"There we have it," said the wise fat man; "I know the Heppacher of the

year eighty, and such a young fellow cannot stand it; it has got into

his head. Let him alone, with his heavy head upon his hand; I'll bet

that before the clock strikes eight he will have slept his wine out,

and be as fresh as a fish in water."

The pedlar shook his head and said nothing; but the hostess praised the

acknowledged sagacity of the fat man, and thought his supposition the

most probable.

It was now nine o'clock; the daily visitors of the drinking room had

all left it, and the landlady was also on the point of retiring to

rest, as the stranger awoke out of his reverie. He started up, made a

few hasty steps about the room, and at last stood before the hostess.

His look was clouded and disturbed, and the short time which had

elapsed between mid-day and the present moment had so far altered the

features of his otherwise kind, open countenance, as to impart to them

an expression of deep melancholy.

The kind-hearted woman was grieved at his appearance; and calling to

mind the sagacious supposition which the fat man had pronounced as to

the cause of his agitation, she proposed cooking a comfortable supper

and preparing a bed for him; but her kind offices were altogether

unavailing, as he appeared bent upon a rougher pastime for the night.

"When did you say," he inquired with a altering voice, "when did you

say the nocturnal guest went to Lichtenstein? and at what hour did he

depart?"

"He enters at eleven o'clock, dear sir," she replied; "and at the first

cock crow he retires over the drawbridge."

"Order my horse to be saddled immediately, and let me have a guide to

Lichtenstein."

"At this hour of night!" cried the landlady, and clasped her hands

together in astonishment; "you would not start now: you surely cannot

be in earnest."

"Yes, good woman, I am in real earnest; so make haste, for I am in a

hurry."

"You have not been so all day long," she replied, "and you now would

rush over head and ears into the dark. The fresh air, indeed, may do

invalids such as you some good; but don't suppose I'll let your horse

out of the stable this night; you might fall off, or a hundred

accidents might happen to you, and then it would be said, 'where was

the head of the landlady of the Golden Stag, to let people leave her

house in such a state, and at such an hour.'"

The young man did not heed her conversation, having relapsed into the

same melancholy mood as before; but when she finished, and paused to

get an answer, he roused up again, and wondered that she had not yet

put his orders into execution.

While she still hesitated to meet his wishes, and saw he was on the

point of going himself to look after his steed, she thought that, as

her good intentions were unavailable to retain him in her house, it

would be more advisable to let him have his own way. "Bring the

gentleman's horse out," she called to her servant, "and let Andres get

ready immediately, to accompany him part of the way. He is in the right

to take some one with him," she said to herself, "who may be of use to

him in case of need. How much do you owe me, did you say, sir knight?

why, you have had a measure of wine, which makes twelve kreuzers; and

the dinner,--as to that it's not worth talking about, for you ate so

little; indeed you scarcely looked at my fowl. If you give me two more

kreuzers for the feed of your horse, you shall receive the thanks of

the poor widow of the Golden Stag."

Having paid his reckoning in the small current money of the times,

Albert took his leave of his kind landlady, who though her opinion of

him was somewhat changed since he first entered her house, proceeding

from an air of mystery about his character which she could not account

for, still she could not conceal from herself, when he threw himself

into the saddle by the light of a torch, that she had seldom seen a

handsomer youth. She therefore impressed upon the lad who accompanied

him to be very careful, and keep an especial look out upon the

gentleman, "who," she added, "did not appear to be quite right in his

head." Having reached the outer gate of Pfullingen, the guide asked his

new master where he wished to go? and upon his answer, "to

Lichtenstein," took a road to the right, leading to the mountains.

Albert rode on in profound silence; he looked not to the right nor to

the left, neither at the stars over head nor in the distant horizon;

his eye only sought the ground. His mind now was in much the same state

as at that moment when a blow from the hand of an enemy laid him

senseless on the ground. His thoughts stood still, hope no longer

animated him, he had ceased to love and to wish. But at that time, when

he sank, exhausted, on nature's cool carpet, his last thoughts were

cheered with the endearing recollection of his beloved, and his

benumbed lips were still able to pronounce once more her idolized name.

But that light seemed to be extinguished which had hitherto guided his

steps. It appeared as if he had but a short distance still to go in the

dark, in order to seek his peace of mind in a light different to that

he had fondly hoped to find on the Lichtenstein rock. His right hand

went occasionally to his sword, as if to assure himself that at least

this companion was faithful to him, for he now trusted to it alone, as

the important key by which he might open the door that would lead from

darkness to light.

The travellers had long since reached the wood; the path became

steeper, and the horse with difficulty ascended the hill with his

rider, who was, however, unconscious of all surrounding objects. The

night air blew cool, and played with the flowing locks of the young

man,--he felt not its effects; the moon rose and lighted up the road,

which ascended amidst huge masses of rock and tall oaks, under which he

passed,--he noticed them not; time flowed on unobserved by him; hour

followed hour in rapid succession, unheeded by his troubled mind.

It was past midnight when they arrived at the summit of the highest

hill, and having reached the skirts of the wood, they beheld the castle

of Lichtenstein before them, situated upon an insulated perpendicular

rock, rising as if by magic from the depths of darkness, and separated

by a broad chasm from the surrounding country. Its white walls, its

indented rocks, glimmered in the moonlight; it seemed as if the castle

slumbered in the profound tranquillity of solitude, cut off from the

rest of the world.

Albert cast a troubled glance towards it, and sprang from his horse,

which he fastened to a tree, and sat down on a stone covered with moss

directly opposite the castle. The guide stood waiting for further

orders, and asked several times in vain, whether his services were

required any longer.

"How long is it to the first crow of cock?" inquired Albert at last.

"Two hours, sir," was the answer of the lad.

He then gave him a handsome reward for his conduct, and made signs to

him to depart. The boy hesitated to obey him, as if afraid of leaving

the young man in his present state of mind; but, upon his repeating the

sign with impatience, he withdrew with a slow step. He looked back once

before he regained the wood, and observed his silent master still

seated upon the same stone, under an oak, with his hand supporting his

head.

CHAPTER XIII.

This hollow path must be his way,

It doth to Kuessnacht lead,

So here I will his coming stay,

And here I'll do the deed.

SCHILLER.

Much has been said and written in all ages upon the folly of jealousy,

but since the days of Uriah the world has nevertheless not grown wiser

upon the subject.

The news which Albert von Sturmfeder had heard from the hostess of the

Golden Stag respecting the nocturnal visits of the stranger to the

castle of Lichtenstein, had created a feeling in his breast to which it

had hitherto been a perfect stranger, and he did not possess sufficient

coolness of blood, to exercise his judgment with calmness and

moderation, upon a subject of such vital importance to his future

prospects. Though he was of an age in which an open generous

disposition places implicit reliance in the honour of others, yet taken

by surprise, as his unsuspicious heart now was, in its dearest

affections, the consequences were likely to become fatal to his

happiness. The anguish attendant upon plighted faith broken, burnt

within him; he could scarcely control the feeling of wounded pride, at

being made the dupe of misplaced confidence; that calm judgment which

teaches us to discriminate between right and wrong forsook his mind,

and the truth was veiled from his sight in an atmosphere of gloomy

foreboding. The fiendish associates, contempt, rage, and revenge,

which, with many others, compose the steps of the ladder of feeling

between love and hatred, now assailed him, and rendered even jealousy a

secondary passion in his breast.

Brooding over these tormenting sensations, he sat upon the moss-covered

stone, insensible to the chill of the night air, and his only thought

was, to meet the nocturnal visitor, and demand an explanation.

When the clock struck two in a village beyond the wood, he observed

lights moving in the windows of the castle. His heart beat in full

expectation; he grasped the hilt of his sword. A few moments after the

lights were visible behind the trellis of the gate, and dogs began to

bark. Albert sprang upon his feet, and threw his cloak aside. He heard

a deep voice very distinctly say, "Good night." The creaking drawbridge

was lowered over the abyss which separates the rock of Lichtenstein

from the country; the gate opened, when a man, his hat falling deep

over his face, and enveloped in a dark cloak, came over the bridge,

directly towards the spot where Albert was standing.

When he had arrived at a few paces from him, the young man called out

in a threatening tone, "Draw, traitor, and defend your life!" and

advanced on him. The man in the cloak stepped back, drawing his sword;

in a moment the two blades met.

"You shall not have me alive," cried the other; "at least I'll sell my

life dear!" and with these words the stranger attacked him vigorously,

proving himself by the rapid and heavy blows which he dealt to be an

experienced swordsman, and no despicable opponent. This was not the

first time Albert had crossed blades in anger; for at the university of

Tuebingen he had fought many an honourable duel with success; but now he

had found his match. His adversary pushed him hard, and his attack was

maintained with so masterly a hand, that Albert was compelled to

confine himself solely to his own defence, when, in a last attempt to

settle the affair by one powerful thrust, his arm was suddenly seized

by a strong hand from behind, and in the same moment his sword was

wrested from his grasp. A loud voice, from the person who now held him

fast in both his arms, cried, "Run him through, sir; such assassins

don't deserve a moment's time to say their paternoster."

"You do it, Hans," said the stranger; "I am not the one to take the

life of a defenceless man; run him through with his own sword, and be

quick about it."

"Let me rather do it myself, sir," said Albert, with a firm voice; "you

have robbed me of my love,--what further need have I of life?"

"What is that I hear?" said the stranger, and approached nearer.

"What voice is that?" said the other stranger, who still kept a firm

hold of Albert; "I ought to know its sound." He turned the young man in

his arms, and, as if struck by lightning, he let go his hold. "What on

earth do I see! we might have made a pretty business of it!--but what

unlucky star has brought you to this spot, sir? How could my people

think of letting you depart without my knowledge?"

It was the fifer of Hardt who addressed Albert, and now offered him his

hand. He was not, however, much inclined to return the friendly salute

of a man who but a moment before was going to perform the part of

executioner. Burning with fury, he looked at the man in the cloak, and

then at the fifer: "Do you mean to say," said he, addressing himself to

the latter, "that I ought to have allowed myself to remain a prisoner

in your house, for the purpose of not witnessing your traitorous

designs? Miserable impostor! And you, sir," turning to the other, "as

you value your honour, defend yourself singly, and not fall two upon

one. If you wish to know my name, I am Albert von Sturmfeder, come here

for the express purpose of measuring swords with you, to uphold my

previous claim to the Lady of Lichtenstein, which pretension, perhaps,

may not be unknown to you. I demand my sword back again, having been

wrenched from my hand by an act of treacherous cowardice, and let each

make good his pretensions in honourable fight. With my life alone will

I cease to assert my right."

"Albert von Sturmfeder!" replied his opponent in surprise, but in a

friendly manner. "It appears you must be labouring under some mistake.

Believe me, that, instead of being your enemy I am much interested in

you, and have long wished to see you. Accept my friendship, upon the

word of honour of a man; and do not imagine I visit the castle with the

sinister views you attribute to me."

He stretched out his hand from under his cloak, and offered it to the

astonished youth, who hesitated, however, to take it. The skill with

which he wielded his sword, and the heavy blows he dealt out,

strengthened Albert in his opinion, that his opponent was accustomed to

the use of his weapon; and that he was a man of honourable and generous

character, seemed satisfactorily proved in the frank and unreserved

manner he proffered his hand when he became acquainted with his name.

Under these circumstances therefore he could scarcely forbear trusting

to his word. Still his mind could not in an instant shake off doubts of

being deceived under the specious dealings of the stranger, which made

him undecided to accept, without further reserve, the proffered

friendship of a man whom but the moment before he had looked upon as

his bitterest enemy.

"Who is it that offers me his hand?" demanded Albert; "I have given you

my name, it is but just you tell me yours."

The stranger threw his cloak back, and raising his hat, discovered to

Albert, by the light of the moon, a noble countenance, with a brilliant

sparkling eye, bearing the expression of commanding dignity. "Ask not

my name," said he, whilst a ray of sorrow played about his mouth; "that

I am a man of honour, is sufficient for you to know. I once, indeed,

bore a name which was upon a level with the most honourable in the

world; I once wore the golden spurs, and carried the waving plume of

feathers in my helmet, and, at the sound of my bugle, could assemble

hundreds of my people around me--but now all is lost. One thing alone

remains to me," he added, with indescribable dignity, taking the hand

of the young man with a firm grasp, "I am a man, and carry a sword,--

'Si fractus illabatur orbis

Impavidam ferient ruinae.'"

With these words he drew his hat again over his face, and throwing his

cloak over his person, withdrew, and was soon lost in the wood.

Albert von Sturmfeder stood in dumb astonishment, resting on his sword.

The commanding look of the stranger, his winning benevolent features,

his brave and generous conduct, filled his soul with admiration and

respect. Revenge, which had agitated his breast before he crossed

swords with him, no longer ruffled it, but gave way to the

contemplation of the virtues which his opponent had displayed in his

unexpected rencontre with one, whose life he might have taken in the

just defence of his own person. But what conduced above all to raise

this man higher in Albert's estimation, was the frank and honest manner

in which he had disavowed any clandestine acquaintance with Bertha,

having confirmed it by a gallant defence of his honour, which he seemed

as capable of asserting as he did of wielding his weapon. Such was the

result of this adventure upon the mind of Albert, that he felt it

relieved of a mountain's weight of trouble and anxiety, with which, but

a few moments back, it had been oppressed. The malicious reports of the

hostess of the Golden Stag, which he had too readily given credit to,

now stung him with shame and remorse. He would willingly have risked

every thing at that moment to have gained admittance to the castle, and

thrown himself at the feet of his beloved, to implore her forgiveness

for having given place to a doubt of her faithful attachment.

When we consider the weight and respect which physical qualities

carried with them in those times,--how bravery, even in an enemy, was

prized and admired,--and that the word of a gallant man was held as

sacred as an oath on the altar;--and, if we further recollect how

imposing is the effect of a pleasing outward appearance upon a young,

generous mind, it is not to be wondered that the change in Albert's

feelings was as decided as it was rapid.

"Who is that man?" he asked the fifer, who still stood by him.

"You heard from his own lips that he has no name, and neither do I know

what to call him."

"You don't know who he is," replied Albert, "and still you were present

when we fought? Away with you; you deceive me."

"Indeed not, sir," answered the fifer: "it is true, God knows! that in

these times he has no name. But, if you must know what he is, I can

tell you. He has been driven from his castle by the League, and now

wanders in banishment: he was once a powerful knight in Swabia."

"Poor man! for this reason he conceals his person? Well might he,

indeed, have taken me for an assassin. I recollect his having said he

would sell his life dearly."

"Don't be offended, worthy sir," said the countryman, "that I also took

you for one of those who are lurking about to take his life; I came

therefore to his assistance, and, had I not heard your voice, who knows

how much longer you would have breathed? But what brought you hither at

this hour of the night? and what mishap threw you into the path of the

banished man? Truly, you may think yourself fortunate that he did not

cut you in two, for there are few who can stand before his sword. Some

one, I suspect, has been playing this cruel game with you."

Albert related to his former guide the news he had heard in the Golden

Stag of Pfullingen. He pointed out particularly the evidence of the

nurse, the fifer's sister, which gave it an air of so much probability.

"I thought it would come to that," replied the fifer: "Love has played

many worse tricks, and I don't know what it might not have done to me

in such a case, when I was young. No one is in fault but old Rosel, the

gossip! What business had she to make the hostess of the Golden Stag

her confidant, who cannot keep a secret for a moment?"

"But there must be some truth in the affair," said Albert, whose former

suspicions were again awakened; "for Rosel could never have said it

without some foundation."

"Yes, there is indeed much truth in the report. Everything is as true

as she has related. The servants are sent to bed, and the old spy also.

At eleven o'clock the man appears at the castle,--the drawbridge is let

down,--the doors open,--the young lady receives him and leads him into

the saloon----"

"Well, don't you see?" cried Albert, impatiently, "if all be as you

say, how could that man swear that he had nothing to do with----"

"That he had nothing of any kind to do with the lady, you would say?"

answered the fifer, "without hesitation he can swear to that; but there

is one essential difference in the story, which that old goose Rosel

certainly never knew; namely, that the knight of Lichtenstein always

receives his guest in the saloon, and, as soon as his daughter has

placed before him the refreshments which she has prepared, she

withdraws. The old gentleman remains with the banished man till the

first crow of the cock, when, after having well satisfied his hunger

and thirst, and warmed his weary limbs at the fire, he leaves the

castle in the same way that he entered it."

"Oh, fool that I was not to have thought of all this before! The truth

was close at hand, and I pushed it from me! But cursed be the curiosity

and slanderous spirit of those women, who always fancy they can divine

something extraordinary in the most trifling circumstance, and whose

greatest charm consists in conjecturing improbabilities. But tell me,"

said Albert, after a moment's thought, "it strikes me very odd, that

this banished man should visit the castle every night exactly as the

clock strikes eleven--in what inhospitable neighbourhood does he

reside, which obliges him to seek subsistence here at that unseasonable

hour? Now, mind, I am not to be trifled with!"

The eye of the fifer rested upon Albert with an expression almost

amounting to disdain: "Such gentlemen as you," he answered, "certainly

know little of the pain of banishment; you never experienced the horror

of being obliged to conceal yourself from the hand of the assassin,

shivering in damp caves, living in inhospitable caverns, among the

society of owls, deprived of a warm meal and a cheering glass! But come

with me, if you have an inclination,--the day does not break yet, and

you cannot go to Lichtenstein by night,--and I will lead you to the

habitation of the banished knight. You will not ask me again why he

visits the castle at midnight."

The appearance of the stranger had excited Albert's curiosity to such a

degree, that he willingly accepted the offer of the fifer of Hardt,

more particularly as he then would have the best opportunity of finding

out the truth or falsehood of his assertions. His guide took the bridle

of his horse, and led him down a narrow pathway in the wood. Albert

followed, after he had taken a farewell look at the windows of

Lichtenstein. They moved on in silence, which the young man made no

attempt to break, his thoughts being wholly taken up with the person

whom he was about to visit, and the strange occurrence which had just

taken place. He recollected to have heard somewhere or other that many

staunch partisans of the Duke had been driven from their possessions by

the fury of the League, and he thought that it must have been in the

inn at Pfullingen, where mention had been made of a knight of the name

of Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg, whom the confederates were in search

of. The bravery and extraordinary strength of this man was the common

talk of all Swabia and Franconia; and when Albert recalled to his mind

the powerful figure, the commanding countenance of his late heroic

opponent, he thought it could not possibly be any other than this

knight, one of Duke Ulerich's most faithful followers. The idea of

having had an affair with such a man, and to have measured swords with

him in fair fight, was particularly flattering to the _amour propre_ of

the young man, although the result had been left undecided.

So thought Albert von Sturmfeder on that night. And after a lapse of

many years, when his noble antagonist had been long reinstated in his

rights, and by sound of bugle could as formerly assemble his followers

in hundreds, he reckoned it among his best feat of arms to have stood

his ground before the brave and powerful stranger.

They were now arrived at a small open meadow in the wood, which

terminated in a thick hedge of thorns and briars. The fifer having

secured the horse to a tree off the path, made a gap through the

entangled branches, and gave a sign to Albert to follow. It was not

without difficulty and some danger that he obeyed his leader's

directions, who in many places was obliged to assist him with his hand,

as they proceeded down a narrow footpath into a deep ravine. When they

had descended about eighty feet they came to even ground again, where

the young man expected to find the dwelling of the banished man; but he

was disappointed. His companion then went to a tree of great

circumference, and which was hollow from age, and brought forth two

large torches of pine wood, and striking fire by means of a steel and

flint, and a small bit of sulphur, ignited them.

Albert observed, by the brilliant light of the torches, that they stood

before a large opening which nature had formed in the wall of the rock.

This must be, he thought, the entrance to the habitation of the

stranger, who, as the fifer had expressed himself, had his lodgings

among owls. The man of Hardt took one of the torches, and giving the

other to his companion, said, "The path is dark, and here and there

difficult to trace." With this warning he went on in front, leading

through the dark entrance.

Albert, whose imagination was on the stretch, had expected to be

introduced to a low cavern, short and narrow, like the dwelling of wild

beasts, such as he had seen about the forests of his own country; but

what was his astonishment, when he entered an immense natural cavern,

resembling the lofty halls of a subterranean palace! He had heard in

his boyhood, from a man-servant whose great-grandfather had been

prisoner in Palestine, a story, which had been handed down from

generation to generation in his family, of a boy who had been enticed

by the arts of a wicked magician into a palace under ground, which

surpassed everything in magnificence he had ever seen above it, and

displayed to his view whatever the bold imagination of the east could

fancy of splendour. Golden pillars surmounted by crystal capitals,

arched cupolas studded with emeralds and sapphires, walls of diamonds

dazzling the eye by their numerous refracting rays, were united in this

subterranean habitation of the genii. This story, which had made a deep

impression on his youthful imagination, now came to his recollection,

and appeared to be realised in what he saw before him. He stopped every

moment in fresh surprise, and holding the torch high up, viewed in

amazement and wonder the lofty and majestic vaulted arches which

continued the whole length of the cavern, sparkling and glittering like

thousands of crystals and diamonds. But his astonishment was still more

excited when his leader, turning to the left, conducted him into a

spacious grotto, which fancy might figure to itself the magnificent

saloon of the subterranean palace.

The fifer could not help remarking the powerful impression which this

wonder of nature made on the mind of the young man. He took his torch

from him, and mounting a high jutting rock, illumined more effectually

the greatest part of the grotto.

Brilliant white rocks composed its walls. The bold arched cupola,

formed of innumerable stalactites, from the ends of which hung millions

of small drops of water, reflected the light in all the colours of the

rainbow. The surrounding rocks were thrown together in such happy

confusion, as to give the imagination full scope to fancy it could

discover in their grotesque shapes, here a chapel, having its high

altarpiece ornamented with flowing drapery; there its corresponding

pulpit of rich gothic architecture. An organ even was not wanting to

complete the idea of a subterranean church, and the changing shadows

thrown on the walls by the light of the torches, resembled the solemn

figures of martyrs and holy men placed in niches.

The guide came down again from his position on the rock, after having,

as he thought, sufficiently satisfied the curiosity of his companion.

"This is called the Nebelhoehle, or the Misty Hollow," said he; "it is

little known in the country, excepting to huntsmen and shepherds, and

few venture to enter it, as all kinds of fearful stories are abroad of

ghosts inhabiting its chambers. I would not advise any one who is not

minutely acquainted with its locality to venture down, for there are

deep cavities and subterranean waters, whence no one would see the

light again, if once entangled amidst their intricacies. There are also

secret passages and compartments known only to five individuals now

alive."

"But the banished knight," asked Albert, "where is he?"

"Take the torch, and follow me," replied the other, and led the way

though a side passage. They had proceeded about twenty paces, when

Albert thought he heard the deep tones resembling those of an organ. He

drew the attention of his leader to it.

"That is some one singing," the fifer answered, "the voice sounds

particularly beautiful and full in these caverns. When two or three men

join their voices together, it resembles the full chorus of monks

chanting the _Ora_." The music became still plainer; and as they

approached the spot, the expressive feeling of a beautiful melody was

distinctly heard. They were obliged to bend themselves under the corner

of a rock, as they proceeded, when the voice of the songster sounded

from above, and broke in repeated echo on the indentations of the wall

of rock, until it was lost in the mingled noises of dripping water from

the moist stones, and the murmur of a subterranean waterfall.

"That is the place," said the guide; "above there, in the side of the

rock, is the habitation of the unhappy man. Hearken to his voice! We'll

wait and listen till he has finished, for he never was accustomed to be

interrupted, even when he lived above ground." It was with great

difficulty that they could catch the following words on account of the

great echo and the murmur of falling and rushing water.

The tow'r from whence my childhood gazed

Upon the subject fields so fair,

Now bears a stranger's banner, raised

Where erst my father's fann'd the air.

To ruin sink my father's halls,

The portion of my ancestry;

O'erthrown and unavenged, the walls

In earth's deep bosom buried lie.

O'er fields, where once in happier tide

My jocund bugle horn I blew,

The savage foemen fiercely ride:

A noble quarry they pursue.

I am their game, the quarry chased;

The slot-hound follows where he flies,

Athirst the stag's warm blood to taste,

Whose antlers[1] are the hunter's prize.

The murderers have bent their bow,

They ransack forest, hill, and plain;

Whilst clad in rags I nightly go

A beggar on my own domain.

Where once I rode in lordly state,

Whilst greeting vassals bow'd the head;

I fear to tap the cotter's gate,

And beg in pity's name for bread.

From my own doors ye thrust me out;

Yet will I knock while knock I can:

All is not lost, if heart be stout:

I bear a sword, I am a man.

I quail not: tho' my heart should break,

I will endure unto the end;

And thus my foes of me shall speak,

"This was a man, and ne'er would bend."

A deep sigh, which followed the conclusion of the song, gave the

hearers reason to suppose, that the burden of it had not afforded the

unfortunate exile much consolation. A large tear had rolled down the

tanned cheek of the man of Hardt as they stood listening; and Albert

perceived the inward struggle which this good peasant seemed to contend

with in order to compose his mind, and appear before the inhabitant of

the cavern with a cheerful countenance. He requested the young man to

hold his torch awhile; and clambered up the smooth, slippery rock which

led to the grotto whence the sounds they had just heard had issued.

Albert supposed he had gone to acquaint the stranger of his arrival,

but his guide returned with a strong rope in his hand. He descended

half way down the rock again, threw one end of the rope to him, and

desiring him to tie the torches on to it, he pulled them up, and placed

them in a secure corner in the rock. He then assisted his young master

to mount to the spot where he was standing, which he would not have

been well able to accomplish alone. Once up there, they were only a few

paces from the inhospitable abode of the exile.

* * * * *

We have attempted to describe this remarkable cavern according to its

natural formation. Some further observations may be interesting to the

reader. The entrance is about 150 feet in circumference; two paths,

which form two natural excavations, one of 100 feet long, the other 82,

lead from thence, and, taking different directions, meet again in the

interior at the distance of about 200 feet. The place where they join

forms a grotto, whence, on the right towards the north, higher up in

the rock, is another smaller one, the spot to which we have led the

reader, to the dwelling of the exile. The whole length of the cavern,

from the entrance to the innermost point, is about 577 feet.

FOOTNOTES TO CHAPTER XVIII.:

[Footnote 1: Referring, probably, to the arms of Wuertemberg.]

CHAPTER XIX.

The rugged rocks fantastic forms assume,

Seen in the darkling of the midnight gloom;

And the wild evergreens so dimly bright,

Seem to reflect a kind of lurid light;

This sight so strange may well our knight amaze,

He stops, upon the witchery to gaze.

WIELAND.

The spot to which they had arrived in this large cavern, possessed one

great advantage, that of being perfectly dry. The ground was covered

with rushes and straw; a lamp hung on the side of the rock, which threw

sufficient light on the breadth, and a great part of the length, of the

grotto. Opposite the entrance sat the stranger upon a large bear skin,

and near him stood his sword and a bugle horn; an old hat, and a grey

cloak lay on the ground. A jacket of dark brown leather, and trowsers

of coarse blue cloth, covered his person; an unseemly costume, but

which did not the less set off the powerful shape of his body, and the

noble features of his countenance. He was about thirty-four years old,

and his face might be called still handsome and pleasing, although the

first bloom of youth was worn off by hardship and fatigue, and his

beard having grown wild upon his chin, imparted to his look an air of

severity. Albert made these fleeting remarks as he stopped at the

entrance of the grotto.

"Welcome to my palace, Albert von Sturmfeder," said its inhabitant,

whilst he rose from his bear skin, and offering him his hand, begged

him to take a seat beside him on a deer skin: "you are heartily

welcome," he repeated. "It was no bad thought of our friend the

musician, to introduce you into these lower regions, and bring me such

agreeable society. Hans, thou faithful soul! thou hast been our major

domo and chancellor up to this moment, from henceforth we nominate thee

our head-master of the cellar and purveyor-general. Look behind that

pillar, and thou'lt find the remains of a bottle of good old wine. Take

my beech-wood hunting-cup, the only utensil left us, and fill it up to

the brim, to the honour of our worthy guest."

Albert beheld the exiled man in astonishment; though he might have

expected to find the energies of his mind unsubdued by the storms of

life, still he was prepared to see him brooding over his misfortunes in

sullen melancholy, driven by hard fate to seek shelter in these

inhospitable regions. What, therefore, was his surprise to find him, on

the contrary, cheerful and unconcerned, joking about his situation,

just as if he had been merely overtaken by a storm in hunting, and had

sought shelter from its violence in the grotto! It was a storm, indeed,

more terrible than the fury of the elements which had driven him from

the castle of his ancestors, for he was the prey that had taken shelter

here from the shots of his murderous huntsmen.

"You look at me and my abode with astonishment, my worthy guest," said

the knight: "you, perhaps, expected to hear me bewailing my hard

fate--but of what use would that be? As no one can retrieve my

misfortune in this moment, I think it the wisest plan to put a bold

face upon what I cannot alter. But tell me, am not I as well lodged

here as many princes in their palaces? Have you noticed the halls and

saloons of this my palace? do not the walls shine like silver, and the

vaulted ceilings sparkle as if they were set in pearls and diamonds?

and the pillars, do they not glitter with emeralds, rubies, and all

sorts of precious stones? But here comes Hans, my purveyor, with the

wine. Say, my trusty subject, does that cup contain the whole of our

cellar?"

"Your habitation can boast of water, as clear as crystal," answered the

fifer, who well understood the cheerful mood of his companion; "the

remainder of the wine in the cellar will fill more than three cups,

and--as we have another guest to-day--we may indulge a little. Luckily,

I brought a jug full of good old Uhlbacker from the castle to-night."

"You have done well," said the exiled knight, whilst a ray of joy

flashed from his brilliant eye; "you must not think, Albert von

Sturmfeder, that I am a wine-bibber; but good wine is a noble thing,

and I love to see the full glass circulate in friendly society. Put the

jug down here, worthy master of the cellar, we'll enjoy ourselves, as

in the best days of our prosperity. Here's to you, and the former

splendour of the house of Sturmfeder!"

Albert thanked the knight, and drank. "I wish I could return the

honour, in drinking to your name," he said; "but, as you have already

hesitated to give it me, I will not ask it now, sir knight. But here's

to you, and may you return victorious to the castles of your fathers,

and may your family live and nourish there for ever--huzza!" He

pronounced the last word with a loud voice, and just as he set his cup

down, he was astonished to hear it repeated by many sounds, which

appeared to be voices, coming from the whole length of the grotto:

"What is that?" he said, "are not we alone?"

"Those are my vassals,--spirits," answered the knight, smiling; "or, if

you prefer it, the echo, which responds to your kind wish. I have often

heard," he added, in a more serious tone, "in the days of my

prosperity, the success of my house cheered by hundreds of voices; but

I have never been more pleased, or more affected, than to have it drank

to, by my only guest, and re-echoed among the rocks of these lower

regions. Fill the cup, Hans, and drink, and if you can give us a good

toast, let's have it."

The fifer of Hardt filled the cup, and glanced a significant look at

Albert: "Here's to you, sir, and something which will please you

more,--the Lady of Lichtenstein!"

"Hollo, right so, right so! drink, sir, drink!" cried the exile, and

laughed so heartily, that the cavern appeared to tremble under it.

"Drink out every drop! long may she live, and bloom for you! Well done,

Hans! only look how the blood mounts up in the cheeks of our guest; how

his eyes sparkle, as if he actually kissed her beautiful lips. You need

not be bashful! I also have loved and wooed, and know the state of a

light merry heart of four-and-twenty, on such an occasion!"

"Poor man!" said Albert, touched by a sigh of deep feeling which

accompanied these last words.--"Have you loved and wooed also? and

perhaps been obliged to leave a beloved wife and children to lament and

bewail your present misfortunes!" As he said this he felt his cloak

pulled from behind, when turning around, the countryman winked to him,

as a sign, that it was a subject of all others the most painful to the

knight to hear. Albert immediately saw the effect it produced on his

features; and regretted having been the cause of giving him pain.

With a look of wild despair, and evidently trying to combat his

feeling, he merely said, "Frost in September destroys the beautiful

flower which blossoms in May, and we scarcely know how to account for

it. My children are left in the hands of rough but faithful nurses, who

will, with God's help, take care good of them till their father returns

home again." He was so much affected when he spoke these words, that it

required no small effort to enable him to resume his good humour. "Hans

is witness," he said, after a pause, "how often I have wished to see

you, Albert von Sturmfeder; he told me of your being wounded, on that

occasion when you were surprised by a party of the League, who probably

took you for one of us outcasts; but happily gave you an opportunity to

escape."

"Yes, I had a narrow escape," answered Albert. "I almost believe they

took me for the Duke, for they were on the look out for him at that

time. I would willingly have suffered much greater loss, to be the

instrument of saving him."

"Well, that is saying a good deal; are you aware, that the cut which

was made at you might have cost you your life?"

"He who takes the field," replied Albert, "must settle all his accounts

with the world beforehand. I would certainly prefer falling before the

enemy in the field of battle, surrounded by friends and comrades, that

I might receive from their hands the last offices of regard and love.

But still, to parry the murderer's hand from the Duke, I would have

sacrificed my life, at any time, had it been necessary."

The exile regarded the young man with emotion, and pressed his hand.

"You appear to take great interest in the Duke," he said; "I should

hardly have supposed it; because they say, your heart is with the

League."

"As I know you are a partisan of the Duke," answered Albert; "I trust

you will excuse me if I speak my mind freely. Well, then, I must tell

you, I think the Duke has acted, in many respects, not becoming his

high station; for example, he ought not to have meddled in the affair

of Hutten in the manner he did, whatever might have been his reasons;

and then, the treatment of his wife was excited by violence and an

overbearing spirit; and you must admit, that it was rage and revenge,

and not a just ground for attack, which moved him to take forcible

possession of Reutlingen."

He paused, expecting to hear a remark from the knight, upon what he had

just said; but as he remained silent, Albert continued: "Upon these

reports I formed the idea of the Duke's character when I joined the

ranks of the confederates, among whom he was vilified in still stronger

terms; but, on the other hand, he had a warm advocate in the Lady of

Lichtenstein, who was better acquainted with his virtues than his

enemies, and who you may perhaps have already heard was the principal

cause of my quitting their service. I will not, therefore, say more

upon the subject further than she opened my eyes to the true state of

existing circumstances. In consequence of her information, I gave

myself some trouble to penetrate the ulterior views of the League, and

found they were directed, not only to the dispossessing him of his

dominions and banishing him his country, but, in order to gratify the

real object of their views, they grasped at the partition of his

sovereignty among themselves. With the impression of the injustice of

their intentions strong in my mind, I viewed the Duke's cause in a

light totally different to what I had hitherto done. His character was

raised still higher in my estimation, when I also learnt, that though

urged by the patriotism and love of his people to venture a battle in

defence of his rights, he would not risk the blood of his faithful

Wuertembergers in such a hazardous game. And though possessing the power

of extorting money from his subjects to subsidize the Swiss, he rather

preferred exile for the good of his country. These are my reasons for

befriending the ill-used Prince."

The knight, whose eyes had been fixed on the ground, now raised them

upon Albert, and he seemed overpowered with the kind expressions which

he had used towards the Duke. "Truly," he said, "your feelings are pure

and generous, my young friend! I know the Duke as well as I do myself,

and I may venture to say with you, that he rises superior to his

misfortunes, and merits a far better name than report gives of him. Ah!

if he had a hundred hearts such as yours, not a rag of the League's

ensigns would ever float over the castles of Wuertemberg;--could I but

persuade you to join his cause! Far be it from me, however, to invite

you to share his misery; it is enough that your sword, and an arm such

as yours, do not belong to his enemies. May your days be happier than

his! may heaven reward your good opinion of an unfortunate man!"

The spirit which breathed throughout the words of the exile, struck

many a corresponding chord in the heart of Albert. He was flattered and

encouraged to hear his own actions thus acknowledged.

The similarity which appeared to exist between the fate of his unknown

friend and the impoverished fortunes of his own house, together with

the prompting of the noble desire to espouse the weakest but honest

cause in the pending struggle, in preference to taking the side of

victorious injustice, were so many irresistible inducements to the

manly mind of Albert to stand by the exile in his present deep

distress.

Inspired by this feeling, he took his hand, and said, "Let no one

henceforth talk to me of the imprudence,--let it not be called folly,--

of sharing the misfortunes of the persecuted! May others partake of the

division of the Duke's fine country, and carouse in the spoils of the

unhappy man's property,--I feel courage enough to suffer with him in

his sufferings; and, when he draws his sword to re-conquer his lost

possessions, I will be the first by his side. Take my hand, sir knight,

as my pledge: let what may happen, I am the Duke's friend from

henceforth, for ever."

A tear of gratitude started in the eye of the exile as he returned the

shake of his hand. "You risk much, but you lose nothing by becoming

Ulerich's friend. The country, beyond these inhospitable regions, is

now in the possession of tyrants and robbers; but here below faithful

hearts still beat true to Wuertemberg. Forget for a moment that I am a

poor knight and an exiled man, and figure me to yourself the Prince of

the country, as I am lord of this cavern, with his knight and citizen

standing before him. Ah! as long as these three estates hold firm

together, be they concealed ever so deep in the lap of the earth,

Wuertemberg still exists. Fill the cup, Hans, and join your rough hand

to ours; we'll seal the alliance in a bumper!"

Hans replenished the jug and filled the cup, "Drink, noble sirs,

drink," said he; "you cannot pledge yourselves in a more noble wine

than in this Uhlbacher."

The knight having emptied the cup by a long draught, ordered it to be

filled again, and presented it to Albert. "Does not this wine," asked

Albert, "grow about the castle whence Wuertemberg's royal blood sprang?

I think the heights about it are called Uhlbacher?"

"You are right," answered the exile; "the hill is generally called the

Rothenberg, at the foot of which the vine grows; the castle stands upon

its summit, built by Wuertemberg's ancestors. Oh! the beautiful vallies

of the Neckar, the luxuriant hills of fruit and wine! Gone, gone for

ever!" He uttered these words with a voice which bespoke a heart almost

broken by suffering and grief; he could scarcely conceal the anguish of

his soul, which his inflexible mind had hitherto veiled under the mask

of a forced hilarity.

The countryman knelt beside him, took his hand, and to rouse him from a

state of painful wandering, in which he was lost for some moments,

said, "Be of good cheer, sir; you will return to your country again

happier than you left it."

"You will behold the vallies of your home again," said Albert. "When

the Duke regains his lost rights, and reoccupies the castles of his

ancestors, the vallies of the Neckar, and its richly clothed hills of

vineyards, will echo with the rejoicings of his people, and you also

will be able to join in the jubilee. Banish gloomy thoughts from your

mind, _nunc vino pellite curas_; drink, and let us hope for better

times. I pledge you in this Wuertemberg wine,--'to the Duke's happy

return with his faithful followers!'"

These words seemed to reanimate the sunken spirits of the knight, and

like a ray of sunshine shed a smile over his features. "Yes!" he cried,

"sweet is the word which sends comfort to the broken-hearted; it is

like a drop of cold water to refresh the weary wanderer in the desert.

Forget my weakness, my friend; pardon it in a man who otherwise never

gives place to grief.

"But if you had ever looked down from the summit of the Rothenberg,

shaded by its green woods, into the heart of Wuertemberg, and beheld the

gentle stream of the Neckar winding its course along its richly

cultivated banks; with its fields of high standing corn waving in the

breeze; the red roofs of its villages peeping out from a forest of

fruit trees, with their industrious inhabitants, consisting of strong

men and beautiful women, busily employed in their gardens or dressing

their vines on the heights; had you surveyed all this, and with my

eyes, and then been compelled to take refuge from the bloodthirsty

hands of ruffians in these inhospitable regions, surrounded by the

benumbing chill of these walls, outlawed, condemned, banished.--Oh! the

thought is terrible! too overwhelming for man's heart to bear!"

Albert, fearful lest the recollection of his past days, and the keen

sense of his present situation, might a second time have too powerful

an effect upon the mind of the exile, sought by changing the subject of

conversation, to divert his mind and calm his thoughts.

"As I suppose you have been often with the Duke," he said, "pray tell

me, now that I am his declared friend, what is his disposition? what is

his appearance? is it true, as is reported, that he is of a very

changeable and capricious temper?"

"No more upon that subject at present, if you please," answered the

exile; "you will soon have an opportunity to judge for yourself when

you see him. We have already spoken enough upon these matters, but you

have said nothing about your own affairs; not a word about the object

of your travels, nor of the beautiful lady of Lichtenstein? You are

silent and look confused when that delicate subject is mentioned. Do

not suppose I wish to be curious when I ask that question; no, it is

solely because I think I can be of use to you."

"From what has passed between us this night," replied Albert, "I have

nothing to conceal from you; secrecy is no longer necessary. It strikes

me, that you must have long known I love Bertha, and that she likewise

is faithful to me?"

The exile answered, smiling, "O yes, there was no mistaking the

symptoms of her feelings, for when you were mentioned her confused look

bespoke the secret of her heart, and the blush which accompanied it was

an evident witness of the truth of it. When she named you it was with a

peculiar tone of voice, as if the strings of her heart sounded in full

accord to that key-note."

"This observation of yours will encourage me to go to Lichtenstein

without further delay. It was my original intention, after I had

quitted the service of the League, to go direct to my home; but as the

Alb is about half way between Franconia and this place, and the desire

I had to see my love once more was uppermost in my thoughts, I

determined to endeavour to accomplish it. This man Hans conducted me

over the Alb; you know the cause which delayed me eight days on my

journey. To-morrow, at day-break, I purpose announcing myself at the

castle, and I trust I shall now appear before the old knight in a more

welcome light than I should otherwise have done, had I not performed my

promise to the League of remaining neutral fourteen days, and now

joined his colours."

"You may be assured of his welcome," said the knight, "particularly if

you go as the friend of the Duke, for he is his faithful and most

devoted adherent. But, may be, he would not trust your word,

unsupported by some introduction, being, so it is said, rather

incredulous, and shy of strangers. You know upon what terms I am with

him. He is the kind-hearted Samaritan to me; and when I creep out of my

hole at night, he nourishes my body with warm food, and my heart with

still warmer consolation for the future. A couple of lines from me will

be better received by him than a passport from the Emperor. Take this

ring, which he and many others know and respect, and wear it in

remembrance of the time we have passed together; it will announce you

as a friend of Wuertemberg's good cause." With these words, he took a

broad gold ring from his finger. A large red stone was set in the

middle, upon which was engraved, in the armorial helmet, the three stag

horns,[1] with the bugle, which Albert recognised as the arms of

Wuertemberg. Around the ring were the letters, U.D.O.W.A.T. in relievo,

the meaning of which he could not comprehend.

"Udowat? what does that name signify?" he asked. "Is it a parole for

the followers of the Duke?"

"No, my young friend," said the exile. "The Duke has worn this ring

long on his finger; he valued it much; but as I have many other

souvenirs from him, I can best spare it, and could not place it in

worthier hands. The letters mean, Ulerich, Duke of Wuertemberg and

Teck."

"I shall value it as long as I live," replied Albert, "as a relic of

the unfortunate Prince whose name it bears, and as a pleasing

remembrance of you, sir knight, and the night we passed together in

this cavern."

"When you come to the drawbridge of Lichtenstein," continued the

knight, "deliver a note which I will write, and this ring, to the first

servant you see, and desire them to be conveyed to the lord of the

castle, when he will certainly receive you as the Duke's own son. But

for the lady, you must use your own passport, for my charm does not

extend to her: a tender squeeze of the hand, or the mysterious language

of the eyes, or perhaps still better, a sweet kiss on her rosy lips,

will serve the purpose. But in order to appear before her as she would

wish to see you, you need some rest, for if you pass the whole night

without sleep, your eyes will be heavy. Therefore follow my example,

stretch yourself on the deer skin, and make a pillow of your cloak. And

you, worthy major domo, grand chamberlain and purveyor, Hans, faithful

companion in misfortune, give this Paladin another glass for his

nightcap, it will soften his deer-skin, and enchant this rocky grotto

into a bed-room. And then may the god of dreams visit him with his

choicest gifts!"

The men drank a good night to each other, and laid themselves to rest,

Hans taking up his position as a faithful dog, at the entrance of the

rocky chamber. Morpheus soon came with light steps to the aid of the

young man, and as he was dropping off to sleep he heard, in a half

doze, the exile saying his evening prayer, and, with pious confidence

in the Disposer of events, imploring him to shower down his almighty

protection on him and his unhappy country.

FOOTNOTES TO CHAPTER XIX.:

[Footnote 1: Three stag horns, the two upper ones having four ends and

the lower one three, were the ancient arms of Wuertemberg.]

CHAPTER XX.

See that arrowy crag so tapering rise,

From the depths of that valley so sweet;

There Lichtenstein's fort rears her head to the skies,

And smiles on the world at her feet.

SCHWAB.

When the fifer of Hardt awakened Albert in the morning, the youth was

at first puzzled to recollect where he was, and to recognize the

objects about him; but he soon came to his senses, and the remembrance

of the last evening's occurrences. He returned the hearty shake of the

hand with which the exile saluted him, who said, "Although it would

give me great pleasure to detain you some few days with me, yet I would

rather advise you to proceed at once to Lichtenstein, if you wish to

have a hot breakfast. I cannot, alas! prepare such in my cavern, for we

never dare make a fire, lest the smoke betray our position."

Albert consented to his proposal, and thanked him for his night's

lodging. "I may truly say," he answered, "that I never passed a night

more to my satisfaction, than I have done in this place. A deep-felt,

though melancholy, charm would seem to hallow the society of friends in

such a situation as this, and I would not have exchanged my abode among

these rocky walls, for the most splendid apartment of a ducal palace."

"Yes, indeed, secure from persecution, and among friends, when the

glass circulates freely, banishment has its charms," replied the exile;

"but when I sit here, day after day, in solitude, brooding over my

calamities, my heart yearning for liberty, and my eye wearied with the

sameness of these subterranean splendours, then it is I drink the full

cup of misery. And then again, my ear is deafened with the unceasing

monotonous murmur of these waters, dripping drop after drop from the

rocks! Jealous of their freedom, my imagination follows their course

through the depths below, whence they escape to swell the running

stream, whose gentle ripple, with the note of the cheerful lark, would

seem to join chorus in the universal praise."

"My poor friend, I pity thee! yes, indeed, this solitary life must be

terrible," said Albert.

"Nevertheless," continued the other, raising himself up, "I reckon

myself happy to have found this asylum, with the help of a few trusty

friends. Rather than fall into the hands of my enemies, to be their

sport and laughing-stock, I would descend a hundred fathoms lower,

where the vital air scarce sustains life. And before I would surrender

my liberty, these hands should dig my way into the heart of the earth,

until I reached its centre; there to invoke the curses of heaven upon

my oppressors as a just punishment of the wrongs I endure from the

persecutions of their revengeful designs."

The exile having worked himself up into a state of fury, Albert

involuntarily retreated a pace or two. His figure appeared to gain in

height--all the muscles of his body were on the stretch--his cheeks

glowed with rage--his eyes shot fire, as if they sought an enemy upon

whom to revenge his sufferings; and the loud and violent tone of his

voice; echoed among the rocks the maledictions which issued from his

mouth.

Albert could not but sympathise with the man in giving vent to his

feelings in such a burst of passion; he who was so cruelly persecuted

by his enemies, for his faithful attachment to his lord. "I admire your

strength of mind," said he to the knight; and, as if a sudden thought

had crossed his mind, continued, "will you pardon me for asking you one

question, which perhaps you may deem indiscreet; but since you have

admitted me to your friendship and confidence, I will venture to do so.

Tell me, are you not the celebrated Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg?"

There must have been something particularly strange in this question;

because the gravity which had shaded the knight's countenance

disappeared at once, at the mere mention of this name. He first smiled;

but not able to contain himself, broke out into a loud laugh, in which

Hans considered himself permitted to join.

Albert was unable to comprehend the meaning of the sudden burst of

merriment which his question had occasioned. He felt confused, and

looked for an explanation of it, first at one, then at the other; but

his embarrassment only excited their merry mood still more.

At length the exile said, "Pardon me, worthy guest, for having violated

in an unmannerly way the rights of hospitality; for I ought rather to

have bitten off the end of my tongue than have given you cause to

suppose I had thought you said anything ridiculous; but how comes it

that you take me for Maxx Stumpf? Do you know him?"

"No, I never saw him; but I know him to be a brave knight, whom the

League has expelled from his country, on account of his faithful

adherence to the Duke, and that they are now endeavouring to apprehend

him. Is not yours a similar case?"

"I thank you for comparing me to such a man; but I would not advise you

to fall in his way in the night, upon the same terms as when we met;

for Stumpf, without further to do, would soon have cut you up into

slices fit for cooking. Schweinsberg being a little thick-set fellow,

and a head shorter than me, it was the comparison which made me laugh

so irresistibly. He is, however, an honourable man, and one of the few

to be depended upon who will not desert his master in misfortune."

"So you are not Schweinsberg?" replied Albert; "then I must leave you

without knowing who my friend is."

"Young man!" said the exile, with dignity, "you have found a friend in

me, by your gallant, honourable behaviour; which your open, frank

countenance has confirmed. Let it suffice for you, to have gained this

friend; ask no further questions, one word might perhaps interrupt this

confidential intimacy between us, which is so gratifying to me.

Farewell; think on the banished man without a name, and be assured

that, before two days are over, you shall both hear from me, and know

my name."

In spite of his unseemly dress, the whole demeanour of this man

appeared to Albert to be more that of a Prince dismissing a subject

from his presence, than an unfortunate exile, parting from a friend who

had participated in his afflictions.

During the last conversation, the fifer of Hardt had lighted the

torches, and stood waiting at the entrance of the grotto; the knight

pressed a salute on the lips of the young man, and waved him to go. He

departed, unable to account why a man so familiar and friendly in his

address, should, at the same time, inspire him with the idea of being

so much his superior in rank; he had never felt, until this moment, how

an individual, devoid of all the external marks of distinction,

exhibiting outward signs of poverty, rather than the contrary, could

possess a personal influence sufficiently great to subdue vanity and

self-love. Occupied with these thoughts, he retraced his steps through

the cavern. The beauties of nature, which had surprised him and fixed

his attention when he first entered it, had lost their charm to his

eye, and his wonder was no longer excited at the grandeur of the

surrounding objects. His mind was exclusively taken up with the

contemplation of a subject more imposing and instructive than these

rocks, however magnificent they might be. The human mind, rising

superior to the frowns of this world, exemplified so well in the

character of his unknown friend, filled him with admiration, and proved

to him that the dignity of man's nature will force its way through the

garb of poverty and the suffering of persecution, and remain unsullied

amidst the frowns of fate.

A bright day greeted Albert and the fifer of Hardt, as they issued from

the darkness of the cavern into the light of heaven. Albert breathed

more freely in the freshness of the morning air, than he had done

amidst the damp exhalations which streamed from the galleries and

grottos of the subterranean vaults, from which they derive the name of

the misty caverns. He found his horse in the same place, fastened to

the tree, where he had left him the night before, as fresh and lively

as ever; the military weapons attached to the saddle not having

suffered from the night dew, which Albert was fearful might have been

the case. But Hans had had the precaution to cover the beast with a

large coarse cloth, in order to guard against bad weather. The young

man arranged his dress as well as he was able, after such a night's

lodging, whilst the countryman gave his horse a feed of fresh hay. They

then set forward on their journey, and having gone but a few paces, the

tolling of a church bell from the valley below saluted their ears, and

broke the solemn stillness of the morning. Shortly afterwards, another

bell answered, and then three or four more followed, when the number,

increasing to at least twelve, spread their melodious tones over the

heights and vallies. The young man stopt his horse, surprised at this

early chorus of bells: "What means this salutation?" he asked, "is it a

signal that there is a fire in the neighbourhood? or may be to-day is a

holiday? God knows that, since my illness, I have quite lost all

knowledge of time, and can only distinguish Sunday from the other days

of the week by the peasant girls being clad in their best dresses and

clean aprons."

"That is not an uncommon case with many a military man," replied Hans;

"I myself have often been obliged to guess what day it was, when I had

other things in my head, which I regret to say I deemed more important

than hearing mass. But now it is different," he added, with a serious

countenance, and crossed himself, "to-day is Good Friday."

"That reminds me," said the young man, "that this is the first time in

my life that I have not celebrated this day as becomes a Christian; it

also brings with it many happy hours of my youth to my recollection. My

father was then alive; I possessed a tender, good mother, and a dear

young sister. We two children always rejoiced upon the anniversary of

Good Friday, and, though we did not know exactly what it meant, we

remembered that it was only two days from Easter, a season when our

mother invariably gave us some token of her affection. _Requiescant in

pace!_" he added, turning away to conceal a tear; "they are all three

gone."

These last words, which he pronounced in remembrance of his departed

parents, the spontaneous effusion of his affectionate heart, did not

escape the fifer's observation, who raised his cap in respect to the

feelings of his companion. Such had been the restless life of this

extraordinary man from his infancy, that he might have been thought to

be void of all sense of religion; but since his escape from the hand of

the executioner, which he had hinted at in a former conversation with

Albert, and professed to have become a better man, serious thoughts at

times occupied his mind.

Albert having alluded to his own case of receiving a present from his

mother at Easter, the fifer took occasion to say, with a good-natured

smile, "that the time was coming, when he hoped he would also be able

to perform the same office to his own children." But the young man was

offended at this familiarity, and showed symptoms of his displeasure.

"No offence, sir," he replied, and drew his attention to the castle

before them. "Do you see the tower peeping out among the trees?" he

added: "another short quarter of an hour, and we are there."

"From what I could remark yesterday in the dark," said the young man,

"the castle appeared to be erected upon a solitary, steep rock. By

heavens! a bold thought, whoever built it; for no one could attempt to

scale its walls unless he were in league with the devil, and had the

power of flying. It might be bombarded, however, from this spot with

heavy artillery."

"Do you think so? I can tell you, that they have four good match-guns

in the hall, which would return an answer too sharp to any one who

should attempt it. Had you made a careful survey, you must have

observed, that the rock is separated from the mountain by a broad deep

valley, which surrounds it, so that much damage could not be done to

the castle. The only weak side is that nearest the mountain, upon which

the drawbridge is placed. Let but an enemy attempt to plant guns there,

and he would soon see old Lichtenstein's battery hurl them down in the

abyss below, before they had even touched a pane of glass in his

windows. But the great difficulty would be to get guns up this

declivity, and transport them over these cavities, without exposing men

to more danger than that nest is worth."

"You are right," Albert answered; "I should like to know who ever

thought of building a castle upon that rock."

"I'll tell you," replied Hans, who was well acquainted with all the

legends of his country: "once upon a time there lived a fair lady, who

suffered much persecution from her suitors, and did not know how to

escape them. She came to this rock, and saw a large eagle with its

family perched upon the top of it, secure from all interruption. Having

determined to expel the eagle, she built the castle on its nest; and

when everything was complete, drew up the drawbridge, and from the

summit of the tower proclaimed aloud, 'I henceforth devote myself to

God, and forswear the world.' From that day forth no one was able to

annoy her;--but we are arrived. Farewell; perhaps I may see you again

tonight. I am now going about the country, to endeavour to ascertain

what is going on, and will return to the exile in the cavern with what

news I can gather as to the state of the Duke's affairs. Don't forget,

when you come on the bridge, to send the ring and letter to the lord of

the castle; and take care you do not break the seal yourself."

"Don't fear! I thank you for your conduct; salute my kind host of the

cavern for me," said Albert; and, pushing his horse forward, in a few

minutes stood before the fortress of Lichtenstein.

A guard at the gate demanded his business, and called a servant to

deliver the letter and ring to his master. Albert had in the meantime

an opportunity to examine minutely the castle and its environs. Having

only seen it the night before by the dim light of the moon, and too

much occupied with other important subjects to fix his exclusive

attention to its structure, he had not been able to imagine even what

he now viewed with rapture. A perpendicular isolated rock, like the

colossal tower of a cathedral, rising from the valley of the Alb, stood

before him in bold independence. Its position impressed him with the

idea, that it might have been cleft from the surrounding hills by some

violent convulsion of nature, either by an earthquake, or by a deluge

in ancient times, which had washed away the softer materials of the

earth, leaving the solid mass of rock untouched. Even on the south-west

side, where he now stood, the deep ravine which separated the rock from

the nearest part of the adjoining country, was too broad for the

boldest shamoy to venture a spring across, though not so distant as to

baffle the art of man to throw a bridge over. The castle stood on its

summit, like the nest of a bird, perched upon the highest branch of an

oak, or the pinnacle of a lofty tower. Except the tower, which peered

above all, the only apparent habitation was a small fortified apartment

surrounded by many round windows. The numerous loop-holes in the lower

part of the buildings, and several larger embrasures, out of which

peeped the muzzles of guns of the heavy calibre of the time, proved

that it was well guarded, and that, spite of its insignificant size, it

was no contemptible fortress. The enormous foundation walls and

buttresses, which appeared to form part of the rock, and had assumed by

age and weather the same yellowish-brown colour of the mass of stone

upon which they stood, might well convince the beholder of the solidity

of the structure, and its capability to bid defiance to the power of

man and the storms of the elements. A beautiful view presented itself

before Albert, and he thought how much more extended it must be from

the top of the watch-tower.

These observations obtruded themselves upon Albert, as he stood waiting

at the outer gate, which was strongly palisadoed towards the ravine,

and covered the approach to the bridge. He now heard steps approaching;

the gate was thrown open, and the master of the castle appeared himself

to receive his guest. It was the same stern elderly man whom he had

seen several times in Ulm, whose countenance he could not easily

forget; for his dark fiery eye, his pale but noble features, his

likeness to his daughter, had made a lasting impression upon his mind.

"Welcome to Lichtenstein," said the old man, offering his hand, the

grave features of his face giving place to a more kindly expression.

"What are you standing gaping about there, you idle vagabonds?" he said

to his servants, after the first salutation to his visitor; "do you

suppose the gentleman is to lead his horse up into the room? Take him

away to the stable, and bring his weapons into the saloon. I beg

pardon, worthy sir, that these carles should have kept you so long

waiting; but there is no beating sense into their thick heads. Will you

follow me?"

He led on over the bridge, followed by Albert, whose heart beat in full

expectation and longing desire to see and surprise his beloved. But

recollecting the adventures of the preceding night, and the feeling

which first prompted him to come to this spot, he blushed in shame for

having suspected her fidelity. His eye sought all the windows in the

hopes of seeing her; his ear was sharpened to catch if possible the

sound of her voice: but in vain did his eye search the windows; in vain

did his ear listen.

They had now reached the inner gate. It was strongly built, according

to the ancient manner, with a portcullis, and openings above, to throw

down boiling oil and water; and provided with all the other means of

defence made use of in the olden times to repel a besieging enemy,

should he have made himself master of the bridge. But it was not to the

massive walls and fortifications alone which surrounded the castle that

Lichtenstein was indebted for its security; nature claimed her share

also in it. The rock itself formed a principal part of the habitation,

having large roomy stables, and apartments which served as cellars,

hewn out of it. A winding staircase led to the upper part of the

castle, where military defences were likewise not less thought of than

elsewhere. On the landing place, leading to the different rooms, and

generally appropriated in similar habitations to the purposes of

keeping the household utensils, were now to be seen match-guns, large

chests containing shot, and divers other warlike weapons.[1] The old

knight's eye rested with a peculiar expression of pride upon this

singular species of household furniture; and it is a fact that, in

those days, the possessor of heavy artillery was accounted a man of

opulence and wealth, for it was not every one who could afford to

defend his castle with four or six such pieces as were possessed by the

lord of the castle.

Another staircase led to the second story, upon which the knight of

Lichtenstein showed his guest into a fine large saloon, lighted by

several windows. He gave a sign to a servant who had followed them up,

to withdraw.

FOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER XX.:

[Footnote 1: There is a description, in an old chronicle, of

Lichtenstein, as it existed at the end of the sixteenth century, about

sixty years after 1519. It is stated therein, "In the upper story,

there is a remarkable handsome room, surrounded on all sides by

windows, from which may be seen the Asperg. The banished Duke Ulerich

of Wuertemberg, who often visited it, came every night to the castle,

and saying, 'The man is here!' was immediately received." A

gamekeeper's house is now built upon the ruins of the old castle, which

still retains its name, and serves on Whitsunday as a place of

rendezvous for the peasantry of the surrounding country, who assemble

in their gayest dresses for dancing and carousal.]

CHAPTER XXI.

The noble spirit of the victim brave

Affects the knight, he feels that he must save;

The dews of friendship o'er his eyelids steal,

His heart no longer can resist th' appeal.

P. CONZ.

When the two men were left alone in the saloon of Lichtenstein, the old

knight gazed at Albert full in the face, with a scrutinizing eye, as if

to satisfy himself of the honesty of his looks. The noble features of

his visitor convinced him of the purity of his heart, and animated the

old man's eye with a ray of joy. The air of melancholy which habitually

sat on his brow had vanished, he became cheerful, he received Albert as

a father would a son, who had returned from a long journey. A tear at

length stole from his brilliant eye; but it was a tear of joy, for he

pressed the astonished youth to his heart.

"It is not often that I am betrayed into this weakness," he said to

Albert, "but in moments such as these nature gives way, because they

happen seldom. Dare I indeed trust my old eyes? Do the contents of this

letter deceive me? Is the seal really his? and can I believe it? but

why do I doubt! has not nature stampt the impression of her noblest

gifts upon your open forehead? Oh, yes, honesty is too visibly depicted

on your countenance; you cannot deceive me; the cause of my unfortunate

master has gained another friend!"

"If you allude to the cause of the banished Duke, you are not mistaken;

it has found a warm partisan in me. Report has long since reached my

ear of the knight of Lichtenstein being a faithful friend of his, and

with this assurance I should perhaps have presented myself to you ere

this, of my own accord, without the introduction of the unfortunate man

in the cavern."

"Sit down beside me, my young friend," said the old man, who continued

to regard Albert with a look of benevolence, "seat yourself, and listen

to what I say: generally speaking, I am not an admirer of persons who

change their minds. The experience of a long life has taught me to

respect the opinion of others, and to assert that a man who entertains

pure and honest views of a subject, is not therefore to be prejudged by

another, who may think differently. But when a person changes his

colours from real disinterested motives, as you appear to have done,

Albert von Sturmfeder, and turns his back upon prosperity, for the

noble purpose of allying himself to, and aiding the oppressed, in a

just cause, then it is that his virtuous intentions justify his

conduct, and carry along with them the stamp of a noble act."

Albert blushed for himself, when he heard old Lichtenstein praising his

disinterested motives. Was it not for the sake of the beautiful

daughter of the knight, that he had principally been induced to join

his colours? and would he not sink in the esteem of this man, when,

sooner or later, his real motive for embracing his party came to light?

"You are too good," he answered; "the views of a man are often buried

deeper than we at first sight think. But be assured, that though the

step I have taken was dictated partly by a feeling which revolts at the

idea of unjust oppression; I would not have you think too well of me,

because it would give me very great pain, were you afterwards to be

obliged to pronounce an unfavourable opinion upon my actions."

"I love you still more for your frankness," replied the lord of the

castle, and squeezed the hand of his guest: "I can trust to my

knowledge of physiognomy, and maintain, from what I see in yours, that,

though other views may have influenced you, besides the feeling of

justice, you never will be found wanting in honour. Whoever is led by

evil intentions is a coward, and no coward would dare to run his head

against Truchses, the Duke of Bavaria, and the whole Swabian League,

and rise superior to the danger, as you have done."

"What do you know of me," said Albert, with joyful surprise; "have you

ever heard of me before this moment?"

A servant, who opened the door at these words, interrupted the answer

of the old man. He set a breakfast of game and a can full of wine

before Albert, and prepared to wait on the guest; but a hint from his

master made him withdraw. "Don't spare this morning's meal," said he to

the young man; "the first glass, indeed, ought to be drank to the lady

of the house, according to courteous habits; but mine has long departed

this life, and my only daughter, Bertha, who acts in her place, is gone

down to the village church, to hear the sermon and mass on this

holiday. Well, you asked me if I have ever heard of you before? As you

now belong to our party, I may venture to acquaint you with what I

otherwise should have kept secret. When you entered Ulm, I was also in

the town, not only for the purpose of taking my daughter home, who was

residing there, but principally to learn many things, which were

important for the Duke to know. Gold opened all the doors," he added

with a smile, "and unbolted those also of the grand council; by which

means I became acquainted with everything the commanders of the League

had determined upon. When war was declared, I was obliged to leave the

place, but I left faithful men behind me in the town, who informed me

of every circumstance, even the most secret."

"Was not the fifer of Hardt one of them," asked Albert, "whom I found

with the exile?"

"Yes; the same who conducted you over the Alb." Albert started. "I had

daily intelligence of the most secret affairs. Among other things, I

learnt that they had determined to send a trusty spy into the

neighbourhood of Tuebingen, to gain intelligence and advertise the

League of our movements. I heard you were selected for that service. I

must tell you honestly, that, though you and your name were indifferent

to me, for I did not know you personally, still I regretted that your

young blood should be employed on that service, for, as sure as you

live, the moment you had passed the Alb in the degrading character of a

spy, so soon would you have been cut to pieces without grace or mercy.

So much more surprising then was the information to me, when I learned

further, that you had refused the service, and had spoken boldly before

your employers. The fact also of your having renounced their party, and

sworn to keep in a state of neutrality for fourteen days, was also made

known to me. How much I rejoice then that you have become our friend

also, I leave you to imagine!"

Nothing could have been more gratifying to Albert's feelings than the

eulogium passed on his conduct by the knight of Lichtenstein. This

moment removed all obstacles which had hitherto interrupted the tie

between him and Bertha. The only wish of his heart, which he at times

thought would never be realised, and had almost given up in despair, he

now might hope would be accomplished, for he unknowingly had gained the

good will of her father. "Yes, I renounced their service," he answered,

"because their intentions outraged my feelings; I became your friend

with heart and soul. When I was seated beside the exiled man in the

cavern, and heard the disgraceful manner in which the lord of the land

and the nobles were treated, I felt the force of his language

strengthen my resolutions. In that moment all doubts and difficulties

were removed from my mind, every thing was as clear as day, my only

desire was, to draw my sword in this cause! And do you think we shall

be called into action soon? How stand the Duke's affairs? You must not

suppose I am come to you to set with my hands across."

"I can well imagine your anxiety to be in the field," said the old

knight; "forty years ago I possessed the same ardour. You are aware,

perhaps, in what state our affairs are at present; more upon the

decline, I fear, than prosperous. The enemy is in possession of the

whole tract of the low country as far up as Urach. Our fate depends

upon one solitary circumstance,----if Tuebingen holds out, victory is

ours!"

"The honour of forty knights will, I think, answer for its safety,"

replied Albert, with animation; "the castle is strong, I have never

seen a stronger; the garrison is sufficient for its defence, and forty

men of noble blood will not surrender for a trifle. They cannot--they

dare not. Have they not the children of the duke, and the treasures of

his house, under their protection?--they _must_ hold out."

"It were well if they were all like-minded with you," said the old man.

"Tuebingen holds a great stake in her hands. If the Duke can bring

succour to its relief, he will then have a starting point, whence he

will be able to reconquer his country. The place contains large

supplies of munitions of war; and most of the nobility are assembled

within its walls. So long as they remain faithful to his cause, so long

will the feeling of Wuertemberg be for the Duke, were he only to possess

the spot upon which he stands; but I fear, I fear for the result."

"How? do you think it likely the knights will surrender? Impossible!"

"You have had but little experience in the ways of the world," replied

the old man; "you are not aware of the many allurements and snares at

work, which may make many a man waver in his allegiance. It is on this

account, that the Duke, being doubtful of the fidelity of some of them

in Tuebingen, has sent Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg with a letter to the

garrison written in strong terms, not only urging them to hold the

castle to the last, but to afford him the means of entering therein

himself, being ready to sacrifice his life in its defence, if God

should so ordain it."

"Poor man," said Albert, moved by the consideration of the Duke's hard

fate; "I cannot believe the nobility of the land will act in a manner

unworthy of their rank. His presence among them will encourage their

desponding hopes, sorties will be made, the besiegers will be beaten in

spite of Bavaria and Fronsberg. We'll join them sword in hand, and

drive these Leaguists out of the country."

"Maxx Stumpf is not yet returned," replied the knight of Lichtenstein,

with a look of anxiety; "and the firing has ceased since yesterday.

We hear every shot here on the Lichtenstein; but during the last

twenty-four hours all is as quiet as the grave."

"Perhaps they have ceased firing on account of the holidays; you'll see

that, to-morrow, or Easter Monday, they will re-commence with redoubled

vigour, and make your rocks echo again."

"What is it you say?" replied the other, "on account of the holidays?

To serve the Duke faithfully is a pious undertaking; and the saints in

Heaven would perhaps rather hear the thunder of cannon in a just cause

than that the knights should remain idle. Idleness is the parent of all

vice! But, I trust, when Maxx arrives in the castle, he will rouse them

out of their slumbers."

"Do you mean that the Duke had sent the knight of Schweinsberg to

Tuebingen, and that he intended to follow him, because the garrison has

shewn symptoms of surrender? Has he not flown to Moempelgard, as the

people say? or is he still in the neighbourhood? Oh, that I could see

him, and accompany him!"

A peculiar smile passed rapidly over the stern countenance of the old

man. "You will sec him at the proper moment," he said; "he will be

happy to see you also, for he loves you already. And, if fortune

favours us, you shall also go with him to his castle, I give you my

word. But for the present I must beg you will remain patiently alone

for a short time; some business calls me, but it will be soon finished.

I leave you in the company of some good old wine; make yourself at home

in my house; were it not Good Friday, I would invite you to go out

hunting." The old man pressed Albert's hand once more, and left the

room; and soon after he saw him ride out of the castle towards the

wood.

When the young man found himself alone, he commenced putting his dress

in order, which in consequence of his recent adventures, required some

attention. Whoever has been in the vicinity of the lady of his love,

under Albert's circumstances, will not blame him for taking advantage

of a piece of polished metal, which served as a looking-glass, hanging

on the wall, to arrange his beard and hair. Having brushed his jacket,

and removed all traces of having passed the night underground, he went

into the large saloon, and sought among the many windows which

surrounded it, the one which would give him the best view of the path

leading up to the castle from the church of the village in the valley

below, whither Bertha had gone to hear mass.

Cheering thoughts passed through his mind, in rapid succession, like

bright vapours flying under the blue vault of heaven. He was now on the

spot which had long been the object of his ardent desire to visit; he

viewed the mountains and rocks which Bertha had often spoke about; he

felt a charm in being in the same house which had been the dwelling of

her childhood, and in which she had grown up to woman's estate.

Albert went into the small spot of ground within the walls of the

castle, adorned with flowers, and which assumed the name of garden.

Again his imagination wandered, in the pleasing supposition that it had

been created by her orders; the flowers appeared to speak to him in her

name--he was in the act of bending under a tree to pluck a violet, when

he heard footsteps at the gate. He turned around to observe who it

might be, it was indeed Bertha herself--she stood there wrapt in

surprise and motionless, scarcely trusting her eyes. He flew to her,

and pressed her to his heart; her astonishment at the unexpected

apparition gave way to the conviction that it was really her lover, and

not his spirit that embraced her. They had more to ask each other than

they knew well how to answer in the first transport of joy, for they

could with difficulty convince themselves that it was not a dream, thus

to find themselves in each other's presence without fear or

interruption. Having returned to the house, Bertha said,

"How much have I suffered on your account, dearest Albert; and with

what a heavy heart did I leave Ulm! You had, indeed, sworn to quit the

service of the League; but I had no hopes of seeing you so soon. And

then, when Hans informed me, that, on your journey with him to

Lichtenstein, you had been surprised by the enemy on the road, and

dangerously wounded, my heart was almost broken, at the thought that I

could not go to you and nurse you."

Stung with remorse for having given place to the jealousy which the

story of the hostess of the Golden Stag at Pfullingen had created in

his breast, he sunk in his own estimation before the tender love of

Bertha. He sought to conceal his confusion, and related to her, amidst

the interruption of her numerous questions, all that had happened to

him since their separation; the cause which had favoured his quitting

the service of the League with honour; the particulars of his perilous

escape from the enemy's patrole; the kind care which the fifer's wife

and daughter had taken of him, by which he was enabled to prosecute his

journey to Lichtenstein.

Albert's conscience was too honest not to feel embarrassed at some of

Bertha's scrutinising questions; and when she wished to have her

curiosity satisfied upon the subject of his coming to Lichtenstein at

so strange an hour of the night he scarcely knew what to answer. Her

beautiful eye rested upon him with such an expression of inquisitive

penetration, that, though he would gladly have escaped the reproach of

harbouring a momentary idea of her want of fidelity, he would not for

all the world tell her an untruth.

"I will own," he said, with a confused look, "that I was infatuated by

the hostess at Pfullingen; she told me something about you, which I

could not hear with indifference."

"The hostess? about me?" cried Bertha, smiling; "well, but what brought

you, at that late hour of the night, to this place?"

"Never mind, dearest; we'll not think of it any more. I know I acted

like a fool. The exiled knight has quite convinced me how wrong I was."

"No, no," she replied, earnestly, "I am not going to let you escape

so cheap; what had that chatterbox to say about me? tell me

immediately----"

"Well, then, I give you leave to laugh at me as much as you please: she

told me you had another lover, who came to visit you every night,

whilst your father slept."

Bertha blushed; indignation, and the inclination to smile at a

ridiculous story, contended for the mastery on her expressive features.

"Well, I hope," she replied, "you repelled the calumny with proper

contempt, and left her house immediately. That was the reason, I

suppose, of your arriving here so late, with the intention of passing

the night under our roof."

"I honestly avow, I had no such thought. You know I was not quite

convalescent, so excuse my weakness. I really did not believe her at

first; but when she brought your nurse, old Rosel, to substantiate what

she said, and who moreover lamented that I had been deceived, I----oh,

do not turn away from me, Bertha; do not be angry! I threw myself on my

horse, and rode direct to the castle, for the purpose of exchanging a

word with him who dared to love you."

"And could you believe that?" she answered, with tears starting into

her eyes: "I cannot think that Rosel said any thing of the kind,

though she is fond of a gossip; I am not angry with the hostess, for

she does not know better; but that you, you Albert, should give credit

to so foul a falsehood, and think it necessary to convince yourself,

that----" The tears of the faithful girl flowed in abundance; and the

feeling of mortification choked her further utterance.

Her lover was overcome by the sense of his egregious folly; but he also

felt the consolation, that though he was to be blamed his suspicions

arose purely out of the intensity of his love. "Pardon me this once,

dearest; let me assure you, that the jealousy which tormented me,

unfounded as it was, would never have been inflamed into reality, did

not my whole existence depend upon you."

"He who really loves can never harbour a spark of jealousy, founded

upon such reports," said Bertha, in displeasure; "you hinted something

of the same kind once before in Ulm, which you know hurt me very

deeply. But if you had known me, and loved me with the same unalterable

attachment that I love you, you never could have entertained such

thoughts."

"No, truly, but you must not be unjust," he replied, and took her hand;

"how can you reproach me with not returning your love with the same

ardent sincerity? Was it impossible that one more worthy than Albert

von Sturmfeder might appear, and supplant him in your heart by some

infernal enchantment? Every thing is possible in this world."

"Possible!" interrupted Bertha; and a certain pride, which Albert had

often remarked in the daughter of Lichtenstein, appeared now to animate

her; "possible? if you ever could have entertained such an opinion of

me,--I repeat it, Albert von Sturmfeder,--you have never loved me. A

man must not allow himself to be blown about like a reed; he ought to

stand firm to his opinion; and if he loves, he must have faith also."

"I have not merited such a reproach, from you at least," said the young

man, starting up in great excitement; "I have been, indeed, as you say,

a reed shaken about in the wind, and many a man will despise me----"

"That may be!" she whispered to herself, but not so lightly as to

escape his ear, and cause his displeasure to blaze up into rage.

"Can you upbraid me thus," said he, "you, who are the sole cause of my

vaccilating conduct? Did I not seek you among the friends of the

League; and when I found you, was I not overjoyed? You entreated me to

quit their colours,--I did so; and still more, I came over to your

party, and, though it nearly cost me my life, I held firm to my

determination. I visited your father, who received me as a son; and

rejoiced that I had bound myself to the Duke's cause. But his daughter

compares me to a reed moved by every blast of wind! but once more I

will----for the last time, allow myself to be moved by you; I'll leave

you, as you requite my love thus; in an hour hence, I wish you

farewell." With these last words he girded on his sword; and, taking

his cap, turned to depart.

"Albert," cried Bertha, with the sweetest accent, at the same time

springing up and seizing his hand; her pride, her displeasure, every

trace of ill-will vanished in a moment, and entreating love only beamed

from her eyes, "for God's sake, Albert! I did not mean to speak so

angrily; remain, I will forget every thing; I am ashamed of myself for

having betrayed so unkind a spirit."

But the anger of the young man was not to be appeased in a moment. He

turned away, lest her looks should master his resolution of leaving the

castle. "No!" he cried, "you shall not turn the reed back again; but

you may tell your father the cause which has driven his guest from his

house." The windows trembled with the sound of his voice; he looked

about him with wildness; he tore his hand away from Bertha's grasp;

and, followed by her, he hastily opened the door to fly from her

presence, when an apparition arrested his attention on the threshold

which we shall describe in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXII.

Prince's favour, April's sky,

Woman's love, the rose's dye,

Cards, dice, and weathercocks are still

Chang'd about, believe't who will.

OLD PROVERB.

The apparition which so opportunely arrested the attention of Albert on

opening the door, was no other than the old nurse, Rosel, hastily

rising from a bent position she had taken up at the keyhole. She was

one of those old servants, who, having been brought up in the family

from her youth, was firmly rooted in it, and now formed one of its

principal branches. Since the death of the Lady of Lichtenstein,

Bertha's mother, she had shewn her attachment to the family in the

assiduous care she had taken in bringing up her charge. Having passed

through the different gradations, from nursery-maid to nurse, from

nurse to housekeeper, she now occupied the more important post of

governess and confidant to her foster-child. Greatly jealous of others,

and ambitious to secure all authority in her own hands, she filled for

many years the different important domestic situations of the castle,

making herself universally necessary in all its concerns. Having gained

an ascendancy over her master, who never found fault with her, at least

before others, she gave out that she was essential in the management of

the domestic affairs of the family, that without her superintendence,

things could not go on right.

Of late, she had not lived on the best terms with her young mistress.

In the days of her childhood and first youth, she had possessed her

whole confidence. Even in Tuebingen she was partly in the secret of

Bertha's love; and old Rosel took such an interest in every thing

that related to her child, as she always called her, as to speak

in the first person plural, "_We_ love Albert von Sturmfeder most

tenderly,"--or "_Our_ heart is ready to break in parting from him."

Two circumstances, however, tended to weaken this confidence. The young

lady remarked, that her nurse was too fond of gossiping, that she had

been even watching her movements, and had been twattling with others

about her intimacy with Albert; she, therefore, grew more reserved

towards the old woman, who very soon guessed the cause of it. But when

the journey to Ulm was undertaken, and she had provided herself with a

new woollen-stuff gown, and a superb brocade cap, upon the occasion,

her disappointment knew no bounds upon being ordered to remain at

Lichtenstein. This widened the breach between her and Bertha, for she

attributed the cause of her not accompanying the family to her

mistress.

Confidence between them was not restored after the knight of

Lichtenstein returned with his daughter to the castle from Ulm. Old

Rosel, who always preferred the society of her superiors to that of the

domestics, endeavoured to obtain some information from Bertha about

Albert, hoping thus to re-establish herself in her good graces; but

Bertha, whose heart was then full of the late painful occurrences at

the meeting with her lover, and still suspicious of the discretion of

her nurse, would not satisfy her curiosity. When, therefore, the exile

visited the castle at stated hours every night, and her young lady

secretly prepared his meal, and, as her nurse thought, remained alone

with him for a length of time, she gratified her pique towards her

mistress by opening her heart to the hostess of the Golden Stag at

Pfullingen upon the subject. No wonder, then, that Albert was led to

believe every word he heard; because, having only known the nurse as

the confidant of his love, he was not aware that the intimacy between

her and Bertha had suffered interruption.

She had accompanied her mistress the morning of Albert's arrival, in

her best Sunday's attire, to her pilgrimage to the church. Having

confessed her sins, among which "curiosity" preponderated above the

rest, and received absolution, she returned to Lichtenstein with a

lighter heart and clearer conscience than she had when she left the

castle, sighing under the weight of them. But the words of the father

confessor had not probed so deep in her soul as to root out effectually

her besetting sin, for when she got into her apartment and was occupied

in putting by her rosary and Sunday dress, she heard her young lady and

a man's deep voice in angry conversation together, and she even thought

her mistress was crying.

"Can the nocturnal visitor have come up here in the day time, and taken

advantage of the old man's absence?" she muttered to herself. A natural

feeling of curiosity and sympathy drew her eye and ear involuntarily to

the keyhole, when she overheard the dispute of which we have already

been witnesses.

The young man opened the door so suddenly that she had no time to

retreat, scarcely sufficient to recover her upright figure from her

bending position. But she did not lose her presence of mind in this

awkward predicament, for stopping Albert, and before either of them

could speak, seizing his hands, poured upon him a torrent of words.

"Ay, upon my veracity! Could I ever have thought that my old eyes would

have beheld Albert von Sturmfeder again! And I verily believe you have

grown handsomer and taller than when I last saw you! Who could have

thought it? Look, he stands like a stick at the door! Well, but who is

it that dares speak thus to my dear young lady? It is not my master,

nor any of his servants! Ay! what does one live to see? Young Albert,

it is you who have been upbraiding my child!"

During this rapid flow of exclamations, Albert in vain sought to escape

from the old woman, and though he determined, in the heat of the

moment, to leave the castle, he felt it unseemly to let her suppose he

had been quarrelling with Bertha. He shook off the grasp which the

nurse had of him, and, in spite of her reproachful smile, took the hand

of Bertha, at the same time pressing it to his heart. A glance from her

eye calmed the tumult of his feelings. But a fresh conflict, a new

embarrassment agitated him. His anger indeed subsided, he felt

convinced that Bertha could not entertain that unkindness towards him

which his heated imagination had conjured up--but how to reconcile it

with his honour, to submit to the shame of being subdued by a squeeze

of the hand, or a glance of the eye, before a witness, was a difficulty

in which pride had its share. He blushed for his weakness, in standing

self-convicted before the old woman; and we have often heard that the

feeling of shame, and the embarrassment of getting out of a scrape,

such as Albert's precipitation had drawn him into, without committing

our honour, is apt often to convert a trifling quarrel into a lasting

one, and dissolve ties founded on the basis of tender affection.

Old Rosel perceived with some degree of pleasure the anxiety and sorrow

of her young lady, and would perhaps have gladly taken advantage of her

distress, by way of punishing her for the withdrawal of her confidence,

had not her natural kindness of heart resumed its sway over the

malicious joy which she had given way too. She looked at the young man

full in the face, and said, "You surely don't intend to leave us so

soon, since it is but an hour ago that you arrived at Lichtenstein?

Before you have had your mid-day meal, we will not allow you to depart,

for that would be quite against the custom of the castle; and besides

which, you have probably not yet seen my master?"

It was a great point gained for Bertha's cause to hear Albert speak

again: "I have already spoken to him," he said; "as a proof of it, look

at the two goblets we have emptied together."

"Well," continued the old woman, "but you would not leave his house

without wishing him farewell?"

"No, I ought not certainly, as he desired me to wait for him in the

castle," replied the young man.

"Aye, why would you go away in such a hurry, then?" she said, and

forced him back into the room; "do you call that manners? My master

would wonder, indeed, to think what kind of guest he had entertained.

Whoever comes here by day," she added, with a searching look at Bertha,

"whoever comes by broad daylight, possesses a clear conscience, and

need not _slip away like a thief in the night._"

Bertha blushed, and pressed the hand of her lover, who could not

refrain from smiling, when he thought of the old woman's mistaken

notion respecting the nocturnal visitor, and remarked the reproachful

glance which she threw at her child.

"Yes, yes, as I said," she continued, "you have no occasion to steal

away like a thief in the night. It had been better, perhaps, had you

come sooner. The proverb says, 'judge for yourself, to doubt is

dangerous, and he who seeks peace and quiet, let him remain with his

cow!'--but I say nothing."

"Well, then," said Bertha, "you see he remains here; your proverbs are

misplaced. You know, yourself, they do not always agree with the

subject."

"Really? but they sometimes hit the right nail upon the head, however

disagreeable it may be to the hearer. But repentance and good advice

come too late after the evil has happened. I know well enough, that

ingratitude is the wages of the world, and I can be silent! he who

seeks peace and quiet, let him keep his eyes open, listen, and be

silent."

"Come then, be silent," said Bertha, somewhat displeased; "at any rate

it will be wise of you not to let my father remark that you know Albert

von Sturmfeder; it were not unlikely he might suppose he is come to

Lichtenstein for our sakes alone."

Good and ill humour strove for the mastery in old Rosel's breast. She

was, on the one hand, flattered to be admitted again into her lady's

confidence, by being requested to keep silence before her master, but,

on the other, she still felt annoyed that her young mistress confided

so little of her heart to her. She kept muttering a few indistinct

words to herself, as she put the chairs in their places against the

wall, and took the goblets off the table, wiping the marks which the

wine had left on the slate slab with which the table was inlaid. Albert

had retired to one of the windows, and though he did not feel quite

reconciled to his love, yet he could not mistake a sign she gave him.

He was particularly anxious her father should, as yet, know nothing of

their mutual feeling, for he feared he might attribute to it the

principal motive which had induced him to join Wuertemburg's cause, and

thereby lose the favourable opinion he had formed of him. Thinking it

the wisest plan to pacify the old woman, he approached her, and tapping

her gently on the shoulder, said, in a kind manner, "Miss Rosalie, you

have a very pretty cap on, but the riband does not match it properly,

it looks old and faded."

"Eh! what?" she answered in a pet, expecting to be addressed with more

respect: "don't trouble yourself about my cap; every one has enough to

do to sweep before his own door. Look first to yourself and your own

affairs, and then find fault with me and mine. I am a poor woman, and

can't dress like a countess. If all the world were alike, and all rich,

and all sat at the same table together, who would you find to serve up

the eatables and drinkables?"

"I did not mean to affront you," said Albert, and by way of soothing

her, took a silver coin out of his purse, adding, "but Rosalie will do

me a favour by changing her riband: and that my request may not sound

unreasonable, she will not, I hope, refuse to accept a broad piece!"

Who has not seen the sun disperse the mists of a day of October? In

like manner was old Rosel's ill-humour dispelled. The polite manner of

the young knight, who had touched her weak point, by calling her

Rosalie, her favourite name, instead of the familiar one of old Rosel,

and presenting her with a dollar, having the bust of the Duke on one

side, and the arms of Teck on the reverse, were charms too potent for

her to withstand. "Ah, I see you are still the same good friendly

gentleman," she said; whilst, stooping down, she glided the dollar into

a large leather pocket which hung to her side, and carried the hem of

Albert's cloak to her lips: "just so used you to do in Tuebingen. When I

stood at the fountain of St. George, or went from the hill down to the

market place, I was sure to hear you call to me,--'Good morning,

Rosalie; and how is your young lady?' And did you not often give me

presents? why at least two thirds of the gown I wear comes from the

bounty and kindness of your honour!"

"Never mind that now, good woman," said Albert, interrupting the old

chatterbox; "But about your master,--you will not----"

"What do you mean?" she replied, half shutting her eyes: "I can pretend

never to have seen you in my life. You may rest assured of that. That

which does not burn I will not inflame!"

With these words she left the room and went down to the first floor, to

attend to her affairs in the kitchen.

Grateful and full of joy, she took the dollar out of her leather

pocket, and looked at it over and over again on both sides. She praised

the liberality of the youth, and regretted that his love had been so

ill requited, for that her young lady was unfaithful to him was a clear

case in her eyes. She stood in the kitchen for some time wrapt in

thought. She doubted within herself whether to let the thing take its

course, or whether it would not be better to give a hint to the young

knight, to apprise him of the nocturnal visitor. "But," she said, "in

time of need comes help; perhaps he will see it himself, and does not

want my advice. Besides, a meddler between two lovers is likely to burn

his own fingers. It will be better to wait and look on, for heat in

counsel and rashness in action engender nothing but harm. Who seeks

peace and quiet, let him keep his eyes open, listen, and be silent!"

Such were the thoughts of the old philosopher in the kitchen. The

lovers had in the mean time made up their differences. Albert was

unable to withstand the entreaties of Bertha, and when she asked him,

in the most tender tone, whether he was still angry with her, he could

not bring his heart to say, yes. Peace was therefore re-established

between them, and, which is seldom the case, in a shorter time than

that which had been taken up in producing the dispute. She listened to

the continuation of his adventures with great interest. It required,

nevertheless, the conviction of his stedfast faith in her love, and in

the word of the exiled man, to restrain his jealousy within due limits;

for when he described his first encounter with his opponent, he

observed a blush on her countenance, which raised a doubt in his mind

whether it expressed joy for his escape from so formidable and

experienced an adversary, or whether it was not occasioned by a lurking

interest she took in the stranger. In relating further his visit to the

exile in the dreary regions of his retreat, and all the circumstances

connected with it, his admiration of the knight's noble mind, his

greatness of soul amidst privations and miseries, tears started into

her eyes, she looked up to Heaven as if in the act of imploring God's

protection upon the unhappy man.

The conversation also which he had had with him, and particularly that

part of it in which the exile addressed him as his friend, extolling

his magnanimity for having pledged his faith to serve Wuertemberg,--the

cause of the oppressed and banished,--lighted up the glance of Bertha's

eyes with unusual brilliancy. She gazed on her lover for some time in

silent admiration. The sufferings she had endured since she last saw

him were now effaced by the joy she felt in having him by her side as

the staunch ally of her father. Albert was ashamed to feel his heart

beat quicker at the interest Bertha appeared to take in everything

relating to his new acquaintance. But he had command enough over

himself to conceal his uneasiness from her, whilst his conscience

upbraided him for harbouring the slightest suspicion of her fidelity.

"Albert," she said, "some time hence many a one will envy you this

night's adventure. You may think yourself highly honoured, for it is

not every one that Hans would venture to conduct to the exile."

"You know him, then?" replied the young man, eager to hear from her

what he had failed to elicit from the fifer. "Oh, tell me who he is! I

have seldom seen a man whose features, whose whole bearing, have

acquired such an ascendancy over me? He told me he would at present be

called by no other name than 'the man;' but his arm, whose strength I

have felt, his penetrating look, convince me his name must be renowned

in the world."

"He had a name, indeed, once," she answered, "which could vie with the

most noble in the land. But if he did not tell it you himself, neither

dare I pronounce it, because it would be against my word to do so. You

must exercise your patience a little longer," she added, smiling,

"difficult as it may be to restrain your curiosity."

"But why cannot you tell me," he interrupted her, "are not we one?

Ought we to withhold anything from each other? Come, tell me, who is

the man in the cavern?"

"Do not be angry. Look ye, if it were my secret only, you know I would

not conceal it from you a moment, and you might with justice demand it

of me; but, though I know it would be safe in your keeping, I dare not

tell it,--I cannot break my word."

Though frankness beamed in her countenance, and not a spark of guile

reigned in her heart, her refusal to satisfy Albert's wish irritated

him, and he was on the point of taxing her with duplicity, when the

door burst open, and an immense dog sprang into the room. Albert gave

an involuntary start, having never seen so powerful a beast. The dog

took up a position opposite to him, eyed him with a fierce look, and

began to growl. His voice bore an ominous sound, whilst a row of white

teeth, which he every now and then showed, might have startled the

courage of the bravest man; one word from Bertha was sufficient to

quiet and make it lay down at her feet. She stroked his beautiful head,

from which his sharp eye first glanced inquisitively at her and then at

the stranger. "It does everything but speak," she said, smiling; "it

comes to warn me not to betray my friend."

"I have never seen so beautiful an animal! How proudly it carries his

head, as if he belonged to an emperor or a king."

"It belongs to him, the banished," replied Bertha; "it came to stop my

mouth."

"But why does not the knight keep him with him? Truly, such an arm as

his, supported by a dog of this kind, might defy a host of enemies."

"It is a watchful beast," she answered, "and savage; if he kept it in

the cavern, he would, indeed, be a certain protection. The cavern is so

extensive that a man may remain concealed in its interior without fear

of molestation. But if by chance any one entered it, a dog might easily

betray him, for as soon as it heard a footstep no one could control it;

he would begin to growl and bark, and attract the notice of his

master's enemies; he therefore ordered it to remain here. The dog

understands his duty, and I take care of him. It pines for his master,

and you should see his joy when night comes; he knows then that his

lord will soon visit the castle; and, when the drawbridge falls, and

footsteps are heard in the court, it is impossible to hold him any

longer, he would break a dozen chains to get to his side."

"A beautiful specimen of fidelity!" said her lover; "but exemplified by

the man to whom this dog belongs in a still higher degree. Faithful to

his lord, he prefers banishment and misery rather than betray his

cause. It is a folly in me," Albert added; "I am aware that curiosity

is not seemly in a man, but I long to know who he is."

"Have patience till the night," said the maiden; "when he comes I will

ask him if I may tell you. I doubt not but that he will permit me."