smiling look as she passed him, and when she

brought him a can of old Heppacher wine, and set a silver tankard

before him for his use, her mouth, which was somewhat large, expressed

friendly intentions. She promised to roast a chicken, and prepare a

table for him, if he would wait patiently a little while; in the mean

time, she hoped the wine was to his taste. The bow window, in which

Albert had taken his seat, was a couple of steps higher than the floor

of the room, so that he could easily look down upon and examine the

company. Though he was not accustomed to pass much time in inns and

drinking rooms, he had a peculiar tact in judging of the characters of

men, and from the circumstance of his being more a man of observation

than of talk, he now had an opportunity of putting this talent into

practice.

The party which was sitting around one of the large oak tables,

consisted of ten or twelve men. There did not appear to be much

difference in point of circumstances among them, at the first glance;

large beards, short hair, round caps, dark jackets, were common to them

all; but, upon a closer inspection, three of them were to be

particularised from the rest. One, sitting nearest to Albert, was a

short, fat, good-humoured looking man; his hair, which fell over his

neck, was longer and more carefully combed than his neighbours'; his

dark beard appeared also to be the peculiar object of his attention.

His cloak of fine black cloth, and a felt hat with a pointed crown and

broad brim, which hung on a nail behind him, denoted him to be a man of

some consequence, perhaps holding the rank of counsellor. He appeared

also to drink a better sort of wine than the rest, for he sipped it

with the air of a connoisseur, and when he made a sign that his jug was

empty, by putting on the cover, a fashion peculiar to those days, he

did it with a certain grace and in more polished manner than the

others. He listened to everything that was said with a cunning look,

like one who knew more than he would deign to express upon the present

occasion. He enjoyed also the privilege of patting the waiting maid on

the cheek, or stroking her round plump arm, when she replenished his

can.

Another man, who sat at the opposite end of the table, was not less

distinguished than his fat neighbour, from the rest of the group; every

thing belonging to him was lengthy and gaunt. His face from the

forehead to a long pointed chin, measured at least a good span; his

fingers, with which he was beating time to a song he hummed to himself,

closely resembled the limbs of the spider tribe; and as Albert happened

to bend himself, he discovered two long lanky legs, belonging to the

same personage, stretched under the table. There was something about

the twist of his nose also that expressed self-sufficiency, evidently a

prominent feature of his character, for he invariably contradicted the

rest of the party, whenever they spoke. His manner altogether was that

of one who pretends to unrestrained intimacy with persons of higher

rank in life than himself, but who never feels at ease in their

society. Albert thought it not likely that he belonged to the town of

Pfullingen, for he occasionally inquired of the hostess after his

horse, and forming his opinion upon the whole bearing of this

extraordinary looking person, he supposed him to be a travelling

doctor, who in those days rode about the country, dispatching people

professionally.

The third person who attracted Albert's observation was

ill-conditioned, and raggedly clothed; but there was something quick

and cunning in his appearance, that distinguished him from the

good-humour and tranquillity of his companions, particularly the fat

man. He wore a large plaister over one of his eyes, whilst the look of

the other was bold and sharp. A large walking stick, with an iron spike

at the end, lay beside him, and a well-worn leather back to his coat,

upon which he probably carried a basket or box, prompted the idea of

his being either a messenger, or more likely a travelling pedlar, one

who visits fairs and festivals, bringing wonderful news from distant

lands, remedies for women against mad animals, and all sorts of

coloured ribands and silks for girls.

These three men led the conversation, which only now and then was

interrupted by an expression of astonishment from the rest of the

worthy burghers, or by the noise of the covers of their wine cans.

One subject, among others, appeared the principal point of discussion

between them, and drew the attention of Albert. They spoke of the

undertakings of the League in the low land of Wuertemberg. The pedlar

with the leather back related the storming of Moeckmuehl by the League,

where Goetz von Berlichingen had shut himself up with many brave

followers, and where that iron-fisted man was made prisoner.

The counsellor smiled knowingly at this piece of news, and took a long

draught of wine; Raw-bones did not permit the leather back man to

finish his story, but beating time with renewed force with his long

fingers, said, with sepulchral voice, "That's a rank lie, friend! it is

impossible, d' ye see; because Berlichingen understands the art of war,

and is a determined man; I ought to know that; and besides, he alone,

with his iron hand, has in many a battle killed two hundred men as dead

as mice; do you suppose then that such a man would allow himself to be

taken?"

"With your permission," interrupted the fat gentleman, "you are wrong

in what you say, because I know that Goetz is, in fact, a prisoner, and

is now confined in Heilbron. He did not surrender himself, however;

neither was his castle of Moeckmuehl stormed; but when he was marching

out of the gate, the League having promised him and his followers a

free retreat, they fell on him, took him prisoner, and killed many of

his men. That was not fair, and he has been infamously treated."

"I must beg of you, sir," said the thin man, "not to speak of the

League in such terms; I am acquainted with many of the officers, for

example, Herr Truchses von Waldburg is my most intimate friend."

The fat man looked big, and appeared as if he wished to make a reply,

but, upon second thoughts, washed the words which were upon the tip of

his tongue, down his throat with a draught of wine. The other burghers,

however, broke out in a murmur of astonishment at the mention of such a

high acquaintance, and raised their caps out of respect.

"Well, if you are so well acquainted with the movements of the League,

as you pretend to be," said the pedlar, with something of a haughty

mien, "you will be able to give us the last intelligence respecting the

state of Tuebingen."

"It whistles out of its last hole," answered the rawbone man; "I was

there but a short time ago, and saw most formidable preparations for

the siege."

"Eh!--what?" whispered the inquisitive burghers among themselves, and

drew nearer, expecting to hear some important news.

The thin man leaned back on his chair, grasped the handle of his sword

with his long fingers, stretched out his legs a yard further, and said,

with an air of triumph, "Yes, yes, my friends, it looks very bad there;

the surrounding places in the neighbourhood have suffered; all the

fruit trees have been cut down, the town and castle furiously

bombarded, the former having already surrendered. Forty knights,

indeed, still defend the castle; but they cannot hold out their

tottering walls much longer!"

"What tottering walls do you talk of?" cried the fat man; "whoever has

seen the castle of Tuebingen, must not talk of tottering walls. Are

there not two deep ditches on the side towards the mountains, which no

ladder of the League can scale, and walls twelve feet thick, with high

towers, whence the falconets keep up no insignificant fire, I can tell

you?"

"Battered down, battered down!" cried the thin man, with such a fearful

hollow voice, as made the astonished burghers think they heard the

falling of the towers of Tuebingen about their ears: "the new tower,

which Ulerich lately built, was battered down by Fronsberg, as if it

had never stood there."

"But everything is not lost with that," answered the pedlar; "the

knights make sallies from the castle, and many a one has found his bed

in the Neckar. Old Fronsberg had his hat shot from his head, which

makes his ears tingle to this day, I'll be bound."

"There you are wrong again," said the thin man, carelessly; "sallies,

indeed! the besiegers have light cavalry enough, who fight like devils;

they are Greeks; but whether they come from the Ganges or Epirus, I

know not, and are called Stratiots, commanded by George Samares, who

does not allow a dog of them to sally out of their holes."[1]

"He also has been made to bite the grass," replied the pedlar, with a

scornful side glance: "the dogs, as you call them, did make a sally, in

spite of the Greeks, and made their leader prisoner, and----"

"Samares prisoner?" cried the rawbone man, startled out of his

tranquillity; "you are not right again, friend!"

"No?" answered the other, quietly; "I heard the bells toll, as he was

buried in the church of Saint George."

The burghers looked attentively at the thin stranger, to notice the

impression this news would make on him. His thick eyebrows fell so low

that his eyes were scarcely visible; he twisted his long thin

mustachios, and striking the table with his bony hand, said: "And if

they have cut him and his Greeks into a hundred pieces, the besieged

can't help themselves! the castle must fall; and when Tuebingen is ours,

good night to Wuertemburg! Ulerich is out of the country, and my noble

friends and benefactors will be the masters."

"How do you know that he will not come back again? and then----" said

the cautious fat man, and clapped on the cover of his goblet.

"What! come back again?" cried the other: "the beggar! who says he will

come back again? Who dares say it?"

"What does it signify to us?" murmured the guests; "we are peaceable

citizens; and it is all the same to us who is lord of the land,

provided the taxes are lowered. In a public house a man has a right to

say what he pleases."

The thin man appeared satisfied that none of the company dared return

an angry answer. He eyed each of them with a searching look, when,

assuming a kinder manner, he said, "It was only to put you in mind,

that we do not want the Duke any longer as our master that I speak as I

do; upon my soul, he is rank poison to me; so I'll sing you a

_paternoster_, which a friend wrote upon him, and which pleases me

much." The honest burghers, by their looks, did not appear very curious

to hear a burlesque song upon their unfortunate Duke. The other,

however, having cleared his throat with a good draught, began a few

words of a burlesque parody on the Lord's Prayer, in a disagreeable

hoarse tone of voice--a vulgar song, apparently familiar to the ears of

his audience--for no sooner had he commenced, than the good taste of

the burghers manifested itself by a whisper of disapprobation; some

shrugging their shoulders, others winking at each other; symptoms

sufficiently evident to the thin man, that the burden of his song was

not welcome to their ears. He therefore stopt short, looking around for

encouragement; but, finding none, he threw himself back in his chair,

with a scowl of contempt on his features.

"I know that song well," said the pedlar; "and shame be to him who

would offend the ears of honest men with it. With your permission," he

added, addressing the company, "I'll give you one I think more to your

taste." Encouraged by the rest of the burghers, excepting the thin man,

who squinted at him with scorn, he began:

Mourn, Wuertemberg! thy fallen state,

Thy drooping pride, thy luckless fate!

A Quack, whom even dogs despise,

Presumes to make thy fortunes rise.

Noisy applause and laughter, mingled with the hisses of the thin man,

interrupted the singer. The burghers reached across the table, shook

the pedlar by the hand, praised his song, and begged him to proceed.

The raw bone man said not a word, but looked furiously at the company.

He knew not whether to envy the applause which the songster received,

or to feel offended at the subject of his song. The fat man put on an

air of greater wisdom than usual, and joined in approbation with the

rest. The leather-backed pedlar was going on, encouraged by his

audience:

Of Nurenberg he, a knife-grinder by trade;

His friend was a weaver, a man of low grade--

when the thin man, upon hearing these words, and not able to contain

his indignation, flew into a violent rage, and vociferated: "May the

cuckoo stick in your throat, you ragged dog! I know very well who you

mean by the weaver,--my best friend, Herr von Fugger. That such a

vagabond as you should calumniate him!" expressing his anger by a

frightful distortion of his countenance.

But his opponent was in no wise to be daunted, and held his muscular

fist before him, saying, "Vagabond yourself, Mr. Calmus, I know who you

are; and if you don't keep silence, I'll twist those pot-ladle arms of

yours off your half-starved body."

The crest-fallen guest rose immediately, and pronounced his regret to

have fallen into such low company; he paid for his wine, and walked out

of the room with the strut of a man of quality.

FOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER XVI.:

[Footnote 1: The appearance of these Greeks at the siege of Tuebingen was

an extraordinary event; they were called Stratiots, and were commanded

by George Samares, from Corona, in Albania. He was buried in the

collegiate church of Tuebingen. Crusius says, he was famous for wielding

the lance.]

CHAPTER XVII.

Hope, faith, and confidence are there,

For all that I esteem are near;

And yet suspicion finds its way,

And makes my hopeless mind its prey.

SCHILLER.

When the offensive man left the room, the guests looked at each other

with astonishment; they were in a state of mind similar to that of one

who sees a heavy storm arise, and expects it to burst and overwhelm

him; when, behold, it produces little more than a flash in the pan.

They thanked the man with the leather back for having driven away the

odious stranger, and inquired what he knew of him?

"I know him well," he answered; "he is a worthless, idle fellow, a

travelling doctor, who sells pills to cure the plague; extracts the

worm from dogs, and crops their ears; eases young women of thick necks;

and gives the old ones eyewater, which, instead of healing, makes them

blind. His proper name is Kahlmaueser, or baldmouse; pretending to be a

learned man, he calls himself doctor Calmus. He fastens himself upon

the great, and should one of them call him ass, he fawns upon him as

his best friend."

"But he cannot be upon good terms with the Duke," remarked the

cunning-looking man; "for he abused him in no measured terms."

"Yes, he certainly is not happy with him; and for this reason--the Duke

had a beautiful Danish sporting dog, which had run a thorn deep into

its foot. It was a great favourite of the Duke, who inquired after an

experienced man to cure it; and it so happened that this Kahlmaueser was

on the spot, and tendered his services, with a look full of

consequence. The wretch was fed every day with the best of food in the

castle of Stuttgardt, and the fare was so palatable that he remained

more than a quarter of a-year, doctoring the dog's foot. The Duke one

day called for both doctor and dog, to know and see what had been done.

The quack, it appears, talked a great deal of learned stuff, to which

the Duke paid no attention; but, upon examining the wound himself, he

found the dog's foot worse than ever. He laid hold of the doctor, tall

as he was, led him to the top of the long flight of steps, so contrived

that a horse can mount up to the second story, and threw him headlong

down. He was half dead when he arrived at the bottom, so you may

imagine that since that time, Doctor Calmus does not speak well of the

Duke. He is also said to have been a spy between Hutten and Frau

Sabina, and only undertook the care of the dog for the purpose of

remaining in the castle to carry on intrigues."

"Really! was he in correspondence with Hutten?" said one of the

burghers; "if we had but known that, he should not have come off so

cheaply, the vagabond doctor; for Hutten's amorous intrigue is the

cause of this unhappy war; and it appears that this Kahlmaueser assisted

him in it!"

"_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_,--we ought to spare the dead, say the

Latins," replied the fat man; "the poor devil has paid his crime dear

enough with his life."

"It served him right," cried the other burgher, angrily; "had I been in

the Duke's place I would have done the same; every one must protect his

domestic rights."

"Do not you ride sometimes hunting with the bailiff?" asked the fat

man, with a peculiar crafty smile: "you surely have the best

opportunity to assert your rights; you possess a sword, and could

easily find an oak tree to hang a corpse upon."

A loud laugh from the burghers of Pfullingen apprised the stranger in

the balcony, that the jealous upholder of domestic rights was not so

well able to administer justice in his own house. He coloured up, and

murmured some unintelligible words as he put his can to his mouth.

The pedlar, however, who, as a stranger, thought it not courteous to

join in the laugh, took his part: "Yes, indeed, the Duke was quite in

the right, for he had the power of hanging Hutten upon the spot,

without giving him a chance of his life in fair honourable fight. Is he

not president of the Westphalian chair, and of the secret tribunal,

which gives him the power of dispatching villanous fellows without

further ceremony? Had he not the best proof of his treachery before his

eyes? Have you ever heard a pretty little song upon that subject? I'll

sing a couple of verses, if you like:

"In the forest he turn'd him to Hutten, to know,

What't was on his hand that glittered so?"

"Lord Duke, it is this little ring you see,

This ring which my sweet love gave to me."

"Hey, Hans, by my troth thou art nobly drest,

A chain of gold, too, lies on thy breast."

"That, too, my true love gave so free,

A pledge that she would remember me."

"And then it goes on:

"Oh! Hutten, away! nor spare the goad,

The Duke's eye rolls with fury wode;

Away, whilst there is yet time to fly,

The scabbard is voided, his sword is on high."

The fat man put on a serious face, and said, "I would not advise you to

go on; such songs in public houses, in these times, are dangerous; they

cannot serve the Duke's cause at present. The confederates being round

about us, some one of them might easily overhear it," he added, as he

cast a scrutinizing glance at Albert, "and then Pfullingen might have

to pay another hundred ducats contribution."

"God knows, you are in the right," said the pedlar; "it is no longer

the case, as it used to be, when one could freely speak his mind, and

sing a song over his glass; but now a man must always be on the look

out, to see that a partizan of the Duke's does not sit on one side, or

a Leaguist on the other; but, in spite of Bavarian or Swabian, I'll

sing the last verse:

"There stands an oak in Schoenbuch wood,

It shoots aloft and it spreads abroad;

And centuries hence recorded shall be,

That the Duke hang'd Hutten on that very tree."

When he had finished, the conversation among the burghers sunk into a

whisper, which made Albert suspect they were making comments upon him.

The good-natured hostess also appeared curious to know who she

entertained in the balcony. When she had spread a clean table-cloth

over the round-table, and placed the repast she had prepared before

him, she took her seat on the opposite side, and questioned him, but

with respect and deference, whence he came, and whither he was going?

The young man was not inclined to give her positive information as to

the real object of his journey. The conversation to which he had

listened at the long table, made him cautious in giving an answer to

her leading question, for he felt that in times of civil strife, it was

not less indiscreet than dangerous to declare, in a place like a public

inn, to what party he belonged. Albert's peculiar circumstances at this

moment required him to exercise more than ordinary prudence, and he

merely said, "that he came from Franconia, and was going further into

the country, in the neighbourhood of Zollern." With this general answer

to the question, he cut short any other upon the same subject. But

being now in the neighbourhood of Lichtenstein, he thought he might be

able to learn something of the family from the loquacious landlady of

the Golden Stag. Putting a few questions to her respecting the

different surrounding castles and their inhabitants, in the hope of

gaining his point, she very soon related to him reports which deeply

affected his future prospects; for upon the truth or falsehood of them

seemed, to his ardent mind, to depend his future happiness or misery.

The hostess, fond of a gossip, in less than a quarter of an hour gave

him the history of five or six castles about the country, and among

them of Lichtenstein. The young man drew a deep breath at the sound of

that name, and pushed away the plate from before him, to devote his

whole attention to what she said:

"Well, the owners of Lichtenstein are not poor; on the contrary, they

possess fields and woods in plenty, and not an acre of land is

mortgaged; rather than do so, the old gentleman would allow his beard

to be shaved off, for believe me he prizes it much, and takes a pride

in smoothing it down when people speak to him. He is a severe stern

man, and what he has once determined upon must be done; as the saying

is, should the bow not bend, it must break. He is also one of those who

have continued faithful to the Duke, for which the League will make him

pay dear."

"How is his----, I mean--you said he had a daughter?"

"No," answered the hostess, whilst her cheerful face became clouded of

a sudden, "I certainly said nothing about her, that I am aware of. But

he has a daughter, the good old man; and it had been much better for

him that he went childless to the grave, rather than depart in sorrow

on account of his only child."

Albert could scarcely believe his ears at these words: what reason

could the landlady have to throw out this allusion? "What has happened

to the young lady?" he asked, whilst he in vain sought to appear

indifferent: "you have excited my curiosity; or is it a secret you dare

not divulge?"

The woman of the Golden Stag mysteriously looked around on all sides,

to see that no one was listening; the burghers were quietly taken up

with their own conversation, and paid no attention to them, and there

was no one else in the room who could overhear them. "You, I perceive,

are a stranger," she said, after her scrutiny; "you are travelling

further, and have nothing to do in this neighbourhood, so that I can

communicate to you what I would not confide to every one. The lady who

lives there on the Lichtenstein rock, is a----, a----yes; what the

citizens with us would call, a wicked girl, a----"

"Landlady!" cried Albert.

"Don't speak so loud, worthy sir; the people will notice it. Do you

suppose I would venture to say what I do not know to be certain truth?

Only think, every night as the clock strikes eleven, she lets her lover

into the castle. Is not that wicked enough for a well-bred young lady?"

"Mind what you say! Her lover?"

"Yes, alas! at eleven o'clock in the night, her lover. Is it not a

shame, a disgrace! He is a tall man, and comes to the gate enveloped in

a grey cloak. She has so well arranged it, that all the servants are

out of the way at that hour except the old porter of the gate, who has

assisted her in all her wicked tricks from her childhood. When the

clock strikes eleven in the village, she always comes herself down into

the court, cold as it may be, and brings the keys of the drawbridge,

which she beforehand steals from her father's bed; the old sinner, the

porter, then opens the lock, lets down the bridge, when the man in the

grey cloak hastens to the presence of the young lady."

"And then?" asked Albert, who scarcely had any more breath in his

breast, scarcely any more blood in his cheeks,--"and then?"

"Then she brings food, bread and wine: so much is certain, that the

nightly lover must have an uncommon appetite, for many nights running

he has demolished half a haunch of roebuck, and drank three or four

pints of wine; what else they do, I know not; I guess nothing, I say

nothing; but I suppose," she added, with an upward look to heaven,

"they don't pray."

Albert was angry with himself, after a moment's reflection, for having

doubted for an instant the falsehood of this narration, spun from some

gossipping head; or, should there be any truth in it, it was impossible

that Bertha could act with dishonour to herself. We are told that,

though the passion of love in the young men of the good old times was

not less ardent than in our days, it bore more the character of

idolized respect. It was the custom, in those days, for the lady wooed

to think herself not only not upon an equality, but far superior to her

suitor.

If we look to the romantic tales and love stories in old chronicles, we

shall find many descriptions of enamoured knights allowing themselves

to be cut to pieces on the spot, rather than doubt the faith and purity

of their mistresses. Judging therefore from this fact, it is not

surprising that Albert von Sturmfeder could not bring his mind to think

ill of Bertha, and however puzzling these nocturnal visits appeared to

him, he clearly perceived it had not been proved that her father was

ignorant of the transaction, or that the mysterious man was her lover.

He mentioned these doubts to his hostess.

"Really! you suppose that her father is acquainted with it?" said she;

"not at all--I know it for a certainty, because old Rosel, the young

lady's nurse----"

"Old Rosel said so?" cried Albert, involuntarily: the nurse, being the

sister of the fifer of Hardt, was well known to him. If she had really

said so, the case was no longer to be doubted, for he knew that she was

a pious woman, and devoted to her charge.

"Do you know old Rosel?" she asked, wondering at the warmth with which

her guest inquired after that woman.

"I know her? you forget that I come for the first time to-day in your

neighbourhood; it was only the name of Rosel which struck me."

Albert parried this question, being desirous the woman should not

suspect he was acquainted with the Knight of Lichtenstein or his

family.

"Don't they call her so in your country? Rosel means Rosina with us,

and the old nurse in Lichtenstein goes by that name. But observe, she

is a particular friend of mine, and comes now and then to see me, when

I give her a glass of hot sweet wine, which she loves dearly, and out

of gratitude tells me all the news. What I have told you comes from her

mouth. Old Lichtenstein knows nothing of the nocturnal visits, because

he goes to bed regularly at eight o'clock; and his daughter sends her

nurse every evening at eight o'clock also to her apartment. It struck

the good Rosel, however, a few nights ago, that there must be some

mysterious cause for this conduct. She pretended to go to bed,--and

only think what happened? Scarcely was everything quiet in the castle,

when the young lady, who otherwise never touches a chip of wood, laid

heavy logs on the hearth with her own delicate hands, made a fire,

cooked and roasted the best way she could, got wine out of the cellar,

and bread out of the cupboard, and spread the table in the dining room.

She then opened the window and looked out in the cold dark night, when,

just as the village clock struck eleven, the drawbridge rattled down on

its chains, the nocturnal visitor entered, and went into the dining

room with the young lady. Rosel has often listened in vain to hear the

conversation between them, but the oak doors are very thick, and she

peeped also once through the keyhole, but could only perceive the head

of the stranger."

"Well, is he an old man? What does he look like?"

"Old, indeed? what are you thinking about? She does not look like one

who would put up with an old lover. Rosel told me he was young and

handsome, with a dark beard on his chin and lip, beautiful smooth hair

on his head, and looked very kind and gracious."

"May Satan pluck hair for hair out of his beard!" muttered Albert, as

he passed his hand over his own chin, which was tolerably smooth.

"Woman! are you sure you have really heard all this from old Rosel?

Have you not added more than she told you?"

"God forbid that I should calumniate any one! You don't know me, sir

knight! Rosel told me every word of it, and she suspects a great deal

more, and whispered in my ear things which it does not become a

respectable woman to relate to a young man. And only think how very

wicked the young lady must be; she has had also another lover, to whom

she is unfaithful."

"Another?" asked Albert, to whom the narration appeared to gain more

and more the semblance of truth.

"Yes, another; who according to Rosel's account must be a charming nice

young man. She was with her young mistress in Tuebingen, and there was a

Herr von ---- von ----, I believe he was called Sturmfittich; he studied

at the University; they became acquainted with each other there; and

the old nurse declares such a handsome couple was not to be found in

all Swabia. She was over head and ears in love with him, that's true;

and was very unhappy when she parted with him in Tuebingen; but now her

false heart is unfaithful to the poor youth, and Rosel really weeps

when she thinks of him; he is handsomer, much handsomer, than her

present lover."

The hostess, who had quite forgotten her household duties in her zeal

to relate the gossip of the neighbourhood, was now called by the fat

man in the drinking room: "Landlady," said he, "how long must I knock

here, before I get another can of wine."

"Coming, coming, sir!" she answered, and flew to the bar to satisfy the

importunate man, and from thence she went to the cellar, and then to

the kitchen, and was all of a sudden so full of business, that her

guest in the bow had sufficient time to ponder over all he had just

heard. He sat there, his hand supporting his head, looking with fixed

eyes into the bottom of his silver tankard; he remained in that

position from the afternoon till the evening; night advanced, and still

he sat at the round table, dead to all the world about him, giving

signs of life only by an occasional deep sigh. The landlady did not

know what to make of him. She had placed herself at least a dozen times

near him, had tried to speak with him, but he only looked at her with a

staring eye, and answered nothing. She at last got very uneasy, for

just in the same way had her good husband of blessed memory gazed at

her when he died, and left her in possession of the Golden Stag.

She consulted the fat man, and he with the leather back gave his

opinion also. The landlady maintained that he must be either over head

and ears in love, or that some one must have bewitched him. She

strengthened her supposition by a terrible history of a young knight,

whom she had seen, and whose whole body became quite stiff from sheer

love, which caused his death.

The pedlar was of a different opinion; he thought that some misfortune

must have happened to the stranger, a circumstance which often befals

those engaged in war, and that, therefore, he was in deep distress. But

the fat man, winking, asked, with a countenance full of cunning

conjecture, what was the growth and age of the wine the gentleman had

been drinking?

"He has had old Heppacher of the year 1480," said the landlady: "it is

the best that the Golden Stag furnishes."