good as to send one of your fellow servants to the master of the
palace, and ask whether I may not go into the garden to fetch herbs.”
The porter did so and permission was given, since, the garden having
high walls, escape was impossible. But when Nose and Mimi had got out
he put her carefully down, and she ran quickly before him towards the
lake, where the chesnuts were. He followed with a heavy heart, since
this was his last and only hope. If she did not find the herb he was
resolved rather to plunge into the lake than to have his head cut off.
The goose searched in vain under all the chesnut trees; she turned
every herb with her beak, but no trace of the one wanted was to be
found, and she now began to cry out of compassion and fear for the
dwarf, as the evening was already growing dusk, and the objects around
were difficult to distinguish.
At this moment the dwarf cast a glance across the lake, and cried
suddenly: “Look, look, yonder across the lake there stands a large old
tree; let us go there and search; perhaps my luck may bloom there.”
The goose hopped and flew before him, and he ran after her as quickly
as his short legs would permit him; the chesnut tree cast a large
shade, and it was so dark around that scarcely anything could be
distinguished; but suddenly the goose stopped, flapped her wings for
joy, put her head quickly into the high grass, and plucked something
which she reached gracefully with her bill to the astonished Nose,
saying; “There is the herb, and plenty is growing here, so that you
will never want for it.”
The dwarf looked thoughtfully at the herb, and a sweet odour arose from
it, which immediately reminded him of the scene of his metamorphosis;
the stalk and leaves were of a blueish green, bearing a glowing red
flower, with a yellow edge.
“God be praised!” he now exclaimed, “What a miracle! I believe this is
the very herb that transformed me from a squirrel into this hideous
form; shall I make a trial, to see what effect it will have on me!”
“Not yet,” entreated the goose. “Take a handful of this herb with you,
let us go to your room and put up all the money and whatever you have,
and then we will try the virtue of the herb.”
They did so, and went again to his room, the dwarf’s heart beating
audibly with anticipation. After having put up about fifty or sixty
ducats which he had saved, he tied up his clothes in a bundle, and
said: “If it please God, I shall get rid of my burthensome deformity.”
He then put his nose deep into the herb and inhaled its odour.
Now his limbs began to stretch and crack, he felt how his head started
from his shoulders, he squinted down on his nose and saw it became
smaller and smaller, his back and chest became straight, and his legs
longer.
The goose viewed all this with great astonishment, exclaiming, “Ah,
what a tall handsome fellow you have now become. God be praised, there
is no trace left in you of what you were before.” Now James was highly
rejoiced, he folded his hands and prayed. But his joy did not make him
forget what he owed to Mimi the goose; his heart indeed urged him to go
to his parents, yet from gratitude he overcame his wish and said, “To
whom but to you am I indebted that I am again restored to my former
self? Without you I should never have found this herb, but should have
continued for ever in that form, or else have died under the axe of the
executioner. Well, I will repay you. I will bring you back to your
father; he being so experienced in magic will be able easily to
disenchant you.”
The goose shed tears of joy and accepted his offer. James fortunately
escaped unknown from the palace with his goose, and started on his way
for the sea-coast towards Mimi’s home.
It is needless to add that their journey was successful, that
Wetterbock disenchanted his daughter, and dismissed James laden with
presents; that the latter returned to his native town, that his parents
with delight recognized in the handsome young man their lost son, that
he, with the presents that he had received, purchased a shop and became
wealthy and happy.
Only this much may be added, that after his departure from the duke’s
palace, there was a great sensation, for when, on the next morning, the
duke was about to fulfil his oath, and to have the dwarf beheaded in
case he had not discovered the herbs, he was nowhere to be found; and
the prince maintained that the duke had let him escape secretly rather
than lose his best cook, and accused him of breaking his word of
honour. This circumstance gave rise to a great war between the two
princes, which is well known in history by the name of the “Herb War.”
Many battles were fought, but at length a peace was concluded, which is
now called the “Pie Peace,” because at the festival of reconciliation
the Souzeraine, queen of pies, was prepared by the prince’s cook, and
relished by the duke in the highest degree.
Thus the most trifling causes often lead to the greatest result; and
this, reader, is the story of “Nose, the Dwarf.”
C. A. F.
AXEL.
A TALE OF THE THIRTY YEARS’ WAR.
BY C. F. VAN DER VELDE.
The beautiful Tugendreich von Starschedel was standing in the baronial
hall of her ancestral castle before the pedigree of her family, which
occupied the space between two pillars in the wall. Her little hand
powerfully pressed her heaving bosom, as if it wished to check the
violent palpitation of her agitated heart, and her dark blue eyes
wandered stealthily from the gay escutcheons and glanced through the
lofty arched windows into the open riding-course, in which Axel, the
groom, was just then breaking in a young stallion, with all the grace
and strength of the horse-tamer Castor.
“Well,” said Gundchen, her maid, who was leaning against the window,
“there is nothing, in my opinion, like a good horseman. Only look,
gracious Fräulein, how the untamed animal is rearing, and how the man
sits on him like a puppet.”
“That is a silly picture, if it is intended to be flattering,” said
Tugendreich, and blushing, she stepped to the window, as she feared she
had betrayed herself.
“Do not torment yourself so much, Axel,” cried the baron from the
window. “You and Hippolytus may break your necks together; he is sure
not to leap, and the master of the stable has given him up already.”
“All depends on the rider,” replied Axel, with powerful voice. “He
shall leap, I assure you, though he had Wallenstein and Tilly on him.”
So saying, he pressed the snorting animal with great strength, and
gallopped with him to the end of the course, that he might better leap
the bar.
“A devil of a fellow this Axel,” said the nobleman, laughing in
approbation.
“Heavens!” shrieked Gundchen, “there will be an accident,” and
Tugendreich suppressed a sigh of anguish. With frightful side-leaps,
the black horse furiously galloped towards the bar. At this moment the
little daughter of the gardener ran across the course, and frightened
at the approaching furious steed, fell just under his fore feet.
Terror prevented the spectators from crying out, but Axel saw the child
at the critical moment when the hoof was raised over its head, and,
thinking of its peril, only reined the leaping horse suddenly in with
such force that he fell rearing on his haunches.
“He will fall back,” cried the baron.
“I cannot look upon it,” exclaimed Gundchen, holding her hands before
her eyes, and Tugendreich leaned against the recess as white as her
veil. In the meanwhile Axel had given the horse so violent a blow on
the head, that he was on his legs again and stood trembling; he
dismounted, lifted the crying child gently from the ground and kissing
it, carried it to its mother, who came up running and shrieking.
“Gallantly done,” cried the nobleman, “but the experiment might have
cost your life.”
“Better that Hippolytus and I should die than the innocent child,”
replied Axel. He mounted again, and the steed now knowing his master,
leaped readily and gracefully without a run over the high bar.
“Well done,” cried the nobleman again. “Come up, you shall have a
bottle of wine for that.” “I must first cool the animal,” was Axel’s
short reply, as he rode off in a gentle trot. “This fellow is not to
be bought for gold,” muttered the baron; “but he sometimes assumes a
tone that makes it doubtful which of us two is the master and which the
groom.”
Tugendreich, agitated by the scene she had just witnessed, was about to
leave the hall. On her way, she again passed the pedigree, and turning
her glowing countenance upon it, a black escutcheon met her eye. This
belonged to a lateral relation whom her father had only recently struck
out on account of a misalliance. With a gloomy foreboding she gazed at
it, then cast an anxious glance upon the one bearing her name, and
hurried sobbing from the hall.
About an hour after this, Tugendreich met the dangerous groom in the
anti-room of her father’s closet. Their eyes flashed as they met each
other, but both immediately looked on the ground while a blush, like
the sky tinged by the rising sun, overspread her cheeks. “The
gardener’s little Rosa has recovered from her fright,” she whispered
softly, “I have just left her.”
“May heaven reward you, Fräulein, that sent you upon earth as a
ministering reconciling angel!” cried the groom with transport.
“But promise me, Axel, not to ride so furiously again; I have been in
great anxiety about thee,” stammered Tugendreich, becoming confused in
the midst of her speech, as she had not yet settled in her mind as to
whether she should address this groom by “thee,” or “you.”[1]
“About me? This makes me indescribably happy,” said Axel with delight,
and suddenly raised her beautiful hand to his lips, imprinting a fiery
kiss on it. At this she appeared angry, withdrew her hand from his
bold grasp, though a minute too late, and saying, “You forget
yourself,” quickly left the room.
Axel’s eyes followed her with rapture, and he then entered his master’s
room and found him in company with Magister Talander, his spiritual
adviser and factotum, playing chess, and exchanging high words. In
vain did the excited magister prove from _Damiano, Phillippo, Carrera_,
and _Gustavo Seleno_, that the adversary’s piece which threatened one
of the squares over which the king must be moved, was one of the five
impediments to castling the king. In vain did he assert that
_Palmedes, Xerxes, Satrenshah_, and even _Tamerlan_ could not have
played otherwise. The baron stood to his own opinion, and said, the
absurdity of the rule was so evident, that even his groom Axel, if he
had but a notion of the moves, could not but see it.
“I know the moves, and you are wrong,” interrupted Axel. With open
mouth, the master wondered at the impudence of his servant, who quietly
added: “You forget that the question here is about a paltry king of
chess, about an indolent, cowardly despot, who is only born to be
protected by his people; and if ever compelled to act himself, moves in
a narrow, pitiful circle. It is quite consistent that such a king
should take the only important step in his life with the utmost
caution, and avoid doing it if there is the least appearance of danger.
_My_ king, indeed, would not recognise himself in this picture.”
“What does the fellow mean by talking about _his_ king?” muttered the
old baron. “Our gracious sovereign is the elector of Saxony.”
“But not mine,” was Axel’s proud reply. “I have the honour to be a
Swede.”
“For heaven’s sake, Magister, tell me whence this fellow gets his
pride, and bold words?” asked the baron softly.
“Why, I have already had my meditations on that subject,” replied he,
with a shake of the head; and the old baron said, in a commanding tone
to Axel: “There’s your wine, but you shall drink to the health of our
lord elector.”
“Most joyfully,” replied Axel, filling a bumper, and raising it in the
air; “here’s to the health of your noble elector, and my heroic king,
and may the concluded alliance prove a blessing to Saxony and to Sweden
for many generations to come.”
“Well, that is something new again,” replied the baron, sarcastically;
“I suppose you were in the cabinet when the alliance was concluded.
Unfortunately we have not come to that yet.”
“We have come to it, my lord,” replied Axel, familiarly tapping the
baron on the shoulder; “your elector is no chess king, who is afraid to
take a quick and decisive step that shall decide the welfare of his
land.”
He went away, and the two old gentlemen sat, struck with astonishment,
staring at each other, like the pair of lions at Dresden.
In melancholy mood, Tugendreich was standing before an old decayed
shaft, to which her walk had brought her, and her maid, like Fräulein’s
little spaniel, was crawling about among the bushes in search of
something. At this moment Talander came up to them, laden with a large
bundle of plants on his return from botanising. To his inquiries, as
to what they were in search of, Tugendreich informed him, that, in
running down a hill, she had laid hold of a branch, and twisted from
her finger a beautiful sapphire ring, a beloved legacy of her late
mother, which had probably rolled into the shaft, as they had at
present searched for it in vain.
“Oh, what youthful levity!” replied the magister, in a grumbling voice.
“This precious stone ought not to have been merely valuable to you as a
remembrance of your revered mother, but, having been dug and cut out
under particular constellations, it was the talisman of your life.
Have you been forgetful enough not to remember that the greatest
secrets of nature lie in _verbis, herbis et lapidibus_? A foreboding
which rarely deceives me, tells me that this loss will have a decisive
influence on your fate.”
Tugendreich listened anxiously to the words of the old tutor, which she
was wont to consider as oracles.
“Do not grieve too much, however,” continued the old man, in a milder
tone, “the same foreboding tells me also that the hand from which you
will receive back the lost stone, will also lead you to the true
happiness of your life.” Thus saying, he walked slowly down the
foot-path towards the castle, while Tugendreich looked thoughtfully
after him. A crackling and rustling was heard in the branches of an
old pine-tree standing near the shaft, and from its top, which touched
a high rock, descended a sturdy huntsman, boldly leaping from bough to
bough, who soon stood before the astonished maiden as Axel.
“I overheard all,” he said, with rapture, “and joyfully will risk my
life to make good the prophetic words of Talander. You shall see me
either with the ring or not at all. In the latter case shed a tear
over my grave.” And before the Fräulein could raise her hand to
prevent him, the audacious man rushed into the shaft, and with a dull
and rumbling noise pieces of earth and stones rolled after him into the
dark abyss.
“He is lost,” sighed Tugendreich, sinking into the arms of Gundchen,
who, astonished by the clear light which broke upon her at this moment,
could not feel the same grief for the lost man.
With a look of affection Tugendreich bent down over the shaft, so that
Gundchen thought it advisable to lay hold of the dress of her mistress
to prevent her from following her beloved, should she be inclined to do
so. A joyful sound now resounded from the depth below, and immediately
Axel was struggling up the shaft through various minerals that had shot
out in the shape of goblins, and with bleeding hand presented the lost
ring to the Fräulein. With a heavenly look the astonished girl thanked
him, while tears of gratitude fell on the wounded hand, which Axel
eagerly kissed away. Now, for the first time, she saw the blood on his
hand, shrieked aloud, and insisted upon binding the wound herself of
which she had been the cause. Slowly he offered his hand. Not seeing
the handkerchief which her maid offered, the Fräulein took her own,
binding it with the ribbon of the bow she wore on her own bosom. As
she let go his hand Axel fancied that he felt a gentle pressure, but
before he had time to think of this happy moment in which he saw a
symbol of his future happiness, the lovely girl had fled like a
frightened roe. As if in a dream he slowly pursued his way to the
castle, where Talander received him at the gate, being commissioned
from the Fräulein, and ready for every emergency, took out his case of
surgical instruments to dress his wound in due form. While doing this
the old man said, “You have a fine hand, almost too delicately formed
for your station; I suppose you have also seen military service, these
hard parts show that you have frequently handled the sword.”
“Ah, true,” stammered the patient, embarrassed.
“You seem altogether a strange customer,” continued Talander “and I am
somewhat curious to know more of you. Pray just show me the palm of
your hand.”
“Never mind such fooleries, magister,” said Axel, withdrawing his hand.
“Only ignorance judges hastily of what it does not understand,” said
the magister, angrily. “How can you thus with contempt reject that
noble chiromancy to which I have devoted myself for nearly a
generation.” Forcibly seizing the wounded hand he examined it long and
closely, then said, muttering, “Well, these lines indicate that you
were born for something superior to a stable. This line may be truly
called the _cingulum veneris_, it promises success in love; and here
are fame and honour and high dignities. Ah, ah, friend, you are not
what you appear.”
“Your crotchets deceive you in a singular manner,” said Axel,
embarrassed, and wishing to escape.
“The old Talander is no woman,” said the magister, “and therefore has
no crotchets, and has never deceived himself yet.” And, retaining his
hold of Axel, he added, “I tell you plainly you are no groom, and if
you were not a good evangelical Christian, and had not a pair of clear
faithful eyes, through which one may imagine that one can look into
your very heart, I should say you had some wicked design, and I should
communicate my suspicions to the baron.”
“By heavens and my honour,” cried Axel, warmly, “my intentions are
pure.”
“A groom may indeed be an honest man,” said Talander, mockingly, “but
it is something uncommon for him to give his word of honour; it sounds
rather cavalier-like, and you must act more in character. I have done
now,” continued he, fastening the bandage; “give me the handkerchief
and ribbon to return to the Fräulein.”
“Never,” cried Axel, as he concealed the precious pledges in his bosom.
“‘Never;’ say you, youngster! you are rather too bold for me,” said the
old man, menacing with his finger. “Go, settle it yourself with the
Fräulein. There she stands in the garden, near the rose-tree, herself
the most beautiful rose in the garden. How wicked must be that worm
that would malignantly approach this flower to poison its sweet
bloom--are you not of the same opinion?”
“Indeed I am of the same opinion,” said the groom; “be unconcerned
about this sweet flower which so proudly sets forth your care as its
gardener. With the ray of love it will bloom more beautifully, and if
myrtle and laurel shall once be entwined around it you will weep tears
of joy.”
“Amen,” said the old man, with emotion, and Axel ran to the garden to
Tugendreich.
“The magister demanded from me the handkerchief and ribbon in your
name, Fräulein,” said Axel; “I only bring you back the former, stained
with the blood which flowed for you. May it speak a friendly word for
poor Axel, when some day he will sigh far from you. The ribbon I must
keep. It rested on your angelic heart, it is hallowed, and it will
also hallow and purify the heart upon which it shall rest from this
time.”
Tugendreich wished to answer but was unable, she wished to look up but
could not. It then occurred to her that she ought really to be
indignant at this audacity, but that she could do still less; and the
beautiful rose which she held in her hand became the victim of her
inward struggle, for she plucked off leaf after leaf, dropping them on
the ground.
“May I keep the ribbon?” asked Axel, imploringly. She at length raised
her beautiful eyes, and a ray of love flashed powerfully from them.
Enraptured he stretched out his arms to embrace her; deeply blushing,
she sank into them, and he pressed the first pure kiss of ardent love
on her lips. At this moment the baron suddenly appeared from behind
the hedge, contemplating the group with a truly noble horror. “Begone
to the castle!” he cried to his daughter; “to the stable!” he cried, in
a voice of thunder, to Axel. Like a finger-post, he pointed to the
places mentioned, and the frightened couple obeyed in silence.
* * * * *
In anxious expectation of what would follow, Tugendreich had been
standing for some time in the window of the baronial hall, from which
she had in the morning admired Axel’s horsemanship, when her father
came up to her with a wrathful countenance, seized her hand, and led
her to the gigantic portrait of the ancestors of the Starschedels,
which gloomily and menacingly looked down, as it were, from the gold
frame upon the delinquent. “Who is that?” asked the baron, with
suppressed wrath.
“Magnus von Starschedel, the founder of our family,” repeated
Tugendreich, words which had been impressed on her memory from infancy.
“In the war against the emperor, Henry IV., Duke Rodolph of Swabia
dubbed him knight, A.D. 1078, at Stronow, near Mellenstädt; and he fell
in the battle fought against the same emperor, near Würzburg, A.D.
1086, after his valour had contributed to gain the victory.”
“What think you this glorious knight would have done, if he had, like
myself, seen you from behind the hedge?” asked her father, while
Tugendreich cast her eyes down on the squares of the inlaid floors.
“He would have cleft the head of the unfaithful servant,” continued the
baron, raising his voice, “and thrown the degenerate girl into the
dungeon, until he should have placed her and her passion for ever in a
cloister.”
The Fräulein gave a silent assent to the justice of this sentence.
“Tugendreich! Tugendreich!” continued her father, reproaching her;
“why did I give you this lovely name?[2] I ought to have christened
you Philippe, for Talander has interpreted this name to me, to mean a
lover of horses, and it would therefore be some excuse for your
predilection for the stable.”
Now a feeling of pride rose within her, and she cried, “I deserve
blame, but do not merit your contempt. My feelings are pure, and I
need not be ashamed of him.”
The furious impetuosity of noble wrath would now have broken through
the last barrier of paternal love, when fortunately for the poor
Fräulein a loud shriek of terror resounded from the court-yard, and
Talander entered the hall with a countenance as pale as death. “May
God and his holy gospel protect us,” exclaimed the old man. “A swarm
of Croats is storming through the country, and may probably come this
very night.”
“Well,” replied the baron, with affected composure, “Saxony has nothing
to fear from the troops of his Imperial Majesty.”
“So you think, my lord, but I do not,” rejoined the magister,
trembling. “People whisper already about the alliance concluded
between Saxony and Sweden, and if the Croats are terrible even as
friends, may Heaven preserve us against their inroads as enemies. They
are said to commit the most awful havoc on the estates of the
protestant noblemen.”
The baron fell into an arm-chair as if thunder struck, and Tugendreich
was wringing her white hands as Axel entered the hall. A helmet
covered his head, a sword was rattling at his side, and before the old
baron could think of his wrath against him, he said in a firm and manly
tone, “The Croats are approaching, and will not want a pretext for
committing their depredations here as they have done every where else;
your property and life, and the honour of your lovely daughter are in
jeopardy. Nothing but a bold resistance can save you. Isolani’s
followers spare nothing, not even those who submit readily.”
“Are you out of your senses?” asked the baron. “With what force am I
to begin the struggle against an imperial army?”
“Only he who abandons himself is abandoned,” said Axel. “This castle
has high, strong walls and deep moats. I have raised a whole village,
and have armed your ranger and servants. If they follow my advice they
will all take refuge here with their property. We must give up the
village, and hold out here until succour comes.”