The Banished: A Swabian Historical Tale
by Wilhelm Hauff · English · Gutenberg #32071 · 822,606 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Banished: A Swabian Historical Tale
Author: Wilhelm Hauff
Editor: James Justinian Morier
Release date: April 20, 2010 [eBook #32071]
Most recently updated: January 6, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32071
Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen from scans provided by the Web Archive
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BANISHED: A SWABIAN HISTORICAL TALE ***
Produced by Charles Bowen from scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/banishedtrfroml00haufgoog
2. Numbering of chapters is in error starting with chapter XIII.
The Chapter number XIII. is duplicated; therefore all numbers
after XIII. are short by one.
3. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE BANISHED:
A
SWABIAN HISTORICAL TALE.
EDITED BY
JAMES MORIER, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF HAJII BABA, &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON,
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
* * *
1839.
LONDON: PRINTED BY J. B. NICHOLS AND SON,
25, PARLIAMENT STREET.
EDITOR'S NOTICE.
The Editor feels that he stands very much in the same position as the
man who plies at the door of the exhibition of some historical picture
or panorama, and who is ready to assure his visitors that the
exhibition is quite worthy their notice, and that they will neither
lose their time nor their money in inspecting it. Although, in this
instance, he really has no other merit than that of being trumpeter to
the show, yet he can in honesty assert, that, what he has been called
upon to read he sincerely approves, and maintains that the translator
of this work merits the approbation and patronage of the public for
having brought to its notice, and adapted to its reading, a story full
of historical interest, of graphic incidents, of good moral tendency,
and true in the illustration of the national manners of Germany in the
sixteenth century.
J. M.
London, March 25, 1839.
THE TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
The tale of THE BANISHED has been taken from a German work;[1] but
though considerable freedom has been used in the translation from the
original text; the subject matter has been closely followed. It appears
from the preface of M. Hauff, the author of this work, that his aim
was to give an account of an event which took place in his own country,
together with a faithful description of the national manners and
customs of the period of which he treats; and being written at the time
when the author of Waverley was as yet only known as the "Great
Unknown," it would seem that M. Hauff, impelled by the fascination of
his writings, has adopted him as his model, as may be seen from the
following extract from his introductory chapter: "Thanks to the happy
pencil of the renowned novelist, who has painted in such lively colours
the green banks of the Tweed, the Highlands of Scotland, old England's
merry day, and the romantic poverty of Wales, all classes among us read
his admirable works with avidity, rendered into our language in
faithful translations, and realizing to our minds historical events
which happened some six or seven hundred years back. Such is the effect
produced by these writings, that we shall be as well, if not better,
acquainted with the histories of those countries than if we had
investigated them ourselves with the most learned research. The Great
Unknown--having opened the stores of his chronicles, and brought in
review before our wondering eyes image after image, in almost endless
succession--has, by the power of his magic, taught us that we are
likely to become better versed in the details of Scotland's history
than our own; and by its means also has made us feel less intimate with
the religious and secular transactions our own country in past ages,
than with those of the Presbyterians and Episcopalians of Albion.
"But we naturally ask ourselves in what consists the enchantment by
which the great magician has so wonderfully drawn our attention towards
the mountainous district of his own land? Are the Scottish hills
clothed with a hue of brighter green than the Harz or Taunus mountains,
or the heights of the Black Forest? Do the blue waters of the Tweed
reflect a more brilliant colour than the Neckar or Danube; or do its
banks surpass those of the Rhine in beautiful landscape? May be, that
Scotland is gifted with a race of men possessing qualities of greater
interest than we can boast of in Germany; and that the blood which
flowed in the veins of their ancestors was of a deeper hue than that of
Swabians and Saxons of olden times; or again, that their women are more
engaging, and their maidens more beautiful, than the daughters of
Germany?
"We have reason to doubt all these superior advantages, and believe
that the magic of the Great Unknown consists principally in placing
before the reader historical facts which his fertile genius has
faithfully dressed up in the manners and costumes of the day in which
they took place. With the same view our object has been to bring to
light an event of our own country; in which we have been guided by
historical truth alone."
The translator having visited the spot where one of the principal
scenes of the narrative took place, his attention was drawn to the
original work, as giving a faithful description of its locality, and
containing an interesting account of an important occurrence in Swabian
history.
On Whitsunday, 1832, he formed one of a large concourse of people
assembled from all parts of the country, dressed in their gayest
colours and costumes, to join in the procession, which, headed by the
King of Würtemberg in person, with all his family, met for the express
purpose, as is generally the case every year on the same day, to visit
the "Nebelhöhle, or misty cavern, and the rock of Lichtenstein." This
spot, celebrated from the circumstances which the reader will become
acquainted with in the course of the narrative, is situated near the
town of Reutlingen, about thirty miles from Stuttgardt, in a country
full of picturesque beauties, and worthy of itself, as an object of
natural curiosity, to attract the attention of the traveller. The
translator cannot but hope, that when it is better known, which,
through the means of the following pages, he flatters himself may be
the case, that the beaten track pursued by the tourist on the Rhine may
find variety by a visit to the rock of Lichtenstein, and to the
Nebelhöhle; and that he thus may have been the means of producing that
greatest of desiderata to the desultory traveller, viz. "an object."
FOOTNOTE TO THE "TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE":
[Footnote 1: Lichtenstein.]
INTRODUCTION
"His varied life is toss'd on Faction's wave,
A leader now, and now a party's slave;
And shall his character a waverer's seem?
If that's a fault, impute it not to him;
He play'd a stake, and fortune threw the die;
So look upon him with a brother's eye.
We would for him an interest create,
His own his virtues, and his faults his fate."
SCHILLER.
The events which are recorded in the following pages, took place in
that part of Southern Germany situated between the mountainous district
of the Alb and the Black Forest. That portion of territory is bounded
by the former on the north-west, by a long chain of hills of unequal
height and breadth, extending southward, whilst the forest, commencing
from the sources of the Danube, stretches uninterruptedly to the banks
of the Rhine. Being composed of woods of black pine, it forms a dark
background to the beautiful picture produced by a luxuriant country,
rich in vineyards and watered by the Neckar, which flows through it.
This country, which is the "Würtemberg" treated of in these volumes,
was originally of small compass. Its previous history, which is
enveloped in darkness, tells us that it rose through various
conflicting struggles to its present position among the neighbouring
states. When we reflect on the time when it was surrounded by such
powerful frontier neighbours as the Stauffens, the Dukes of Teck and
the Counts of Zollern, we are astonished that its name should still
exist as a nation; for the repeated storms of internal as well as
external violence often threatened to erase it from the annals of
history. There was a time, indeed, when the head of the reigning family
was, to all appearance, driven for ever from the halls of his
ancestors. Duke Ulerich von Würtemberg being obliged to fly his country
and seek shelter in painful exile from the fury of his enemies, left
his castles in the possession of foreign masters, his lands being
occupied by their mercenaries. Little more was wanting to complete the
extinction of the name of Würtemberg, than the parcelling out of the
spoil of its blooming fields among the many, or the whole becoming a
province of the house of Austria.
Among the many events related by the Swabians of their country and
their ancestors, there is none more fraught with romantic interest than
the struggles of that period, which are closely connected with the
extraordinary fate of their unfortunate prince. We have attempted to
bring them to life again, as they have been related to us on the
heights of Lichtenstein and the banks of the Neckar, at the risk,
however, of being misapprehended. We shall probably be told that the
character of Ulerich[1] is one not fit to be exhibited in a favourable
point of view in an historical romance. He has been calumniated in many
instances, and it has been even the custom, when reviewing the long
list of Dukes of Würtemberg, to pass over in silence the descendant
between Eberhard[2] and Christoph, and to look upon him with a kind of
horror, as if the troubles of a country were to be attributed solely to
the conduct of its ruler, or that it were better to bury in oblivion
the days of its misfortunes.
It may, however, be a question, whether the condemnation pronounced on
the name of Ulerich, by his bitterest enemy Ulerich von Hutten, has not
been exaggerated; for, to say the least of it, he was too much a party
concerned to be trusted as an impartial judge. The voice which the Duke
and his family raised in vindication of his innocence of the crimes
imputed to him, having been too feeble to withstand the accusations and
calumnies of his enemies, contained in the flagitious publication
"Philippica in Ducem Ulericum," has been silenced by the revolutions of
time.
We have conscientiously compared most of the contemporaneous writers of
that most boisterous period, and have not met with one who absolutely
condemns him. It is but just to keep in view the powerful influence
which time and circumstances produce upon the minds of men. Ulerich von
Würtemberg was brought up under the guardianship of bad counsellors,
who, for the purpose of making him subservient to their views, fostered
the evil propensities of his mind. As he took the reins of government
into his own hands when boyhood is scarcely ripened into youth, justice
at least compels us to make allowances, and though we cannot extenuate
the outrages he committed during the course of his career, we are bound
to look to the noble side of his character, in which we shall discover
strength of mind and undaunted courage, in circumstances of extreme
difficulty.
The year 1519, the date of our narrative, decided his fate and saw the
beginning of his misfortunes. Posterity, however, may date it as the
era of his prosperity; for, having passed through the ordeal of a long
banishment, in which he learnt to know himself, he came out of it a
wiser man and a more powerful Prince. From that period fortune favoured
him, and each Würtemberger has cause to prize the latter years of his
government, esteeming the religious reformation which this prince
effected in his country, as the greatest blessing conferred on his
countrymen.
The public mind, in the year 1519, was still in a state of great
excitement. The insurrection of "poor Conrad,[3]" six years before, had
been partially quelled, though with difficulty. The country people in
many places still shewed symptoms of discontent. The Duke, among his
many failings, had not the method of gaining the affections of his
subjects, for they were oppressed by his men in office, under his own
eye, and burdened with accumulated taxes to satisfy the wants of the
court. The Swabian League, composed of a formidable confederacy of
princes, counts, knights, and free cities of Swabia and Franconia,
formed originally for the mutual protection of their rights, was
treated with contempt by the Duke, particularly owing to his refusal to
become a member of it. His frontier neighbours, therefore, watched his
actions with the eye of enmity, appearing to wait for an opportunity to
let him feel the weight of the power which he had despised. Neither was
the Emperor Maximilian, who reigned at that period; very well inclined
towards him, since he was suspected of having supported the knight Götz
von Berlichingen, for the purpose of avenging himself on the Elector of
Mains.
A coolness had subsisted for some time between him and the Duke of
Bavaria, his brother-in-law, a powerful neighbour, owing to his having
ill-treated his wife Sabina, the Duke's sister. Added to that (and
which hastened his downfall) was the supposed murder of a Franconian
knight who lived at his court. Chronicles of undoubted authority
mention, that the intimacy between Johann yon Hutten and Sabina was
such that the Duke could not behold it with indifference. One day at a
hunt, the Duke taxed him with, and upbraided him for his treacherous
conduct, and calling upon him to defend his life, run him through the
body. The family of Hutten, and particularly Ulerich, Johann's cousin,
raised their voices against the supposed murderer; and their complaints
and the cry of vengeance resounded throughout Germany. The Duchess
also, whose imperious querulous temper had, even as a bride, irritated
the Duke, now broke all ties with him; and flying with the aid of
Dieterich von Spät, appeared before the Emperor as his accuser and
bitterest enemy. Agreements between the contending parties were
concluded and not held; peaceable adjustments of their grievances were
no sooner proposed than broken off again. The Duke's troubles augmented
from month to month; but his proud mind would not bend to submission,
for he believed himself in the right. The Emperor died in the midst of
these altercations. He was a prince who had manifested much forbearance
and mildness of character towards Ulerich, in spite of the many
complaints of his enemies. The Duke lost in him an impartial judge, to
whom he could alone look for aid in his present troubles.
The funeral service for the Emperor was being performed in the Castle
of Stuttgardt, when a messenger suddenly arrived, seeking the Duke,
with the intelligence that some people of the imperial town of
Reutlingen, which lay within his frontier, had slain the administrator
of his woods and forests on the Achalm. The townsfolk had, on some
former occasion, insulted him very keenly. He entertained a bitter
hatred of them; and this circumstance now gave him an opportunity to
satisfy his revenge. Easily excited by anger, he sprang upon his horse,
ordered the drums to beat the alarm throughout the country, besieged
the city, and gaining possession of it, compelled its inhabitants to
swear allegiance to him, whereby the imperial town became part of
Würtemberg.
This was the signal for the Swabian League to assemble their forces,
Reutlingen being a member of the confederacy. Difficult as it might
otherwise have been to summon these princes, counts, and cities
together, they did not hesitate, in the present instance, to obey the
call, for hatred and revenge form a strong cement. In vain did Ulerich
defend his conduct by written proclamations; in vain did he attempt to
justify it in the defence of his rights; the army of the League
assembled in Ulm, and threatened his country with invasion.
Such was the state of affairs in Würtemberg at the commencement of the
year 1519. There was no doubt of the Duke gaining many adherents, could
he have maintained the superiority in the field; but woe to him if he
were discomfited by the League. There was too heavy a debt of revenge
to be paid before he could expect mercy at their hands.
All eyes in Germany looked anxiously to the result of this contest.
They essayed to pierce the curtain of fate, and to prognosticate what
the coming days were likely to bring forth, whether Würtemberg or the
League should remain master of the field. The following pages will
withdraw this curtain, and expose the principal characters, who took a
leading part, in due order; and we trust the eye of the reader will not
turn away too soon fatigued with the narrative.
It surely is not an uninteresting occupation to peruse, in our days, an
historical tale of olden times; and therefore it is our hope, as it has
been our aim, to excite the interest of our readers in one, the events
of which, though they occurred in so secluded a spot as the Swabian
Alb, and in the remote, but delightful, vallies of the Neckar, we trust
that the few hours spent in their perusal will not be thrown away.
Germany is not less rife in romantic events than other countries;
and she can likewise draw largely upon the history of civil strife,
equally interesting to our mind, as those recorded in the pages of more
well-known states. We have, consequently, ventured to unroll an
historical Swabian painting, which, if it does not exhibit the bold
outline of figures, the same enchanting composition of landscape--if
the colouring be less brilliant, and the pencilling less clearly
defined--than the works of other authors, the artist may safely shelter
himself under its historical truth, to make up for the deficiencies of
composition.
FOOTNOTES TO THE "INTRODUCTION":
[Footnote 1: Ulerich von Würtemberg was born in 1487, was invested in
1498 as Duke, with a Co-regency, which he dissolved in his sixteenth
year, and reigned alone from the year 1508. He died in 1550.]
[Footnote 2: Eberhard with the beard was born in 1445, and died 1469.
He was the first Duke of Würtemberg, and founded the University of
Tübingen in 1477. Christoph, born in 1515, and died in 1568, was a
prince whose remembrance is not only blessed in Würtemberg, but also in
all Germany. He was the founder of the constitution of Würtemberg.]
[Footnote 3: So called from the name of a poor peasant, who headed his
oppressed fellow-sufferers, in an insurrection for the redress of their
wrongs, calling themselves the "League of poor Conrad."]
THE BANISHED.
CHAPTER I.
What means the drum, that deeply rolls?
What means this warlike cry?
I'll to the casement, tho' my soul's
Misgivings tell me why.
L. UHLAND.
After a succession of gloomy days the imperial town of Ulm, on the 12th
of March 1519, at length was enlivened by a fine bright morning. Mists
from the Danube, which at such a season generally hung heavily over the
town, had on this occasion been dispelled before noon by the sun, and
as it rose, the view of the plain on the opposite side of the river
became gradually clearer and more extended. The narrow, cold streets,
inclosed by their dark gable-ended houses, were also lighted up more
bright than usual, and shone with a brilliancy and cheerfulness which
accorded well with the festive appearance of the town on that day. The
main street, called the Herdbrucker street, leading from the Danube
gate to the town hall, was on this morning thronged with people, whose
heads were so closely packed on either side against the houses (like
stones of a wall) that they left but a narrow passage through the
middle. A hollow murmur, the indication of great expectation, which
issued from the crowd, was only occasionally interrupted by a loud
laugh, caused by the severity of the city guard, celebrated for its
strictness and its antiquity, who, using their long halberds, pushed
back with appropriate rudeness whoever was unfortunate enough to be
squeezed out of his place into the middle of the street; or perchance
by some wag, who, by way of joke, would exclaim, "Here they come, here
they come!" causing disappointment to the anxious assemblage of
spectators.
The throng was still more dense in the spot where the termination of
the Herdbrucker street enters the square before the town hall. It was
there that the different trades were posted; the guild of boatmen, with
their masters at their head, the weavers, the carpenters, the brewers,
all displaying their banners and the emblems of their vocation, were
drawn up, clad in their Sunday dresses and well armed.
But if the multitude in the streets presented a jovial holiday
spectacle, much more was that the case in the lofty surrounding houses.
Well dressed women and young girls crowded the windows, which were
adorned with many-coloured carpets and floating drapery, giving to the
whole an appearance of beautiful paintings set in splendid frames.
The corner bow-window of the house of Hans von Besserer presented the
greatest attraction. Within it stood two young maidens, each strikingly
conspicuous by their uncommon beauty, but so much differing in looks,
height, and dress, that whoever remarked them from the street, might
remain some time in doubt to which to give the preference.
Both appeared to be under eighteen years of age: the tallest of the two
was delicately made; rich auburn hair encircled a fine open forehead,
the vaulted arch of her dark eyebrows, the placid blue eye, the
delicately turned mouth, the soft colour of her cheek, were unrivalled.
She altogether formed a picture, which, among the beauties of the
present day, would not have failed to be distinguished; but in those
times, when a higher colour, upon a face partaking of the form of an
apple, was more admired, it was principally by her graceful demeanor
that she drew attention.
The other, smaller, and possessing in a greater degree the attractive
qualities suited to the times, was one of those thoughtless, merry
beings, who are conscious that they possess the power of pleasing. Her
brilliant fair hair, according to the fashion of the ladles of Ulm,
fell in long braids behind and in ringlets in front, and was partly
covered by a neat white cap, full of small tasteful plaits. Her round
fresh face was ever in motion: her lively eyes, still more restless,
wandered through the crowd below; and her laughing mouth, exhibiting at
every moment a set of beautiful teeth, evidently showed that objects
were not wanting, among the numerous groups and figures of adventurers,
upon which to exercise the playfulness of her wit.
Behind them stood a large, broad-shouldered, elderly man, with deep,
stern features, thick eyebrows, long thin beard, already sprinkled with
grey hairs, and his dress so entirely black, that its hue contrasted
strangely with the rich and lively colours of those about him. He wore
a thoughtful, almost a sorrowful look, scarcely ever relaxing into one
more cheerful, excepting when a momentary gleam of kindness would shoot
through his countenance, like a flash of lightning, at some happy
remark of the merry fair one. This group, so varied in colours and
dress as well as in character, attracted much of the attention of the
bystanders immediately beneath them. Many an eye gazed upon the pretty
girls, whose fascinating appearance helped to beguile the time of the
idle and staring multitude, now growing impatient to witness the sight
for which they were assembled.
The time was now approaching the hour of noon. The crowd became
restless at the long delay, and manifested an increased impatience, by
pressing and pushing upon each other in rather a turbulent manner;
whilst here and there, tired of standing, several of the more sober
members of the trades seated themselves on the ground. When, however,
the report of three guns, fired from the fort on the hill on the
furthermost side of the river, and the sound of the cathedral bells in
deep tones began to echo over the town, order was speedily restored
throughout the anxious ranks.
"They are coming, Bertha, they are coming!" said the fair girl in the
balcony window, and put her arm around the waist of her companion, as
she stretched out her neck to the utmost.
The house of the Herrn von Besserer formed the corner of the forenamed
street, having a window on one side of it looking towards the Danube
gate, and another on the other side commanding a view of the town hall,
by which means the party were in a good position to see the expected
sight.
The space between the two rows of the people was, in the meantime, with
difficulty kept sufficiently open by the town guards. Anxious stillness
now reigned throughout the immense crowd, whilst the deep tolling of
the bells alone broke the silence.
The deadened sound of drums, blended with the shrill clang of trumpets,
was shortly after heard, and a long brilliant train of horsemen moved
slowly through the gate. The appearance of the town drummers and
trumpeters, and the mounted body of the sons of the patricians of Ulm,
was too much of an everyday occurrence to excite any great sensation on
the present occasion; but when the black and white banners of the town,
emblazoned with the imperial eagle, accompanied by flags and standards
of all sizes and colours, came floating in the breeze through the gate,
the spectators then became sure that the long wished-for moment was
arrived.
The curiosity of our two young beauties in the balcony became doubly
excited when they observed the crowd in the lower part of the street
respectfully take off their caps.
Mounted upon a strong bony horse a man approached, whose stately
carriage, affable and open countenance, contrasted strangely with a
deep stern brow, and whose hair and beard were slightly tinged with
grey. He wore a hat pointed at the crown, adorned with many feathers, a
cuirass over a close-fitted red jacket, and leather buskins slashed
with silk, which might have been handsome when new, but by dint of bad
weather and hard work had now assumed an uninterrupted dark-brown
colour,--large heavy riding boots came up to his knees; his only
weapon, a singularly large sword, with a long handle, and without
basket-guard, completed the figure of the warrior. The sole ornament
worn by this man was a long gold chain of massive rings, twisted five
times around his neck, having a medallion of merit of the same metal
attached to it, which hung upon his breast.
"Tell me, quickly, uncle, who is that stately man, who at once looks so
young and so old?" said the fair girl, as she turned her head a little
towards the man in black standing behind her.
"I can tell you, Marie," he answered; "that is George von Fronsberg,
commander of the confederate infantry; an honourable man, did he but
serve a better cause."
"Keep your remarks to yourself, Mr. Würtemberger," she replied, whilst
she playfully threatened him with her finger; "you know that the
maidens of Ulm are staunch confederates."
Her uncle, however, not heeding her reply, proceeded: "That one on the
grey horse is Truchses von Waldburg, second in command. He also owes a
debt of gratitude to our Würtemberg. Behind him come the colonels of
the League. By heaven! they look like hungry wolves seeking for prey."
"Oh! what a set of miserable figures," remarked Marie to her cousin
Bertha, "they surely are not worth the trouble we have taken of
dressing; but hold, who is that young man in black on the brown horse?
just look at his pale countenance, with his fiery black eyes; on his
shield is written, 'I have ventured.'"
"That is the knight Ulerich von Hutten," replied the old man. "May God
forgive his calumny against our Duke. Children! he is a learned, pious
man, but the Duke's bitterest enemy; and I say so, for what is true
must remain true. And there, those are Sickingen's colours. Truly, he
is there himself! Look this way, girls; that is Franz von Sickingen. It
is said he brings a thousand horsemen into the field; that is him, with
the plain cuirass and red feather."
"But tell me, uncle," asked Marie again, "which of them is Götz von
Berlichingen, of whom cousin Kraft has related so much to us; he is a
powerful man, by all accounts, and has a hand of iron; does not he ride
among the burghers?"
"Do not name Götz and the burghers in the same breath," said the old
man, seriously; "he holds for Würtemberg."
The greatest part of the procession had, during this conversation,
passed by under the windows; and Marie remarked, with astonishment, the
indifference and unconcern with which her relation Bertha viewed it.
The usual manner of her cousin was thoughtful; indeed, at times she
appeared in a state of absence to all surrounding objects; but on such
a day as this, to be so perfectly insensible to the brilliancy of the
passing scene, was, in Marie's mind, to be guilty almost of
impropriety.
She was just on the point of upbraiding her, when her attention was
called to a sudden noise in the street. A large, powerful horse was
prancing immediately under their window, having probably taken fright
at the waving ensigns of the trades. The high crest and flowing main of
the steed sheltered the rider's face, and the feathers only of his cap
were visible to the spectators at the window; but the adroitness and
ease with which he managed his horse and kept him under command, proved
him to be a skilful cavalier. In his exertion to quiet him, his
light-brown hair had fallen over his face, and as he threw it back, his
look fell on the bow-window of the corner house.
"Well at last there is a handsome young man," whispered Marie to her
neighbour, so softly and secretly as if she feared to be overheard by
him; "and how polite and courteous he is! Look! I really think he has
saluted us, without knowing who we are."
Marie's curiosity was too much excited at the moment to notice the
sudden change which her remark had produced on her cousin's
countenance, who, to conceal her embarrassment, feigned to pay no
attention to what she said. Bertha had hitherto sat unconcerned,
viewing the passing procession with apparent cold indifference; but
when she recognised the young cavalier, and returned his salutation
with a slight inclination of the head, her cheek was suddenly suffused
with a burning blush, her thoughtful eye was animated into an
expression in which tender love and fearful anticipation predominated;
and though the smile about her mouth might bespeak joy at the sight of
the unexpected apparition, a keen observer could not have failed to
discover, that it betrayed somewhat of pain and regret. Her accustomed
self-possession, however, quickly regained the ascendancy over these
conflicting feelings, and thus her merry cousin, whose quick
penetration at any other moment would have been startled into surprise
at the alteration exhibited on the features of her whom she considered
wanting in tender sentiment, lost the opportunity of rallying her upon
this occasion.
Marie, pulling the old man by the cloak, cried, "Here, quickly,
uncle; tell me who is this with the light-brown scarf trimmed with
silver?--well?"
"Dear child," answered her uncle, "I have never seen him before.
Judging from his colours, he is in no particular service, but he, as
well as many others, wages war against the Duke my Lord for his own
individual pleasure and profit."
"Ah! there is no getting anything out of you," said Marie, and turned
away, annoyed at her uncle's indifference; "you can distinguish all the
old and learned men more than at a hundred yards off; but when one asks
you a question about a young and polite cavalier, you can tell one
nothing. And you too, Bertha, you open your eyes upon the procession
below as if the host were passing. I'll wager you did not see the
handsomest man of all; and thought only of old Fronsberg, when quite a
different set of men rode by."
By the time she had finished these her angry remarks, the principal
part of the procession had reached their station before the town hall;
the few remaining cavalry of the league which came up the street
possessed little interest for the two damsels. When the officers had
dismounted and gone into the town-hall for refreshment, and when the
members of the trades had been dismissed, the people by degrees began
to separate, and then the party in the balcony withdrew also from the
window.
Marie did not appear perfectly pleased. Her curiosity was only half
satisfied. She took care, however, not to let her stern old uncle
remark her disappointment; but when he left the room, she turned to
Bertha, who had retired to the window again, and stood there in deep
thought.
"Well," she said, "after all our anticipated expectations about this
procession, there was nothing worth making such a fuss about. But I
wonder who that handsome young cavalier was? I should like very much to
know his name! How very stupid it was of you, Bertha, not to notice
him; did I not push you when he saluted us? Light-brown hair, very long
and smooth,--friendly dark eyes,--the countenance a little tanned, but
handsome, very handsome! Small mustachios on the upper lip. No; I tell
you----but how red you get again all of a sudden, as if two maidens,
when they are alone, dare not speak of the pretty mouth of a young man.
We often converse upon such topics here in Ulm; but I suppose at your
good aunt's at Tübingen, and your strict father's in Lichtenstein, such
things were never mentioned; but I see you are dreaming again about
something or other, so I must look out for some thorough Ulmer girl
when I want to have a little gossip."
Bertha answered only by a smile, which expressed more than she dared to
utter; and Marie, taking a large bunch of keys which hung on the door,
hummed a song, and went to prepare for dinner. Though she might have
been accused of being rather over curious at the momentary appearance
of a courteous young cavalier, still that did not make her neglectful
of the important duties of a housekeeper.
She skipped out of the room, and left Bertha to her thoughts, which
we also will not disturb, whilst she now recalls to her mind the
endearing remembrance at gone-by days, which the appearance of the
afore-mentioned young cavalier called up at once from the depth of her
faithful heart. She dwelt on that time, when a hasty glance from him
would cheer the passing hours; she pondered on those nights when in her
retired room, undisturbed by her good aunt, she worked that scarf,
whose well-known colours awoke her now as out of a dream. We will not
at present pause to inquire the reason why, when blushing and with
downcast eyes, she asked herself, whether cousin Marie had rightly
described the sweet mouth of her beloved?
CHAPTER II.
And don't your heart now burn
While hope succeeds to fear?
Don't even youth return
To Swabia's land so dear?
J. SCHWAB.
The reader will have learned from the introductory preface the state of
affairs. Duke Ulerich of Würtemberg had brought upon himself the bitter
hatred of the Swabian League, by the obstinacy with which he braved so
many confederated princes and knights, by the furious expression of his
rage and threats of revenge, by the boldness with which he alone bid
them defiance, and last of all by the sudden military occupation of the
imperial town of Reutlingen. These were some of the principal
circumstances which led to the rupture. Others of a more private nature
fostered the bloody thoughts and thirst for revenge and plunder of
those who made a plea of individual insult the cause of uniting their
banners, for the downfall of the Duke and the partition of his
possessions.
The principal officers of the Swabian League were the Duke of Bavaria,
whose object was to procure satisfaction for the ill treatment of his
sister Sabina, Ulerich's wife--the knights of the Huttens to revenge
the supposed murder of the cousin of their ancestor--Dieterich von Spät
and his companions to wash out the disgrace of family insult in
Würtemberg's misfortunes--and to these were added the authorities of
the towns and boroughs, who desired to recover Reutlingen again from
the occupation of Duke Ulerich's troops. They headed the pompous entry
into Ulm we have described in the foregoing pages, and arrived on the
same day from Augsburg, where they had assembled. War was therefore now
inevitable, for it was not to be supposed that they would propose terms
of peace to the Duke, after having proceeded thus far.
But of a much more peaceable and cheerful cast were the ideas of Albert
von Sturmfeder, that "courteous, polite cavalier," who had so highly
awaken Marie's curiosity, and whose unexpected appearance had coloured
the cheeks of Bertha with so deep a red. He scarcely knew himself how
he came to take part in this campaign; for though he was acquainted
with the use of arms, yet he had not been trained to them. Sprung from
a poor but not obscure family of Franconia, he became an orphan at an
early age, and was brought up by his father's brother. A learned
education began even in those days to be considered an ornament to the
nobility, and his uncle, therefore, chose the path of literature for
him. It is not mentioned whether he made much progress in learning in
the university of Tübingen, then in its infancy; thus much, however, is
known, that he took a warmer interest in the daughter of the knight of
Lichtenstein, who lived with her aunt in that town of the Muses, than
in the lectures of the most celebrated doctors. It is also related that
she resisted with pertinacious determination the different attacks
with which many a young student assailed her heart. But although all
kinds of man[oe]uvres to conquer a hard heart were well understood in
those days, (for the youth of ancient Tübingen had, perhaps, studied
their Ovid better than those of the present), neither nocturnal
love-complaints, nor yet furious encounters between rivals to gain
possession of her, could soften the maiden's apparent obduracy. One
only succeeded in winning this heart, and that one was Albert. The
lovers, indeed, divulged to no one when and where the first ray of
tender feeling dawned in their hearts, and far be it from us to wish to
penetrate the veil of mystery of first love, or even to relate things
which we cannot substantiate; we can nevertheless assert this much,
that they had already reached to that degree of love, when true lovers
swear eternal fidelity, amidst the interruptions of external
circumstances, and which, in the painful hour of separation, proved
their only consolation. Her much-loved aunt having died, the knight of
Lichtenstein sent for his daughter to Ulm, for the purpose of finishing
her education there, under the roof of a married sister. Bertha's
nurse, old Rosel, remarked that the burning tears which she shed, and
the longing eyes with which Bertha over and over again looked back as
they left the town, could not have been given alone to the hilly
country to which she was bidding adieu.
Shortly after Bertha's departure, Albert received a communication from
his uncle, in which the question was put to him, whether after four
years' study he was not now learned enough? He readily complied with
this hint, and, without a moment's hesitation, prepared to quit the
university; for since Bertha's absence, the lectures of the learned
doctors, and even the charming valley of the Neckar, were become
hateful to him.
The fresh air from the hills invigorated him with renewed force, as he
rode through the gate of Tübingen towards his home, on a fine morning
in February. In proportion as his bodily frame was braced by the
freshness of the morning, so was his soul raised to that cheerful
elevation of spirits so natural to his age. Youth vainly imagines
itself capable, by its own powers, to bring about its most anxious
wishes, and it is this reliance on self which inspires more confidence
than assistance from others.
When Albert was left to his own thoughts as he paced his lonely way
homewards, the contemplation of his future prospects were wrapped in
mysterious uncertainty, which led his mind to compare his present
position with the clear lake which reflects on its surface the cheerful
objects rising around its banks, but veils the treacherous depth of its
waters by its bright colours.
Such was the feeling of Albert von Sturmfeder as he rode through the
beechwood forest towards his home. This road did not, indeed, lead him
nearer to his beloved; neither could he properly call anything his own
besides the horse which he bestrode, and the ruined castle of his
ancestors. Upon this castle there was a popular joke, which ran thus:--
A house on three props you'll find:
Whoever enters in front,
Has no room to sit behind.
But although he was well aware of his poverty, and was awake to his
needy circumstances, still he knew that with a determined will a
hundred paths were open to him by which he might attain his object, and
that the old Roman saying, _Fortes fortuna juvat_, had never yet
deceived him. The present state of excitement in the country appeared
to afford him an opportunity by which, after some active employment, he
might hope soon to realise the object of his wishes.
The result of the contest which was about to commence, appeared at
that time very uncertain. The Swabian League, though it possessed
experienced commanders and disciplined soldiers, was nevertheless
weakened through disunion. Duke Ulerich, on his side, had enlisted
14,000 Swiss, brave and experienced warriors; he could bring into the
field, out of his own country, numerous and hardy troops, but not so
experienced as the others; and thus stood the state of affairs in
February 1519.
When every one around him was taking an active part, Albert also
determined not to remain an idle spectator: a war, he thought, might
open a path to lead him sooner towards the object of his desire than
any other, and by which he might hope to render himself worthy of
meriting the hand of his beloved.
Neither of the contending parties had, indeed, any claim upon his
heart. People of the country spoke ill of the duke, whilst the views of
the League did not appear to be influenced by the purest motives. But
when he heard that several knights and counts, whose properties
adjoined the duke's, urged by the loud, and, as he thought, just
complaints of the Huttens, against the tyrannical conduct of Ulerich,
had withdrawn their allegiance from him, he was induced to join the
League; being unaware that they had been corrupted by money, and the
seductive prospect of rich plunder, to overrun his country. But the
news of the count of Lichtenstein being in Ulm with his daughter
was, in truth, the mainspring which influenced and confirmed his
determination; for he thought he could not be far wrong if he took the
side on which Bertha's father acted, and therefore tendered his
services to the confederates.
The knights of Franconia, headed by Ludwig von Hutten, approached
Augsburg at the beginning of March, for the purpose of joining Ludwig
von Baiern, and the rest of the members of the League. The army being
collected, their march resembled more a triumphal procession as they
approached the territory of their enemy, than regular military
proceedings.
Duke Ulerich was encamped at Blaubeuren, the frontier town of his
possessions towards Bavaria and Ulm. In the latter place the great
council of war of the League was appointed to deliberate upon the plan
of the campaign, and they then hoped, in a short time, to force the
Würtembergers to a decisive battle. Things having gone thus far,
negotiations for peace were out of the question: war was the watchword,
and victory the only thought of the army.
Albert's heart beat high when he thought that his first trial in the
career of arms would soon be put to the test; but whoever may have been
placed in a similar situation will readily find excuses for him, if
feelings of a more tender nature at times possessed his soul, and made
him forget his dreams of battle and victory.
As the army approached the town, a fresh east wind wafted towards them
the salute of the heavy artillery on the walls, and the sound of all
the bells ringing to welcome their arrival from the opposite side of
the river. He first obtained sight of the lofty cathedral in the
distance, emerging from a fog, which, gradually clearing away as he
drew near, displayed the town with its dark brick houses and high
entrance-towers to his view. At that moment the conflicting doubts and
anxieties which had long assailed his breast oppressed him more than
ever. "Do those walls indeed inclose my beloved? May not her father,
perhaps, contrary to my hopes, be the faithful friend of the duke, and
concealed among his enemies? and if such be the case, dare I, whose
only hope is to gain his good will--dare I stand opposed to him without
blasting my own happiness? And should her father have really taken part
with the enemy, can his daughter possibly be with him? But even were my
best hopes realised, and should she be among the spectators assembled
to witness the entry of the army, shall I find her still true to that
faith she has plighted?" These and many other anxious thoughts passed
through his mind in rapid succession.
The last distressing thought, however, gave way to a pleasing
certainty; for if all kind of disaster were leagued against him
Bertha's fidelity, he felt convinced, remained unaltered. He pressed
the scarf she had given him to his breast; and now, as the Ulm cavalry
fell into the line, their trumpets and cornets playing martial music,
his natural cheerfulness returned, he rose prouder in his saddle, and
as they passed up the gaily adorned streets, his quick eye examined all
the windows of the lofty houses, seeking her alone.
There he perceived her, serious and thoughtful, as she viewed the
passing scene. He fancied her thoughts might be occupied with him, whom
she supposed to be far distant from her. He gave his horse the spur,
which made him bound in the air, and the pavement resound under the
clash of his hoofs. But as she turned towards him, and their eyes met,
and judging by the joyful blush which animated her features, that she
assured him he was recognised and still beloved, then it was that poor
Albert nearly lost all recollection of his situation; for though he
followed the march to the town-hall, so great was his desire to linger
in the neighbourhood of his beloved, that little was wanting to make
him forget all other considerations, and be irresistibly drawn to the
corner house with the bow window.
He had already made the first step in that direction, when he felt his
arm grasped by a powerful hand. "What drives you in this direction,
young man?" said a deep, well-known voice; "this is not the way to the
town-hall. Hallo! I really believe you are faint from fatigue: no
wonder, indeed, that you should be, for the breakfast was a very meagre
one. But never mind, my lad, come along. The Ulmers give good wine, and
we will treat you to some of the best sort, old Remsthaler."
Though the transition from the raptured joy in which his mind for some
moments floated, when he first saw his love, to the bustle before the
town-hall in Ulm, was somewhat sudden, he could not help being thankful
to his friend, old Herrn von Breitenstein, his nearest neighbour on the
frontier of Franconia, for awakening him out of his momentary dream,
and saving him from making a precipitate, foolish step.
He therefore took the advice of the old gentleman in a friendly way,
and with him followed the rest of the knights and nobles, whose
appetites were well sharpened by their long morning ride for the good
mid-day meal, which was prepared for them by the imperial free city in
the town-hall.
CHAPTER III.
The sound or music greets my ear,
The castle glares with light:
What means these varied sounds I hear?
Who banquets here to-night?
SCHILLER.
The saloon of the town-hall, into which the guests were ushered, formed
a large oblong. The walls, and the ceiling, low in proportion to the
size of the room, were wainscoted with brown wood; numerous round
windows, on which were painted the arms of the nobles of Ulm in bright
colors, occupied one side of it; whilst on the walls opposite were
suspended the portraits of renowned burgomasters and councillors of the
town. They were all painted in the same position, that is, the left
hand supported on the hip, the right resting on a table covered with
rich cloth, and looking down on the guests of their descendants with
grave and solemn, aspect. The assembled company crowded in mixed groups
about the table, which being in the form of a horseshoe, occupied
nearly the whole length of the apartment. The brilliant festive costume
of the grand council and patricians, who were to do the honours of the
day in the name of the town, was not in keeping when compared with that
of their guests, who, covered with dust, and clad in leather and steel,
discomposed the silk cloaks and velvet dresses of their entertainers in
no very ceremonious manner, and much to their annoyance.
They waited some time for the Duke of Bavaria, who, having arrived in
Ulm a few days before, had accepted the invitation to this brilliant
feast; but when his page brought an excuse that he could not attend,
the signal by sound of trumpet was given to take places. The rush to
the table in consequence was so impetuous that it was impossible to put
the preconcerted friendly intentions of the council into execution, by
which a citizen of Ulm was to sit between each two of their guests.
Breitenstein secured a seat for Albert at the lower end of the table,
which he said was one of the best places. "I could have put you," said
the old man, "among our seniors, near Fronsberg, Sickingen, Hutten, and
Waldburg at the head of the table, but in such company etiquette and
reserve will infringe upon the more important consideration of
gratifying the cravings of hunger with ease and comfort. We might have
gone further up also, among the Nürnbergers and Augsburgers; there
where the roasted peacock is, which I declare is not a bad place; but I
know you do not like such townsfolk, and therefore brought you here.
Look around you, is it not a capital position? As we do not know the
faces hereabouts it will not be necessary to talk much. On the right we
have a smoking hot pig's head, with a lemon stuck in its mouth; on the
left a magnificent trout biting its tail for joy; and in our front a
roebuck, not to be matched for its tender meat and quantity of fat the
whole length of the table or elsewhere."
Albert thanked him for his kindness, and took a hasty glance at those
immediately about him. On his right sat a good-looking young man about
twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. His neat-combed hair, throwing
out a perfume of some highly-scented ointment, his small beard,
evidently having just gone through the ordeal of warm curling irons,
made Albert suspect, even before he was further convinced of it by his
dialect, that he was a gay Ulmer citizen. The young man, perceiving
himself to be the object of his neighbour's observation, made himself
very officious. He filled Albert's glass from a large silver tankard,
and pledged him to drink to a better acquaintance and good fellowship;
he then offered to help him the best slices of roebuck, hare, pork,
pheasant, and wild duck, which lay before them in great profusion on
large silver dishes.
But neither the officious kindness of his neighbour, nor the uncommon
appetite of Breitenstein, could provoke Albert to eat. His mind was too
much occupied with the beloved object he had seen in entering the town
to follow the example of his neighbours. He sat full of thought,
looking into his tankard, which he still held in his hand; and as the
bubbles on the surface of the sparkling wine dispersed, he fancied he
saw the portrait of his love in the gilded bottom of it. No wonder then
that his sociable friend on his right, seeing how his guest held his
tankard, and refused every dish which he offered him, took him for an
incorrigible wine-bibber. His keen eye, which was fixed upon the object
before him, appeared to point the youth out as one of those perfect
connoisseurs of wine, whose refined taste liked to dwell upon the
quality of the noble beverage.
For the purpose of seconding the good intentions of the grand council,
namely, that of rendering the feast as pleasant as possible to their
guests, the young Ulmer sought all means to discover the weak point of
his neighbour. It was, indeed, contrary to his moderate habits to drink
much wine; but, in the hopes of rendering himself agreeable to Albert,
he thought he would stretch a point this once. He filled his goblet
full, and said, "Don't you think, neighbour, this wine has fire in it,
and is high flavoured? It is not, indeed, Würtemberger wine, such as
you are accustomed to drink in Franconia, but it is real Elfinger, out
of the cellar of the senate, and calls itself eighty years old."
Astonished at this address, Albert put down his tankard, and answered
with a short, "Yes, yes." His neighbour, however, would not let him off
so easily. "It appears, nevertheless," he went on to say, "that it is
not quite the thing you like, but I know a remedy. Holloa, there!" he
called to a servant, "bring a can of Uhlbacher here. Now just taste
this; it grows hard by the castle of Würtemberg. You must pledge me in
this toast: 'A short war and glorious victory.'"
Albert, to whom this conversation was in no wise agreeable, thought to
turn it to something which might lead to a more interesting topic. "You
have much beauty here in Ulm," said he; "at least, in passing through
the town, I remarked many pretty faces at the windows."
"Yes, in truth," answered the Ulmer, "the streets might be paved with
them."
"That would not be amiss," replied Albert, "for the pavement of your
streets is bad indeed. But tell me who lives in that corner house with
the bow-window?" pointing to the situation of it: "if I do not mistake,
two young ladies were looking out of the window as we rode by."
"So! you have remarked them already?" laughed the other: "upon my word,
you have a quick eye, and are a good judge. They are my pretty cousins,
on my mother's side: the little blonde is the daughter of the Herrn von
Besserer, the other is the lady of Lichtenstein, a Würtemberger,
staying with her on a visit."
Albert thanked heaven for having been placed so near a relation of
Bertha, and determined at once to take advantage of his good fortune.
He turned to him, and in the most friendly manner said, "You have a
couple of pretty cousins, Herr von Besserer."
"I call myself Dieterick von Kraft, secretary to the grand council,
with your permission."
"A pair of pretty cousins, Herr von Kraft; do you visit them often?"
"Yes, I do," answered the secretary, "and particularly since the
daughter of Lichtenstein is in the house. Before her arrival, cousin
Marie and I were one heart and soul, but she is somewhat jealous now,
being piqued by the attentions I bestow upon her charming cousin,
Bertha von Lichtenstein, which she thinks belong to her alone."
This confidential communication of the secretary to a perfect stranger,
was not a little surprising to Albert, who very soon discovered that a
certain portion of vanity was one of his weak points, though in other
respects there was much to like in him.
This avowal, however, on the part of his new acquaintance, did not
sound agreeable to Albert's ear, which caused him to press his lips
together, whilst his cheeks assumed a deeper colour.
"Laugh as you will," proceeded the scribe, whose head began to feel the
effects of the wine, to which he was unaccustomed; "if you only knew
how they pull caps about me! My Lichtenstein cousin has, however, a
disagreeable, odd way of showing her friendship; she is so ladylike and
reserved, that one is afraid to joke in her presence, much less to be
as familiar with her as with Marie; but it is just that which renders
her so attractive in my eyes, for if she sends me away ten times, I am
sure to return to her the eleventh:--the reason is," he murmured to
himself, "that her old strict father is present, of whom she is rather
shy; let him but once cross the boundary of Ulm, and I'll soon tame
her."
Finding his new acquaintance so very communicative, Albert resolved to
question him respecting the knight of Lichtenstein's view of the coming
struggle, because that was an essential point, upon which his dearest
hopes turned, and one upon which he had his doubts; but just as he was
about to begin, he was interrupted by the sound of peculiar strange
voices near him. He thought he had heard them before amidst the noise
and clatter of the ghosts, as they recited in a drawling uniform tone a
couple of short sentences, the purport of which he could not well
understand. But now that he heard them repeated close to him, he soon
learnt the subject of their monotonous import. It was the fashion in
those good old times, particularly in the imperial towns, for the
father of the family and his wife, when they entertained company, to
rise about the middle of the repast, go round to each individual guest,
and in a short sentence of customary usage press him to eat and drink.
This fashion was one of such old standing in Ulm, that the grand
council would on no account dispense with it on the present occasion,
and, therefore, appointed the father of a family and his wife, in the
persons of the burgomaster and the oldest of the councillors, to
perform the office.
Having gone round two sides of the table on their "_pressing_" embassy,
it was not to be wondered at, that their voices became, by their
efforts, rather husky, so that at last their friendly exhortation
assumed almost the tone of a threat. A rough voice sounded in Albert's
ear, "Why don't you eat, why don't you drink?" Startling, he turned
round, and beheld a large man with a red face, who had addressed these
words to him, and before he had time to give an answer, a little short
man, with a high shrill voice saluted his ear, on the other side.
"But eat and drink and take your fill--
Such is our magisterial will."
"I have long thought it would come to that," said old Breitenstein, as
he took breath for a moment from the vigorous attack he had been making
on a haunch of roebuck; "there he sits and talks, instead of enjoying
the excellent dishes of roast meats, which have been put before us in
such profusion."
"With your permission," said Dieterick von Kraft, interrupting him,
"though the young man eats nothing, he is a lover o£ wine, and a
capital judge of it; I found it out immediately, for he cannot keep his
eyes from the bottom of his cup; therefore do not blame him if he
prefers old Uhlbacher before anything else."
Albert had no idea how he had become the subject of this extraordinary
apology; he was on the point of making an excuse, when another event
drew his attention. Breitenstein had now taken pity upon the pig's head
with the lemon stuck in its mouth, which he very cleverly extracted
from its jaws, and undertook, with great avidity and experienced hand,
its further dissection. Just as he was in the act of swallowing the
first mouthful of one of the choicest bits, the burgomaster came to him
also, with the same exhortation, "Why don't you eat, why don't you
drink?" Breitenstein looked at him with astonishment, but his speaking
organs had no time to exercise their functions; he however nodded his
head, and pointed to the well-polished bone of the haunch of roebuck in
his plate. The little man, also, with the cracked voice, though it
appeared unnecessary, would not be debarred repeating his friendly
exhortation--
"But eat and drink and take your fill,--
Such is our magisterial will."
And thus it was in the good old times. At least no one could complain
of being invited to a mere parade dinner. The table soon after assumed
a different appearance. The large dishes and plates were removed, and
were replaced by spacious bowls and large jugs filled with generous
wine. The wine passed freely, and the frequent drinking of healths, at
that time very much the custom in Swabia, soon produced its usual
effects. Dieterick Spät and his companions sang burlesque songs on Duke
Ulerich, and confirmed each oath or bit of coarse wit with a horse
laugh or a deep draught. The Franconian knights called for dice, threw
for the duke's estates, and drank to the taking of the castle of
Tübingen. Ulerich von Hutten and his friends carried on a controversy
in Latin with some Italians about a recent attack on the papal chair,
which a monk of Wittemberg of no reputation had undertaken. The
Nürnbergers, Augsburgers, and some few Ulmers had got together, and
disputed upon the merits of their respective republics; in short, the
room resounded with the din of laughter, singing, quarrelling, and the
clatter of silver and pewter tankards.
But at the upper end of the table a much more becoming and sober
hilarity prevailed. George von Fronsberg, old Ludwig Hutten, Waldburg
Truchses, Franz von Sickingen, and other elderly grave men occupied
seats there.
Hans von Breitenstein, who was a captain of the League, having now
fully satisfied his appetite, turned his eyes in that direction, and
said to Albert, "The noise about us here is not at all agreeable,--what
say you? would you like to be presented to Fronsberg now, as you told
me a few days ago you wished so to be?"
Albert, whose desire it had long been to become acquainted with the
general, gladly accepted the offer, and getting up, followed his old
friend. We will not stay to inquire the reason why his heart beat
quicker on this occasion, why his face assumed a higher colour, or why
his steps, as he approached him, were slower or less firm. Who has not
experienced in his youth similar feelings on being introduced to the
notice of a brilliant character, crowned with glory? Whose darling
self, "I," has not sunk into utter insignificance before the giant-like
idea we have formed of a renowned man! George von Fronsberg was
accounted one of the most famous generals of his day. Italy, France,
and Germany had witnessed his victories, and his name will go down to
posterity in the annuls of the art of war, as the author and founder of
a regular system, by which a body of infantry is trained to fight in
ranks and companies. Tradition and chronicles have brought down the
exploits of this noble personage to our times, and who can help calling
to mind the heroes of Homer, when they read the following description
of this man:--"He had such strength in his limbs, that with the middle
finger of his right hand he could displace the strongest man from his
seat, let him hold himself as firm as he might; he could seize the
bridle of a horse on the full gallop, and stop him; and he could carry
alone, from one place to another, the largest gun and battering ram of
the time." Breitenstein conducted the young man to him.
"Who do you bring us now, Hans?" said George von Fronsberg, as he
noticed the well-grown youth with interest.
"Look at him well, noble sir," answered Breitenstein, "and you will not
fall to recognise the house whence he sprung."
The general regarded him with still greater attention; old Truchses von
Waldburg also run his scrutinizing eye over his person. Albert was
timid and shy before these great men; but whether it was that the
friendly, frank manner of Fronsberg gave him confidence, or whether he
felt how important that moment was to his future prospects, he overcame
the shame of being put out of countenance by the looks of so many
renowned men, and faced them with determination and courage.
"I recognise you at once by that look," said Fronsberg, and gave him
his hand: "you are a Sturmfeder."
"Albert von Sturmfeder," answered the young man: "my father was
Burkhardt Sturmfeder; he fell by your side in Italy: so it has been
told me."
"He was a brave man," said the general, whose eye rested thoughtfully
on Albert's features, "he remained faithful by my side in many a warm
day of battle, and fell covered with glory and honour in defence of my
person. And you," he added, "have you determined to follow his steps?
Methinks you have left your nest somewhat early, for you are scarcely
fledged."
Waldburg, a weather-beaten, hard featured old soldier, interrupted
Fronsberg, and said, with a gruff, surly voice, "I suppose that young
bird is seeking a few flocks of wool to repair the dilapidated family
nest."
This rude allusion to the ruined castle of his ancestors, called up a
crimson blush on the cheek of the young man. He had never been ashamed
of his poverty, but these words sounded so full of scorn and insult
that he felt himself, for the first time, really poor, as he stood
before the more affluent derider of his name. His eye at that moment
passing over Truchses Waldburg, fell on that well-known bow window,
where, thinking he perceived the person of his love, his usual courage
resumed its dominion. "Every struggle has its price. Sir Knight," he
replied; "I have proffered head and arm to the League; the motive of
this step can be but indifferent to you."
"Well, well," answered the other, "we shall see what the arm can do;
but as to the head it cannot be quite so clear, if you take in earnest
what was meant as a mere joke."
The offended youth was about to make an angry reply, when Fronsberg,
taking him kindly by the hand, said, "Just like your father; dear young
man! you will in time become like him, a stinging nettle[1] also,--we
shall require friends whose hearts are in the right place. You will not
be the last thought of, you may rest assured."
These few words, from the lips of a man who had won so high a
reputation among his contemporaries by bravery and experience in war,
produced such an effect on the mind of Albert, that the unguarded
answer which floated on his tongue sank harmless. He withdrew from the
table to a window, partly for the sake of not interrupting the
conversation of the officers, partly to convince himself with greater
certainty, whether the momentary apparition which he had seen was
really his beloved.
When Albert left the table, Fronsberg turned to Waldburg; "That is not
the way, Herr Truchses, to win over a staunch ally to our cause. I'll
wager he has not quitted us with the same zeal he brought with him."
"Do you consider yourself called upon to raise your voice in favour of
that hot-headed youth?" said the other; "it is not at all necessary; he
must learn to take a joke from his superiors."
"With your permission," interrupted Breitenstein, "it is no joke to be
jeer'd on account of unavoidable poverty; but I know you never bore his
father any good will."
"And," continued Fronsberg, "you have no controul over him in any way,
for he has not yet taken the oath of alliance to the League and is
therefore at perfect liberty to go wheresoever he pleases. Should he
serve under your colours, I would advise you not to push him too far,
as he does not appear much inclined to submit to insult or contumely."
Speechless from rage upon being contradicted, which he never in his
life could brook, Truchses first looked at one and then at the other
with such fury, that Ludwig von Hutten, fearful of further strife,
interposed between them, and said, "Come, an end with these old
stories. It is high time to rise from table. It is now getting dark,
and the wine is becoming too powerful for our friends lower down there.
Dieterick von Spät has already drank twice to Würtemberg's death, and
the Franconians have not yet quite settled whether his castles shall be
burnt to the ground or divided among them."
"Let them alone," laughed Waldburg, scornfully, "those gentry may do
and say what they please to-day; Fronsberg will soon bring them to
their senses."
"No," said Ludwig von Hutten, "if any one has a right to talk in such
terms, I am the one, the avenger of my son's blood; but until war be
declared, intemperate conversation must be restrained. My cousin
Ulerich speaks much too violently with the Italians about the monk of
Wittemberg, and when he is out of temper, divulges things which ought
to be kept secret."
Fronsberg and Sickingen now rose from table, and those about them
following their example, the break-up was general.
FOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER III.:
[Footnote 1: The same words which Fronsberg made use of in speaking of
Götz von Berlichingen.]
CHAPTER IV.
The eyes with which I gaze on her
Can pierce thro' wood and stone:
They're seated in my heart so true,
That beats for her alone.
WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE.
The small distance which separated the table from the window, to which
Albert had retired, permitted his hearing every word of the dispute
mentioned in the latter part of the last chapter. He rejoiced to
perceive the warm interest which Fronsberg took in him, an
inexperienced orphan; but, at the same time, he could not conceal from
himself that his first step in his military career, had also brought
upon him a formidable, bitter enemy.
The unbending pride of Truchses von Waldburg was so well known in the
army, that Albert had little reason to hope Hutten's mediatory and
conciliatory words would have much effect in soothing the unfavourable
impression, which he feared his warmth in upholding the name of his
family might have created in the mind of the general. And he was well
aware that men of weight and consequence, governed by a violent,
imperious temper, such as Waldburg's, do not readily enter into the
feelings of those who have excited their anger, nor forgive the
ebullition of a generous mind when assailed in its most vulnerable
point.
A slight tap on the shoulder interrupted his thoughts, and as he turned
round, his friendly neighbour at table, the scribe to the grand
council, stood before him.
"I'll bet, you have not looked out for a lodging yet," said Dieterick
von Kraft, "and it might be now somewhat difficult to find one, as it
is getting dark, and the town is very full."
Albert acknowledged he had not thought about it; he hoped however to
find a room in one of the public inns.
"I would not have you be quite so sure of that," answered the other,
"and, should you find a corner in one of those houses, you must reckon
upon being but badly off. But if my lodging would not appear too small
for you, it is very much at your service."
The good secretary of the council pressed Albert with so much
cordiality, that he did not hesitate to take advantage of his
invitation, though he almost feared lest, when the effects of the wine
had passed off, his host might regret his proffered hospitality to him,
a perfect stranger. Dieterick von Kraft, however, appeared rejoiced at
the readiness with which his proposal was accepted, and taking Albert's
arm, with a hearty shake of the hand, led him out of the room.
The square before the town-hall was in the mean time the scene of much
bustle and confusion. The days were still short, and the evening having
broken in upon the dinner-party, torches were lighted, the glare of
which illumined but sparingly the large space, and played on the
windows of the opposite houses, and on the polished helmets and
cuirasses of the knights. Loud calls for horses and attendants sounding
through the town-hall, the clatter of swords, the running here and
there of many men, coupled with the barking of dogs, the neighing and
pawing of impatient horses, formed a scene, which resembled more the
surprise of a military post in the night by an enemy, than the breaking
up of a convivial festival.
Albert remained in the hall in a state of amazement at the sight of so
many jovial faces and powerful figures, who, having mounted their
horses, retired in small groups, singing and springing about in all the
hilarity of youth. This nocturnal, fleeting scene, forcibly impressed
him with the conviction of the uncertainty and changeableness of all
worldly events. These same joyous associates, thought he, would soon be
engaged in the dangerous concerns of war, when many of them, even
before the spring should be fully advanced, would cover the green grass
with their bodies, with no other price offered for their blood than the
tear of a comrade, or the short-lived glory of having fallen before the
enemy as brave men.
His eye turned instinctively to that quarter where he knew the reward
which he hoped would crown the success of his present undertaking
awaited him. He there saw many figures at the window, but soon the
black smoke of the torches, which suddenly, as a cloud, almost covered
the square, veiled the objects so as to give them the appearance of
mere shadows. He turned away in disappointment, saying to himself,
"Such are my prospects also; at one moment the present indeed looks
bright, but in the next, how dark, how uncertain is the prospect of the
future!"
His kind friend roused him from this foreboding frame of mind, with the
question, "Where are your servants with your horses?" Had the spot
where they stood been better lighted, our good Kraft might, perhaps,
have discovered a passing blush upon the cheek of his friend at this
inquiry.
"A young soldier," answered Albert, quickly recovering his composure,
"must learn to look after his own affairs as well as he can, without
the assistance and trouble of servants, and therefore I have not
brought one with me. I have given Breitenstein's groom charge of my
horse."
The scribe of the council applauded the young man for the self-denial
which he exercised; but he could not help making the remark, that when
once in the field he would not be able to assert his independence so
easily. The attention which his companion paid to his own person, his
well-combed hair, his neatly curled beard, convinced Albert that he
spoke from his heart, and the snug comfortable lodging into which he
was introduced did not belie this opinion.
The ménage of Herrn von Kraft was, in fact, a young bachelor's
establishment, for his parents died before he attained the age of
manhood. He had often thought of looking for a partner to share his
comforts with him, but he hesitated to renounce the charm of
independence; an advantage he thought not to be despised, flattered as
he was by being honored and looked upon by the ladies of Ulm as a
desirable match. But ill-natured folks whispered abroad, that it was
principally owing to the decided disinclination of his old nurse and
housekeeper to have a young mistress in the house, which deterred him
from taking so important a step.
Herr Dieterick possessed a large house not far from the cathedral, a
pretty garden on St. Michael's Hill, furniture in high preservation,
large oak chests full of the finest linen, made of the yarn which the
ladies of the house of Kraft, with their female domestics, had for many
generations passed their long winter evenings in spinning; and an iron
chest in the bed-room, containing a large stock of gold florins. As to
his person, he was a good-looking, substantial man, always spruce in
his dress, tight-laced, and proud of the fine linen which he wore: his
deportment in the council was serious and full of business; he was well
conversant in state affairs, as well as in those of his own household;
and being sprung from a good old family, it was no wonder that he was
respected and looked up to by the whole town, and that any pretty young
Ulmer damsel would have thought herself too happy to become mistress of
these united advantages.
Upon a nearer inspection, however, the interior of his friend's
establishment appeared to Albert any thing but enviable. The only
domestic companions of Herr Dieterick were an old grey-headed
man-servant, two large cats, and the above-mentioned unsightly fat
nurse. These four creatures stared at the new guest with large
wondering eyes, which convinced him how little accustomed they were to
receive any increase of guests in the establishment. The cats went
round him mewing with raised backs; the old woman, in a cross manner,
fidgeted her large high round cap, ornamented with gold fringe, out of
its accustomed perpendicular position, and asked whether she should
prepare supper for two? When she heard her question not only affirmed,
but was ordered also (it was not quite clear whether it was an order or
a petition) to prepare the corner room on the second floor for the
stranger, her patience appeared exhausted; she shot a look of fury at
her young master, and left the room rattling a large bunch of keys,
which were suspended from her girdle. The hollow sound of her footstep,
and the noise of the door, as she, in her ill-humour, slammed it after
her, re-echoed through the dead stillness of the spacious corridors.
The old grey-headed servant had in the mean time pushed the table and
two ponderous arm-chairs near the immense stove; and having put a black
box on the table, with two candlesticks and a tankard of wine, he
whispered a few words to his master, and then withdrew. Herr Dieterick
invited his guest to take part in his usual evening amusement of
playing a game of tric-trac, which the black box contained.
Albert was amused at the proposal of his friend, and particularly when
he told him that, since he was twelve years old, he had been in the
habit of playing a game with his nurse every evening.
The dead silence which reigned throughout the house was only broken by
the occasional snuffing of the candles, the ticking of a large wooden
clock in a black case, and the monotonous throw of the dice. Albert
would gladly have heard some other symptoms of life, if it were but the
grumbling of the old nurse, or her footstep sounding again in the
corridors. The game had never possessed any charm for him, and more
particularly at the present moment, when his thoughts were otherwise
occupied. He was oppressed with a lowness of spirits which he could
scarcely control, separated as he now was by a few streets only from
his beloved, and anxious to satisfy his longing desire to see her
again. The unfeigned pleasure which Herr Dieterick appeared to derive
in winning nearly every game, imparted to his good-natured face
something so peculiarly agreeable, that it made up in some measure for
the loss of time.
When the clock struck eight Dieterick led his guest to supper, which
his housekeeper, spite of her ill humour, had prepared in her best
manner, for she spared nothing to keep up the dignity and honour of the
house of Kraft. The secretary again essayed the powers of his
eloquence, with which he sought to season the repast. He talked
concerning passing events, of the coming war, and gave Albert to
understand that his situation put him in possession of state secrets
known only to a select few. But in vain did Albert hope to hear
something about his pretty cousins. He attempted to sound him upon a
subject so nearly allied to his dearest interests, namely, upon the
views of the knight of Lichtenstein in the pending struggle, which he
had failed to elicit at the dinner; but the secretary, whether to
impress Albert with the importance of his confidential situation in the
council, or that he really did not know the intention of Bertha's
father, put on a more consequential and mysterious air than usual, and
the only information he would impart was, that the knight was then in
Ulm with some others of Würtemberg.
This news was at least satisfactory so far as the turn it was likely to
give to his fate. His joy was now for the first time complete, in the
satisfaction of having joined a party which, except for the great names
at the head of it, was otherwise indifferent to him. "And so her father
is also among those assembled here!" thought he. "May I not hope to
have the good fortune to fight by the side of that good man, and prove
myself worthy of my name, and of her I love?" He felt the conviction
that Albert von Sturmfeder would not be the last in a battle.
His host, after supper, conducted him to his bed-room, and took his
leave with a hearty wish for a good night's rest. Albert examined his
room closely, and found it to correspond precisely with the rest of the
gloomy house. The round frames of the windows, warped by age, the dark
woodwork of the walls and ceiling, the large stove projecting far into
the apartment, the enormous bed with a broad canopy and heavy stuff
curtains, gave a dull, nay a melancholy, effect to the whole. But still
every thing was arranged for his comfort. Clean snow-white sheets
invited him within as he threw back the curtains of the bed, the stove
threw out an agreeable warmth, a night lamp was placed in a niche in
the wall, and even a tankard of spiced hot wine, by way of a nightcap,
was not forgotten. He closed the curtains as he got into bed, and
scanned over in his mind the passing events of the day. Having taken
them in their due order as they had occurred, he had reason to be
satisfied with his position; but, when he afterwards fell into the
province of dreaming, they were all heaped up in crowded confusion in
his mind, far beyond the power of unravelling. One object alone was
perfectly clear to him,--it was the portrait of his beloved Bertha.
CHAPTER V.
And is it mere illusion? Say--
Or will that one so kind, so true,
To whom my heart and life are due,
Be to my arms restored this day?
F. HAUG.
Albert was awoke the next morning by a tap at the door. He threw open
the curtains, and perceived that the sun was already high up. The
knocking increased, when, shortly after, his kind host entering,
inquired how his guest had slept, and explained to him the cause of his
early visit. The grand council had determined on the preceding evening
to celebrate the arrival of the confederates by a ball, which was to
take place that very evening in the town-hall. It was his province, as
secretary to the council, to make all the necessary arrangements for
this important affair. He had to secure the services of the town
musicians, and to invite the first families in the name of the senate.
But his first concern would be to hasten to impart this extraordinary
piece of good news to his charming cousins.
He related all this to his guest with an air of great importance, and
assured him he was so full of business that he scarcely knew where his
head was. Albert had only one thought, that of seeing and speaking with
Bertha, and he was so overjoyed in the anticipation of such-unlooked
for happiness, that he gladly would have embraced the bearer of the
good tidings, if prudence had not deterred him from thus exhibiting his
secret feelings.
"I can plainly see," said the scribe, "the pleasure this news gives
you; the love of dancing brightens up your eyes already. I can promise
you a couple of partners, such as you will not find every day. You
shall dance with my cousins; for I am their chaperon on such occasions,
and I will so arrange the matter that you and no other shall be the
first to engage them; they will be enchanted when I promise them the
best dancer in the room." With this he left the apartment, wishing his
friend good morning, cautioning him when he went out of the house not
to forget to notice it, so as to be able to find it again at dinner
time.
Herr Kraft being a near relation of the Herrn von Besserer, was
entitled to free access to his house, and upon this occasion he made an
earlier call than usual.
He found the maidens still at breakfast. Ladies of the present day may
perhaps be shocked at the homely meal which our two belles of Ulm, in
the year 1519, were partaking of when their cousin Dieterick entered
the room. It was not an elegant déjeuné, served up in painted porcelain
in the form of beautiful antique vases, or curious-shaped chocolate
cups; no, the natural grace of Marie and Bertha was not impaired by the
occupation of breakfasting on humble _beer-soup_,[1] at six in the
morning, served up in the brown-coloured jug of that day. Can this
avowal, however, prejudice the attractive qualities of these two
beauties? In the eyes of some it perhaps may; but whoever could have
seen Marie and Bertha, in their pretty little morning caps and neat
clean dresses, would certainly, as cousin Kraft did, have no objection
to partake of the breakfast with them.
"I can see at once, cousin," began Marie, after the usual salutations
of the morning, "that you would like to partake of our soup, because, I
suppose, your old cross nurse has not taken care of you this morning;
but don't flatter yourself that you will get any here, for you deserve
punishment, and must expect----"
"Oh, we have been waiting for you so long," interrupted Bertha.
"Yes, to be sure we have," said Marie, with her usual quick way; "but
don't flatter yourself that we care as much about your society, as to
be informed of the news of what is going on, that's all."
The scribe had been long accustomed to be received by Marie in this
manner. He determined, therefore, to make himself as agreeable as
possible, satisfying her curiosity by giving her all the gossip of the
town, in order to pacify the jealous mood, which he thought he had
excited. He was about to begin, when Marie interrupted him. "We know,"
said she, "that you are too fond of a long story, and as we witnessed
most of your doings in the town-hall yesterday from the balcony, we'll
say nothing touching your drinking bout there, which speaks not much to
your credit; but answer me this question."--She placed herself before
him in an attitude of comic seriousness, and went on: "Dieterick von
Kraft, scribe of the most noble council of state, did you notice among
the confederates, at the dinner given yesterday in the town-hall, a
remarkably distinguished-looking young knight, with long light-brown
hair, a face not so milk-white as your own, but not less handsome; a
small beard, not so carefully combed as yours, but much more beautiful;
a light blue scarf with silver----!"
"Oh, that is no other than my guest," cried cousin Kraft; "he rode a
large brown horse, and wore a blue jacket, slashed at the shoulders,
and turned up with light blue."
"Yes, yes, go on; the very one," said Marie; "we have our particular
reasons for inquiring all about him."
"Well, that is Albert von Sturmfeder," answered the scribe, "a handsome
charming young fellow. It is curious that you should be the first he
noticed in coming into the town." Kraft then related all the
particulars of what had passed at the dinner, how he was at once struck
by the manly figure, the commanding and attractive countenance of the
young man, who, by good luck, became his neighbour at table, and that
the more he knew of him the more he liked him; so much so, that he had
invited him to his house.
Bertha rose from her seat, and went to look for her work-box, turning
her back at the same time upon both her cousins, in order to conceal a
blush which flew to her forehead, and which proved that not one word of
Dieterick's conversation was lost upon her.
"Come, that is very kind of you, cousin," said Marie, as he finished:
"I believe it is the first time you have ventured to have a guest in
your house. I should like to have seen the face of old Sabina, when
master Dieter, as she calls you, brought a stranger home so late at
night."
"Oh," said the scribe, "she resembled the dragon attacking St. George;
but I gave her to understand pretty clearly, that it was not at all
improbable, I might soon bring home one of my pretty cousins----"
"Ah, get away with you, and don't talk nonsense," resumed Marie, as
she tried to withdraw her hand, which he had taken, blushing highly at
the same time. She had never appeared so pretty in his eyes as at this
moment. Bertha's serious face, in proportion as this flirtation
increased, lost its attraction in his estimation, the balance of his
devotion was all in favour of the animated Marie, who now sat before
him in all the bloom of blushing beauty.
Bertha having slipt out of the room, Marie escaped the tender grasp of
Dieterick's hand, and profited by this opportunity to turn the subject
of the conversation.
"There she goes," she said, as she looked after her cousin; "I would
wager she is going to her room to weep again. She cried so violently
yesterday, that it has made me also quite melancholy."
"What is the matter with her?" asked Dieterick, with interest.
"I am as ignorant of the cause of her grief as ever," answered Marie;
"I have asked her over and over again; but she only shakes her head, as
if there was no hope left. 'This unhappy war!' is all she ever gave me
for answer."
"And is old Lichtenstein still determined to take her back to his
castle?"
"Certainly," answered Marie; "you should have heard how the old man
swore yesterday, when the confederates entered! Well, he is devoted to
his Duke, heart and soul, so he may go, with all my heart. As soon as
war is declared, he intends taking his departure with her."
Herr Dieterick appeared very thoughtful; he rested his head upon his
hand, and listened to his cousin in silence.
"And only think," she continued, "yesterday, after the entrance of the
leaguists into the town, she wept more than ever. You know she was
always serious and melancholy; but as if that circumstance were to
decide the fate of the war, she is now quite disconsolate, I don't
believe it is the idea of leaving Ulm that affects her; but I suspect,"
she added, mysteriously, "she has some secret attachment at heart."
"Yes, I have long remarked that," sighed Herr Dieterick; "but how can I
help it?"
"You! how can you help it?" laughed Marie, all signs of sorrow on
Bertha's account vanishing from her face at these words. "No, indeed,
you need not flatter yourself that you are the cause of her suffering.
She was in this state long before you ever saw her."
The worthy secretary was very much put out by this assurance. He
thought in his heart that a farewell from him was the real cause of
Bertha's state, and her care-worn countenance at this moment almost
regained the preponderance in his changeable heart. Marie went on to
deride his conceitedness, when all of a sudden he recollected the main
object of his visit, which he had lost sight of during the
conversation. Marie sprang up with a scream of joy, as her cousin
imparted to her the news of the ball.
"Bertha, Bertha!" she cried out, at the height of her voice, so that
her cousin, startled, and fearing lest some accident had happened,
hastened to her assistance. But before she had scarcely had time to
enter the room, Marie said again, "Bertha, a ball at the town-hall this
evening!"
This news was a happy surprise to her also. "When? are the strangers
invited also?" were her rapid questions, whilst a deep red covered her
cheeks, and a ray of joy shot from her sorrowful eyes, scarcely able to
contain their tears.
Marie and her cousin Kraft were both astonished at Bertha's rapid
change from depression of spirits to sudden joy, and Dieterick could
not help remarking, that he supposed she must be passionately fond of
dancing. But he was equally mistaken in this instance, as he was when
he mistook Albert von Sturmfeder for a connoisseur of wine.
Herr Kraft, supposing his cousins would now wish to occupy themselves
with the important preparation of dress, rather than listen to anything
else he might have to say, took his departure, to fulfil the rest of
his weighty duties. He hastened to give the requisite orders, and to
invite, in person, the principal guests, and higher families. He was
received everywhere as the messenger of good news; for tradition says,
that the pleasure of dancing is not the passion of the present day
only.
His arrangements were soon accomplished. In those days, in order to be
merry and cheerful, it was not absolutely necessary there should be a
long suite of apartments, lighted up with flaming chandeliers, and
furnished with numerous unmeaning things, which encumber the
fashionable apartments of the present age. All was simple. The room in
the town-hall was, from its size, well adapted for the purpose, and the
humble rude-shaped lamps which hung on the walls, had, up to that time,
thrown out light enough to show off the dresses and illumine the pretty
faces of the maidens of Ulm.
But not only had the arrangements of the active scribe succeeded in
everything he had undertaken on this important occasion; he had also in
the course of his visits learned some secret intelligence which had
been confided solely to the committee of the council, and the principal
officers of the League.
Satisfied with the result of his various avocations, he returned home
at noon, when his first step was to inquire after his guest.
Albert had been employed, during the absence of his host, in looking
over a beautifully-written book of chronicles, which he found in his
room. The neat painted figures which formed the first letter of the
chapters, the pictures of fields of battle, and triumphal entries of
victorious troops, delineated with a bold outline, and painted with
peculiar care and labour, and which were dispersed throughout the
volume, had amused him for some time. His mind being full of the
warlike figures he had been examining, induced him to think of his own
weapons, and of polishing his helmet, armour, and the sword which he
had inherited from his father. He accordingly set to work, at the same
time singing sometimes a cheerful, sometimes a serious song, to the
great annoyance of the unmusical organs of Frau Sabina.
Dieterick heard the sounds of his agreeable voice as he walked up
stairs, and he could not resist listening at the door until he had
finished his song. It was one of those touching strains, bordering
almost on the melancholy, which has been brought down to our times, and
is to be heard even now in the mouth of the Swabians. Often and with
pleasure have we listened to those strains on the charming banks of the
Neckar, struck with the beautiful simplicity and lengthened sound of
their harmony.
Albert went on singing:
Swift as thought
All our pleasures come to nought!
The charger yesterday he press'd,
To-day the death-shot pierced his breast,
To-morrow opes the chilly grave.
Such the measure
Of all earthly bliss and pleasure!
In that comely cheek of thine,
The lily and the rose combine;
But rose and lily fade and die.
Then resigned
To God's will, I yield my mind:
Should the trumpet sound a call,
Should it be my fate to fall,
Say "A gallant soldier's gone."
"Really you have a fine voice," said his host, as he entered the
apartment; "but why sing such melancholy songs? I prefer a merry and
cheerful one, such as a young fellow of twenty-eight ought to sing."
Albert put his sword aside, and gave his hand to his friend. "Every one
to his taste," said he, "but I think that to those whose occupation is
war, and whose life is in constant jeopardy, a song which carries
consolation and encouragement to the heart of the soldier, gives death
a milder aspect."
"That's just what I mean, also," said Dieterick; "but what is the use
of being melancholy upon a subject which is certainly the lot of all?
'If you paint the devil on the wall, he will surely appear,' says the
proverb; however, that saying does not hold good as the case now
stands."
"How? is not war decided," asked Albert, with curiosity; "has the
Würtemberger accepted conditions?"
"Conditions? none will be made with him," answered the secretary, with
an air of contempt; "he has lived his longest day as Duke; it is our
turn now to govern. I will let you into a secret," added he, looking
big with importance and mystery, "but it must be strictly between us.
Your hand! You think the Duke has fourteen thousand Swiss with him?
They are scattered to the winds. The messenger we despatched to Zurich
and Bern has returned. All the Swiss at Blaubeuren and on the Alb will
be obliged to return home immediately."
"Return home?" said Albert, with astonishment, "and for what purpose?
Are they at war themselves in their own country?"
"No," was the answer, "they are in profound peace, but have no money.
Believe me, before a week passes over our heads, messengers will arrive
to order the whole army home."
"But will they go? they came to the Duke's assistance of their own
accord; who can order them to leave his colours?"
"That's very easily managed; do you suppose they will disobey the
orders of their magistrates at the risk of the loss of their property,
and imprisonment? Ulerich has too little money to retain them, and they
will not serve him upon mere promises."
"But you cannot call that behaving honourably," remarked Albert, "to
deprive the enemy of the arms with which he wishes to meet you in fair
contest."
"In politics, as we call it," answered the scribe, thinking to
establish his knowledge of state affairs in the mind of the
inexperienced young soldier, "in politics, honour at best is assumed
but for appearance sake; for example, the Swiss will explain to the
Duke, in excuse for deserting him, that it would be against their
conscience to allow their troops to serve against the independence of
the free towns; but the truth is, that we can fill the pockets of the
bears with more gold florins in order to keep them at home, than the
Duke can to assist him."
"Well, after all, let the Swiss desert the Duke," said Albert,
"Würtemberg will still be able of herself to send forth valiant and
ready hearts sufficient to prevent any dog passing the Alb."
"We have thought of an expedient in that case also," replied the
scribe, in explanation; "we will address a letter to the states of
Würtemberg, and warn them against the insufferable government of their
Duke, exhorting them at the same time to cast off their allegiance to
him, and join the League in the laudable undertaking of crushing his
tyrannous conduct."
"How!" cried Albert, with horror, whose generous mind was as yet
unacquainted with the intrigues of politics: "I call that playing the
traitor. Would you force the Duke out of his country by such underhand,
unworthy means, and corrupt his confiding subjects to induce them to
become his bitterest enemies?"
"I believe you have been thinking, all along, that we wish nothing more
than that he should restore Reutlingen again to its former rank of a
town of the empire? But how then is Hutten, with his forty-two
associates, to be remunerated? In what way is Sickingen to satisfy the
demands of his thousand cavalry and twelve thousand infantry, if he
does not get a good slice of the country to pay them? And the Duke of
Bavaria, do you suppose he will not require a share of it also? And we
Ulmers, our frontier borders on Würtemberg----"
"But the Princes of Germany," interrupted Albert, impatiently, "do you
suppose they will quietly look on and see you parcel out his rightful
possession among strangers? The Emperor, surely, will not suffer you to
hunt a Duke of the empire out of his country!"
Herr Dieterick had a ready answer to this question also. "There is no
doubt," said he, "that Charles succeeds his father the Emperor: we
shall then offer to place the country under his protection, and, should
Austria throw her mantle over it, who can resist her power? But what
makes you look so downcast? if you thirst for war, you will readily
find means to gratify your wish. The nobility still hold to the Duke,
and many a one will have his head broken before his castle walls. But
we shall lose our dinner if we go on talking thus, come soon, and we'll
see what old Sabina has provided for us." Upon which the secretary left
the room of his guest with a proud step, as if he himself were already
installed in the office of protector of Würtemberg.
Albert did not send the most friendly look after his host as he
withdrew. He replaced his helmet again in the corner, which he had but
an hour ago taken such pleasure in polishing; with sorrow he looked at
his sword, that faithful piece of steel, which his father had proved in
many a hard conflict, and which he had sent to his orphan son from the
field of battle, as his sole legacy. "Fight honourably," was the device
engraved on its blade, and he asked himself, could he now draw it in a
cause, which bore injustice on its front? Instead of the contest being
decided by the military talents of experienced men, and the bravery of
individuals, as he had supposed, he now learned that secret intrigue,
designated by Herr Dieterick "politics," was to settle the question!
Instead of the exhilirating clash of arms, and the prospect of glory,
which had induced him to take part in the struggle, he perceived that
he was to promote the covetous plans of designing men! Would his honour
permit him to assist these low-minded Philistines of townsfolk, in
expelling an ancient princely house from its rights, which his
ancestors had served with willing arm? No, the thought was intolerable;
and to be tutored by this Kraft was still more repugnant to his
feelings.
He could not however long entertain any ill-will against his
kind-hearted host, when he considered that this plan was not concocted
by his own brain, and that men, like this political scribe, when they
get hold of a state secret, or some great political scheme, foster it
as their own, and as such try to instil it into the minds of their
adopted children, as if the wisdom of Minerva had sprung out of their
own thick heads.
He therefore met his friend in good humour, when dinner was announced.
The conversation between them was dull and common-place. The scribe's
thoughts appeared to be occupied with some important project; and
Albert taking a review in his mind of the whole state of affairs as
they stood, consoled himself with the idea that, as the father of
Bertha had sided with the League as he supposed, and such men as
Fronsberg had proffered their services in the same cause, there might
be less reason to doubt the justice of it than he imagined.
Youth's ever ready with its word; it seizes
The first that comes to hand, as 'twould a knife:
And thus ye cry or "shame," or "nobly done,"
On every thing--all's either good or bad.
These words of the poet well describe the feelings of Albert at this
moment, and the sudden change in his sentiments was also to be
attributed to his inexperienced mind in worldly affairs, acting
as he did alone, without the aid and advice of any tried friend.
Anticipating, therefore, the happy moment of meeting his love at the
ball in the evenings where he would be able to speak with her, and from
her lips have his doubts cleared up respecting her father's intentions,
the gloom with which his mind had been overcast in his conversation
with his friend the secretary gave away to the pleasing prospect of
seeing her again.
FOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER V.:
[Footnote 1: Beer-soup was a mixture of beer, eggs, sugar, cinnamon,
and a little milk, with crums of bread, in quantity according to the
taste.]
CHAPTER VI.
"And in the merry dance, she whispers, to impart,
In soft accents, the sorrows of her heart."
L. UHLAND.
If we had ransacked all the pawnbrokers' shops, and attended the
auction of an antiquary's goods, to find "a pocket-book giving a
description of the social pleasures, with the fashionable figure
dances, of the year 1519," we could not have been more fortunate than
in the fund of information which chance has thrown in our way upon that
subject.
Having arrived at that part of the present history which is to treat of
a ball so far back as 1519, a difficulty arose of ascertaining what
were the figures, and how they were danced in those days.
We might, indeed, have simply said, "they danced;" but how easily might
some of our fair readers have made an anachronism, and imagined an old
veteran such as George von Fronsberg, booted and spurred, standing up
in a cotillon. In this embarrassment a very rare book fell in our way,
entitled, "The beginning, origin, and customs of tournaments in the
holy Roman Empire. Frankfort, 1564." We found in these precious pages,
among other well executed wood-cuts, the representation of a ball in
the time of the Emperor Maximilian, which was about a year before the
date of this history.
We may, therefore, take it for granted, that the ball in the town-hall
of Ulm differed in nothing from the explanations afforded by the
above-mentioned drawing, and consequently we shall be able to give a
better idea of the amusements of those days, by giving a description of
the picture, than by our own delineation.
The foreground is occupied by the spectators; and the musicians,
composed of fifers, drummers, and trumpeters, placed in a gallery,
"sound a blast," according to the expression in the tournament book. On
either side, towards the further end of the room, are arranged those
who intend to join in the dance, dressed in rich heavy stuffs. In our
days, we see only two standing colours on such occasions, black and
white, in which the ladies and gentlemen are divided as night and day.
Not so in former times. An extraordinary brilliancy of colours shoot
their rays from the picture. The most beautiful red, from fiery scarlet
to the deepest purple, accompanied by rich deep blue which surprises us
in the paintings of the old masters, form the cheerful colours of their
picturesque drapery and dresses. The centre of the apartment is
occupied by the actual performers. The dance resembles very much the
Polonaise of the present day, in which the gentleman, with his partner,
walk around the room in procession. Four trumpeters, bearing heraldic
flags suspended to their instruments, open the procession, followed by
the first couple. The rank alone of the gentleman entitles him, with
his lady, to the honour of leading; and at each change of the dance,
the next in precedence takes his place. Then come two torch-bearers,
followed by the rest of the dancers in pairs. The ladies walked with
modest and reserved demeanour; and the men placed their feet in a
singular position, as if they were on the point of making a high leap.
Some appear also to stamp with their high heels in time to the music; a
custom even now seen in the Swabian village festivals.
Such was the ball in Ulm. The first blast of the trumpets had sounded
before Albert von Sturmfeder entered the room. His eye flew through the
ranks of the dancers, and soon fell upon his beloved. She was led by a
young Franconian knight of his acquaintance; but she did not appear to
heed the animated conversation which he addressed to her. Her eyes
sought the ground, her look expressed seriousness, bordering on sorrow;
very different from the rest of the female part of the company, who,
floating in all the pleasures of the ball, gave one ear to the music,
the other to their partner; accompanied by inquisitive looks, now to
their acquaintances for the purpose of reading approbation in their
choice of their cavalier, now towards him, to ascertain if his
attention was exclusively taken up with them.
The cornets and trumpets having sounded a finale in lengthened tones,
put an end to the first dance. Dieterick von Kraft having remarked the
arrival of his guest, came to lead him to his cousins, according to his
promise. He whispered to him, that, having himself already engaged
Marie for the next dance, he had asked Bertha's hand for him.
Both the girls had been prepared for the appearance of the interesting
stranger; nevertheless, upon the recollection of the remark she had
made upon him when he passed under her window, Marie's lively features
were covered with a deep blush when he was introduced to them. She was
unable to account to herself for the embarrassment his presence now
produced on her, having only seen him once in her life, and never heard
of him before. Whether it was that she had selected him as the most
striking cavalier in the procession, or whether, among the young
citizens of Ulm, she thought none were to be compared with him in
appearance; such was the effect of this sudden attack on her feelings,
one to which she had hitherto been a stranger, that she had no little
difficulty in endeavouring to conceal her confusion from his
observation.
Though Bertha was timid of betraying the secret of her heart before her
cousin, she had no such feeling to struggle with in regard to Albert.
Their mutual attachment was of long standing and deep-rooted. The first
time she had seen him since their separation in Tübingen was in the
ranks of the confederates, to whom her father was inveterately opposed.
From that moment her peace of mind had vanished. Her soul was troubled
with cruel doubts and misgivings; and all her hopes appeared for ever
blasted. She nevertheless had sufficient command over herself, and for
a moment the weight which oppressed her mind gave way to joy now that
he stood before her; and she returned his salutation with the same
endearing smile which she was wont to do in the days of their unclouded
happiness. And had her cousin not been taken up in concealing her own
state of embarrassment, she could not have failed to discover, in the
tender glance of Bertha's eye, something which expressed more than
common courtesy.
"I bring you Albert von Sturmfeder, my worthy guest," began the scribe
to Marie, "who begs to have the pleasure of dancing with you."
"Were I not already engaged to my cousin Kraft for the next," said
Marie to the young knight, with recovered self-possession, "I would,
with pleasure; but Bertha is disengaged."
"If you are not engaged, may I have that pleasure?" said he, turning to
Bertha.
"I am engaged to you," she answered. Then it was that Albert heard
again, after so long an absence, that voice which had often called him
by the most endearing name; and he dwelt on those eyes which still
looked on him with undiminished fidelity.
The trumpets again sounded throughout the room. The second in command
of the army of the League, Waldburg Truchses, having the precedence in
the coming dance, came forth with his lady: the torch-bearers followed;
the couples arranged themselves, and Albert also, taking Bertha's hand,
placed himself in the ranks. Her eyes now no longer sought the ground,
but were directed solely to him. But in the expression of her
countenance, Albert could plainly perceive, there was something hanging
on her mind indicative of mental suffering. Joy at meeting him again,
which had but a moment before brightened up her features, was now
succeeded by an expression of dejection, which he could in no wise
account for. So much was he struck by the sudden change in her manner,
that he was on the point of upbraiding her, and taxing her unjustly
with an alteration of love towards him. Grieved at the pain he appeared
to suffer, she gently begged him to wait a fitting moment, and then she
would explain every thing. She looked cautiously behind her at
Dieterick and Marie, who were the next couple to them, to see if they
were near enough to overhear her conversation. Finding they were at
some distance, she said, "Ah! Albert, what unlucky star has brought you
into this army?"
"You were that star, Bertha," he replied: "I thought your father would
be on the side of the League, and I am glad not to find myself
mistaken. Can you blame me for having thrown aside the learned books,
and taken to the profession of arms? No other inheritance has fallen to
my lot than the sword of my father. I will put it to usury; and prove
to your father, that he who loves his daughter is not unworthy of her."
"Oh, God! I trust you have not yet sworn allegiance to the League?" she
exclaimed, interrupting him.
"Do not frighten yourself so, dearest; I have not yet fully bound
myself to it, but I intend to do so in a day or two. Will you not allow
your Albert to gain some little fame! What is it that makes you so
anxious about me? Your father is old, and still he goes with us."
"Ah! my father, my father!" Bertha said, in a desponding tone, "he is
indeed--but stop, Albert, stop, Marie notices us. But I must speak with
you to-morrow--I must, should it cost me my happiness. Oh if I but knew
how to manage it."
"But what is it that agitates you in this way, beloved?" asked Albert,
to whom it was inexplicable how Bertha should only think of the danger
that awaited him, instead of being overjoyed at this meeting. "The
danger is not so great as you imagine," he whispered to her: "think
only of the happiness of being together again, that I can press your
hand, and that we can see each other face to face. Enjoy the present
moment, and be cheerful."
"Cheerful? Oh, those times are gone by, Albert. Hear me, and be
firm;--my father is opposed to the League." She said this in a low
subdued tone.
"Good Heavens! what do you say?" cried the young man; and leant towards
Bertha, as if he had not distinctly heard the ill-foreboding words.
"Oh! tell me; is not your father at present in Ulm?"
The poor girl had thought herself strong enough to withstand the shock
she felt at this moment, but it was too powerful; it deprived her of
utterance, and she could scarcely contain her tears. She answered only
by a slight pressure of her hand; and with downcast eyes went to seek
Kraft, led by Albert, in order to gain a little time to combat the
grief she experienced. The strong mind of this young maiden at last
triumphed over the weakness of her nature; and she whispered to her
lover, in a composed tone, "My father is Duke Ulerich's warmest friend;
and so soon as war is declared, he will take me back to Lichtenstein."
The noise of the drums at this instant was deafening; the trumpets
clanged in their fullest tones as they saluted Truchses, who how passed
by the musicians; and, according to the custom of those days, threw
them some pieces of silver, which caused the trumpets to redouble their
deafening sounds.
The whispered conversation of our two lovers was overpowered by the
confounding noise of the instruments; but their eyes had so much the
more to say to each other in this apparent shipwreck of their hopes, so
that they did not notice the observations, which were passed on them by
the surrounding spectators, as being the handsomest couple in the room.
Marie's ear was not shut to the passing remarks of the crowd. She was
too kind-hearted to be envious of her cousin's praise, and consoled
herself with the idea, that, were she in her place, beside the handsome
young man, the couple would not be less attractive. But it was the
animated conversation which Bertha kept up with her partner, that
particularly attracted her attention. Her reserved cousin, who seldom
or ever talked long with any man, now appeared to speak with even more
earnestness than he did. The music and noise, however, hindered Marie
from overhearing the subject of their conversation. This excited
her curiosity to such a degree (a feeling--perhaps, not without
justice--attributed specially to young ladies), that she drew her own
partner nearer to them, for the purpose of listening; but whether it
was by accident or design, that the conversation either dropped or was
kept up in a subdued tone, the nearer she approached, she could not
catch a word of it.
Marie's interest in the young man increased with these obstacles to her
curiosity. Her good cousin Kraft had never appeared so great a bore to
her as now, for all the pretty sayings with which he endeavoured to fix
her attention, were only so many hindrances to her observing the others
more closely. She was therefore glad when the dance was over. She hoped
the next would be more agreeable, with the young knight for her
partner.
Albert came and engaged her, when she sprang with joy to the hand which
he offered; but she deceived herself in finding him the agreeable
partner she had anticipated. Indifferent, reserved, sunk in deep
thought, giving short answers to her questions, it was too clear he was
not the same person who had but a moment before conversed in so
animated a manner with her cousin.
"Was this the courteous knight," thought Marie, "who had saluted them
in so polite a manner, without ever having seen them before? Was it the
same cheerful and merry person whom cousin Kraft had introduced? the
same who had spoken with Bertha so earnestly? or could she--yes, it was
too evident that Bertha had pleased him better than herself--perhaps,
because she was the first to dance with him."
Marie had been little accustomed to see her reserved cousin preferred
before her, which this apparent victory seemed to indicate. Her vanity
was piqued, she felt herself estranged from Bertha, and conceived
herself bound to exert her talents and winning arts to re-establish
herself in her lost rights. She therefore, in her usual merry mood,
carried on the conversation about the coming war, which she contrived
to lengthen out till the end of the dance. "Well," said she, "and how
many campaigns have you gone through, Albert von Sturmfeder?"
"This will be my first," he answered, abruptly, for he was annoyed that
she kept up the conversation, as he wished so much to speak to Bertha
again.
"Your first!" said Marie, in astonishment. "You surely want to deceive
me, for I perceive a large scar on your forehead."
"I got that at the university," he replied.
"How? are you a scholar?" asked Marie, her curiosity still more
excited. "Well, then, I suppose you have visited distant countries,
Padua or Bologna, or perhaps even the heretics in Wittenberg?"
"Not so far as you think," said he, as he turned to Bertha: "I have
never been further than Tübingen."
"In Tübingen?" cried Marie, surprised. This single word, like
lightning, unravelled in a moment every thing in her mind which before
had been obscure. A glance at Bertha, who stood before her with
downcast eyes, her cheeks suffused with the blush of confusion,
convinced her that, on that word, hung the key to a long list of
inferences which had occupied her thoughts. It was now quite clear why
the courteous knight saluted them; the cause of Bertha's tears could be
no other, than that of finding Albert had joined the opposite party;
the earnest conversation between them, and Sturmfeder's reserve to
herself, were satisfactorily explained to her mind. There was no
question of their having long known each other.
Indignation was the first feeling that ruffled Marie's breast. She
blushed for herself, when she felt she had endeavoured to attract the
attention of a young man whose heart was fully occupied by another
object. Ill humour, on account of Bertha's secrecy, clouded her
features. She sought excuse for her own conduct, and found it only in
the duplicity of her cousin. If she had but acknowledged, she said to
herself, the feeling which existed between her and the young knight,
she never would have shown the interest she took in him; he would have
been perfectly indifferent to her; she never would have experienced
this painful confusion.
Marie did not deign to give the unhappy young man another look during
the evening, and he was too much occupied with the painful sensations
of his own mind, to be aware of her ill will towards him. He was also
so unfortunate as to be scarcely able to say another word alone and
unobserved to Bertha. The ball ended, and left him in doubt as to what
her future fate, or the intentions of her father were likely to be. She
seized, however, a favourable moment to whisper to him on the
staircase, when she was going home, begging him to remain in the town
on the morrow, in the hope of finding an opportunity to speak with him.
The two girls went home, both ill at ease with each other. Marie gave
short, snappish answers to Bertha's questions, who, whether it was that
she suspected what was passing in her cousin's mind, or whether she was
overwhelmed by grief, became more melancholy and reserved than ever.
But when they entered their room, silent and cold towards each other,
then it was that they both felt how painful was the interruption of
their hitherto affectionate intercourse. Up to this eventful evening,
they had always assisted each other in all those little services, which
unite young girls in friendship. How different was it now? Marie had
taken the silver pin out of her rich light hair, which fell in long
ringlets over her beautiful neck. She attempted to put it up under her
cap, but unaccustomed to arrange it without Bertha's help, and too
proud to let her enemy, as she now called her cousin in her mind,
notice her embarrassment, she threw it away in a corner, and seized a
handkerchief to tie it up.
Bertha, unconscious of having offended her cousin, could not fail
noticing her change of affection towards her, and felt acutely the
apparent sting of her ruffled temper. She quietly picked up the cap,
and came to render her cousin her usual assistance.
"Away with you, you false one!" said the angry Marie, as she pushed
away the helping hand.
"Dearest Marie, have I deserved this of you?" said Bertha, gently, and
with tenderness. "Oh, if you but knew how unhappy I am, you would not
be so harsh with me."
"Unhappy, indeed!" loudly laughed the other, "unhappy! because the
courteous knight only danced with you once, I suppose."
"You are very hard, Marie," replied Bertha; "you are angry with me, and
will not even tell me the cause of your displeasure."
"Really! so you do not know how you have deceived me? but you cannot
keep your duplicity a secret any longer, which has subjected me to
scorn and confusion. I never could have thought you would have acted so
ungenerously, so falsely by me!"
The wounded feeling of being out-done by her cousin, and as she
thought, despised by Sturmfeder, was again awakened in Marie's mind;
her tears flowed, she laid her heated forehead in her hand, and her
rich locks fell over and hid her face.
Tears are the symptoms of gentle suffering, they say: Bertha had
experienced it, and continued her conversation with confidence. "Marie!
you have accused me of keeping a secret from you. I see you have
discovered that, which I never could have divulged. Put yourself in my
situation--ah! you yourself, cheerful and frank as you are, would never
have confided to me your inmost secret. But I will conceal it no
longer--you have guessed what my lips shunned to express. I love him!
Yes, and my love is returned. This mutual feeling dates much further
back than yesterday. Will you hear me? and I will tell you all."
Marie's tears still flowed on. She made no answer to Bertha's last
question, who now related to her the way in which they became
acquainted with each other in the house of her good aunt in Tübingen;
how she liked him, long before he acknowledged his love of her; and
narrated many endearing recollections of the past--the happy moments
they had spent together, their oath of fidelity at their separation.
"And now," she continued, with a painful smile, "he has been induced to
join the League in this unhappy war, because we were in Ulm, thinking,
very naturally, that my father was embarked in the same cause. He hopes
to render himself worthy of me by the aid of his sword; for he is poor,
very poor. Oh! Marie, you know my father--how good he is, but also how
stern, when any thing runs counter to his opinion. Would he give his
daughter to a man who has drawn his sword against Würtemberg? Certainly
not. This is the cause of all the trouble and grief I suffer. Often
have I wished to unburden my heart to you, but an uncontrollable
feeling closed my lips. But now that you know the whole truth, can you
still be angry with me? shall I lose my friend also, as well as my
beloved?"
Poor Bertha could contain her tears no longer, and wept aloud. Marie,
overpowered by the grief of her friend, embraced her cousin with the
warm affection of a tender heart sympathising in her painful situation,
and all feeling of enmity was in a moment extinguished in her breast.
"In a few days," said Bertha, after a short silence, "my father will
quit Ulm, and I must accompany him. But I must see Albert again, if it
were only for a quarter of an hour. Marie, your ingenuity can easily
find us an opportunity; only for a very short quarter of an hour!"
"But you do not wish to make him desert the good cause?" asked Marie.
"I know not what you call the good cause," replied Bertha. "The Duke's
cause is, perhaps, not less good than yours. You talk thus because you
belong to the League. I am a Würtemberger, and my father is faithful to
his Duke. But shall we girls decide upon the merits of the war? rather
let us think of the means, whereby I may see him again."
Marie had listened with so much interest to the history of her cousin,
that she quite forgot having ever entertained any ill-will towards her.
Besides which, being naturally fond of any thing involved in mystery,
she was glad of an opportunity, such as the present, to exercise her
wits. She felt all the importance and honour of being a confidant, and
consequently determined to spare no pains in serving the lovers in
their critical position.
After a few moments' thought, she said, "I have it; we'll invite him at
once into our garden."
"In the garden!" asked Bertha, fearful and incredulous; "and by whom?"
"His host, good cousin Dieterich himself shall bring him," answered
Marie. "That's a good thought! and he shall not know anything of the
plot; leave that alone to me."
Though Bertha was strong and determined in matters of importance, she
trembled for the result of this rash step. But her bold and cheerful
little cousin knew how to combat her scruples and fears. With renewed
hope, then, in the success of their scheme for the morrow, and their
hearts being restored again to their former mutual confidence, the
girls embraced each other with tender affection, and retired to rest.
CHAPTER VII.
As like a spirit of the air
She hangs upon his neck,
In falt'ring tones the lovely fair
At last essays to speak;
"And wilt thou, then, thy true love leave
For ever?"--thus the fair
Began, when, overcome by grief,
Her words are lost in air.
SCHUBART.
Albert was sitting in his room, in the forenoon of the day after the
ball, thoughtful and dejected. He had paid a visit to his friend
Breitenstein, from whom he heard little that was consoling to his
hopes. A council of war had been assembled early in the morning, and
war was irrevocably decided upon. Twelve pages were despatched through
the Goecklinger gate to convey the declarations of defiance of the Duke
of Bavaria, the nobility, and assembled states, to the Würtembergers at
Blaubeuren. This news was speedily spread from mouth to mouth through
the streets, and joy at the prospect of marching at last into the
field, was visibly depicted on every countenance. To one alone was the
announcement a terrible blow. Grief drove him from the circle of the
joyous multitude, who adjourned to the wine shops, to celebrate, by
loud carousal, the birthday of the war, and to cast lots for the booty
of anticipated victory. Ah! his lot was already cast! A bloody field of
battle was spread between him and his beloved; she was lost to him for
a length of time, perhaps for ever.
Hurried steps ascending the staircase, roused him out of his melancholy
mood. His friend the scribe put his head in at the door, crying out,
"Good luck, my boy! the dance is about to commence in good earnest.
Have you heard the news? war is announced, and our messengers have been
despatched an hour ago, with the declaration to the enemy."
"I know that already," said his gloomy guest.
"Well, and does not your heart jump more freely? Have you also
heard--no, you could not," continued Dieterich, as he approached him in
confidence--"the Swiss have withdrawn their aid from the Duke."
"How? Have they deserted him?" replied Albert. "Well, then, I suppose
that will put an end to the war."
"I would not be quite certain of that," said the scribe, doubtfully.
"The Duke of Würtemberg is young and bold, and has many knights and
followers at his command. He will not, indeed, run the risk of fighting
a battle in the field, but many fortified castles and cities remain
faithful to his cause. Höllenstein, defended by Stephen von Lichow,
Göppingen, which Philip von Rechberg will not give up at the first
shot, Schorndorf, Rothenberg, Arsperg, but, above all, Tübingen, which
he has strongly fortified, still hold faithful to him. Many a one will
bite the grass before your steed drinks of the water of the Neckar."
"Well, well!" he continued, perceiving this news did not cheer up his
silent guest, "if this warlike message does not please you, you will,
perhaps, lend a willing ear to a more peaceful commission. Tell me,
have you not a cousin somewhere or other?"
"A cousin, yes; but why do you ask?"
"Only think! now I understand the confused conversation I had with
Marie a little while ago. As I came out of the town hall, she winked to
me from her window to come to her, when she desired me to bring my
guest this afternoon into her garden on the Danube. Bertha, who knows
your cousin very well, has something of importance to send to her, and
hopes you will be so kind as to be the bearer of it. Such secrets and
commissions generally consist in mere trifles. I would bet, it is
nothing but a little model of a weaver's loom, or a pattern of fine
wool, or some mysterious secret in the art of cooking; perhaps a few
seeds of some rare flower, for Bertha is a great florist. However, if
these girls pleased you yesterday, you will have no objection to
accompany me to-day."
In the midst of his painful thoughts, on the hour of separation from
his love, Albert could scarce refrain from laughing at the cunning
ingenuity of the girls; he proffered his hand heartily to the welcome
messenger, and prepared to follow his friend.
The garden was situated on the banks of the Danube, about two thousand
paces below the bridge. It was not large, and bore the appearance of
being kept with care and attention. The fruit trees were as yet not
clothed with foliage, neither were the curiously formed flower beds
ornamented with flowers; a long walk of yew trees skirting the bank of
the river, and terminating in a large arbour, formed a pleasing picture
by their bright green colour, and gave sufficient protection to a white
neck and arm, against the piercing rays of a burning sun. The two
girls, awaiting the arrival of the young men, were seated on a
commodious stone bench in the arbour, and had an extended view, up and
down the Danube, through apertures made in the side of it.
Bertha sat there in sorrowful thought, her arm resting on one of the
apertures, and her head, weary from grief and weeping, supported on her
hand. Her dark glossy hair threw out in strong relief her beautiful
white complexion, which sorrow had rendered a deadly pale colour;
sleepless nights had robbed her brilliant blue eye of its usual
animation, and given to it a languishing--perhaps so much the more
interesting--look of melancholy. Beside her sat the rosy Marie, fresh
and plump, a perfect specimen of a merry heart. Her golden tresses,
animated round face, bright hazel eyes, light and lively movements,
were peculiarly striking when compared with the dark locks, oval
careworn countenance, and thoughtful look of her dejected cousin.
Marie appeared to have summoned up her most agreeable mood, expressly
for the purpose of consoling her cousin, or at least to dissipate
her pain. She prattled about indifferent things--she laughed at
and mimicked the gestures and peculiarities of many of their
acquaintances--she tried a thousand little arts, with which nature had
endowed her--but with little success; for only now and then a painful
smile spread over Bertha's beautiful features.
As a last resource, she took to her lute, which stood in the corner.
Bertha was an accomplished performer on this instrument, and Marie
would not have been easily persuaded to play before so expert a
mistress on any other occasion; but now, she hoped to be able to elicit
a smile, at least, if it were only on account of her bad performance.
"What is Love, I'm ask'd to tell:
Fain we would his nature know;
You who've studied it so well,
Why he pains us, prithee show.
Joy it brings, if love be there;
If pain, of love 't is not the spell;--
Oh, then, I know the name that it should bear."
"Where did you get that old Swabian song?" asked Bertha, who had lent a
willing ear to the music and words.
"It is pretty, is it not? but the remainder is still more so; would you
like to hear it?" said Marie. "A music master, Hans Sacks, taught
it me in Nürnberg. It is not his own composition, but Walther's, the
bird-feeder, who lived and loved a good three hundred years ago. But
listen:
"How I rightly may divine
Love's enigma, prithee say.
'Tis the charm of pow'r to join
Two hearts, where each must own its sway;
One heart avails not, each must share
Its influence: dear mistress mine,
Say, wilt thou share with me, thou lovely May?
"Well, though you have shared your love equally with the poor young
man," said the playful Marie, "I pity you, from my heart, the painful
burden of its weight. If such be its chains, cousin Kraft, who would
willingly give me a portion of his, must wait awhile, and groan under
the load of carrying the whole charge of it on his own shoulders. But I
see you are again absorbed in thought," she added, "so I must sing you
another of Walther's songs:
"I know not what has chanced, I ween
My sight was never on this wise.
Since in my heart she first was seen,
I see her still without my eyes.
What miracle is this? What pow'r
Enables me, without the aid of sight,
To see her every day and every hour?
"Would you then learn the organs and the art,
By which I see to earth's extremest zone?
They are the thoughts I nourish in my heart;
They penetrate through walls of brick and stone;
And, should these watchers fail, her presence still
Is evermore, as 't were, before my eyes,
Seen by my heart, my spirit, and my will."
Bertha praised the song of Walther the birdfeeder, as being consolatory
in separation. Marie agreed with her. "I have one more verse," she
added, smiling:
"Though she wander'd in Swabia, far and wide,
Through castles and walls her course he espied.
O'er the Alb unto Lichtenstein had she gone,
His eyes would have follow'd through rock and stone."
Marie was going on with her singing, when the garden door opened.
Footsteps were heard in the walk, and the girls rose to receive their
expected visitants.
"Albert von Sturmfeder," began Marie, after the usual salutations were
over, "you will pardon me for having ventured to invite you into my
father's garden; but, as my cousin, Bertha wishes to give you some
commissions, for her friend, I have taken the liberty." She then turned
to Dieterich von Kraft, and said, "We will not interrupt their
conversation; so, come and talk over the ball of last evening." Upon
which she took the hand of her cousin, and led him away down the
yew-tree walk.
Albert seated himself beside Bertha, who laid her head on his breast,
and wept bitterly. His most soothing words were unable to calm her
grief. "Bertha," he said, "you were always so stout-hearted; how can
you thus give up all hope of a happier destiny?"
"Hope?" she replied, sorrowfully: "to our hope, to our happiness, there
is an eternal end."
"But hearken, dearest," replied Albert, who, to cheer up her drooping
spirit, endeavoured to inspire her with courage; "let not this slight
interruption to our hopes throw its chilling influence over the purity
of our love, as if it were to extinguish altogether its bright flame.
All will be well yet. Rather let us put our trust in God, and wait his
almighty will; for I never can believe that He who knows the secret of
our hearts, and has joined them together by the indissoluble tie of
faithful attachment, will not, in his own way, make all things to work
for our good." These consoling words produced a smile upon her
countenance; but it pourtrayed the character of despondency rather than
of hope.
She replied, after a short silence, "Listen to me with attention,
Albert. I must acquaint you with a profound secret, upon which hangs my
father's life. He is as bitter an enemy to the League, as he is the
firm friend of the Duke. He is not come here solely for the purpose of
fetching his daughter home; no, he is using his utmost endeavour to
find out the plans of the enemy, and with money and address to spread
distrust and confusion among them. Do you suppose, then, that such a
determined adversary to the League, would ever consent to give his
daughter to a man who seeks to raise himself by our destruction? to one
who has attached himself to a party, whose object is not justice, but
plunder?"
"Your zeal, Bertha, for the Duke's cause, carries you too far," the
young man interrupted her; "you ought to know that many an honourable
man serves in our army."
"And even if this were the case," she replied, with animation, "still
they are deceived and led away, as you yourself also are."
"How are you so certain of that?" answered Albert, who, though he
suspected she was somewhat right, blushed to find the party he had
espoused should be so vilified by his beloved: "might not your father
be also equally blinded and deceived? How can he serve with such zeal
the cause of that proud ambitious Duke, who murders his nobility,
treads his citizens in the dust, squanders the industry of the land in
riotous living, and allows his peasantry to starve with hunger?"
"Yes, his enemies represent him in this light," she replied; "this army
speaks of him in the same terms; but ask those below, on the banks of
the Neckar, if they do not love their hereditary Prince, though his
hand may lay heavy on them at times? Ask those faithful men who have
rallied around him, whether they are not willing and ready, to shed
their blood for the grand-child of Eberhard, rather than allow that
proud Duke of Bavaria, that rapacious nobility, those needy townsfolk
to tread their land?"
Albert was thoughtfully silent for a time. "But," he asked, "how can
his warmest supporters exculpate him from the murder of Hutten?"
"You are very ready to talk of your honour," Bertha answered, "and will
not suffer the Duke to defend his own. Hutten did not fall by
treachery, as his partisans have given out to the world, but in
honourable fight, in which the Duke's life was equally exposed. I do
not wish to excuse him for all his actions, but it is but just to
remember, that a young man, like him, surrounded by evil advisers, has
not the power always to act wisely. But he is really good, and if you
knew how mild and humane he can be!"
Albert was piqued that Bertha should speak in such glowing terms of the
Duke's virtues, and jealousy for a moment took possession of his soul
and ruffled his temper. He replied with a sarcastic and malignant
smile, "A little more, and you would call him the handsome Duke; who,
for aught I know, if he were aware what an advocate he had in you,
might think it worth his trouble to ingratiate himself in your heart,
and supplant poor Albert."
"I really did not think you capable of such petty jealousy," Bertha
answered, and turned away, with a tear of indignation starting into her
eye, from a feeling of wounded dignity. "Cannot you believe it possible
for the heart of a young girl to beat warm in the cause of her
country?"
"Do not be angry with me," Albert implored, and felt ashamed at the
injustice of his remark; "really, I meant it in joke."
"Can you indulge in a joke at this moment, when our life's happiness is
at stake! My father leaves Ulm to-morrow, war being declared. It will
be long, perhaps very long, before we see each other again--and can you
joke now? Ah! could you have witnessed the many nights I have prayed
God, with burning tears, to incline your heart to our side, to defend
us from the misery and pain of being separated for ever, you certainly
would not have trifled so cruelly with my feelings."
"He has not inclined it to happiness," said Albert, looking about him,
agitated.
"And is it still impossible," said Bertha, as she took his hand, with
the most expressive tenderness, "is it still impossible? Come along
with us, Albert; think how happy my father would be to present a young
warrior to his Duke? He has often said that one gallant sword is of
great price in such times; you will be highly esteemed by him, you will
fight by his side, my heart will not then be torn or divided between
the conflicting parties, my prayers for prosperity and victory, will
not wander in doubtful agitation between the two armies."
"Stop, for heaven's sake, stop!" cried the young man, and covered his
eyes with his hands; for the conquest of conviction beamed from her
looks, the power of truth was encamped on her sweet lips. "Do you wish
to persuade me to become a deserter? I entered but yesterday with the
army, war is this day declared, and shall I ride over to the Duke
to-morrow? Is my honour so indifferent to you?"
"Honour!" Bertha said, "is such honour dearer to you than your love?
How different were his words, when Albert swore eternal fidelity! Well,
then, go and be happier with them than with me! But when the Duke of
Bavaria creates you a knight on the field of battle, for carrying
desolation through our fields, when he decorates the neck of Albert von
Sturmfeder with the chain of honour, for having been the foremost in
crushing Würtemberg's citizens, may the joy of your thoughts not be
troubled then, by having broken the heart of one so true to you--of one
who loved you so tenderly!"
"Dearest," answered Albert, whose breast was torn by conflicting
feelings, "grief does not permit you, to perceive how unjust you are.
But be it so; you conceive that I prefer the glory, which is leading me
onwards, to making a sacrifice of it to love. But hear me. I dare not
come over to your side. I will give in my resignation to the League.
Let those fight and conquer who will; my dream of glory is thus at an
end."
Bertha sent a look of gratitude to heaven for this avowal, and rewarded
the words of the young man by a sweet acknowledgment. "Oh! believe me,"
she said, "I know how much this sacrifice must cost you. But do not let
me see you look so sad, when you cast your eyes at your sword. The sun
will still shine upon our happiness one of these days. I can now bid
you farewell with consolation in my heart, for, whichever way the war
may end, you can appear unconstrained before my father, who will
rejoice to hear of your having made the heavy sacrifice for my sake."
Marie now gave her friends the signal that she was unable to retain the
clerk of the council any longer, which roused them from their absorbing
conversation. Bertha quickly composed herself, and with Albert quitted
the arbour.
"Cousin Kraft wishes to depart," said Marie, "and requires his friend
to accompany him."
"I must indeed go with you, if I wish to find my way home," replied the
young man, who was too well acquainted with the received customs of his
day, not to be aware that he, a stranger, could not remain with the
young ladies, without their cousin being of the party, precious as the
last moments, before a long separation from his love, might be to him.
They proceeded down the garden, the silence only broken by Dieterick,
who expressed his sorrow, in very courteous terms, at the prospect of
his cousin leaving Ulm so soon as the morrow. But Marie, thinking she
discovered something in the look of Albert's eye, which expressed a
wish not yet satisfied, and to the accomplishment of which witnesses
might be unwelcome, drew cousin Kraft on one side, and questioned him
so closely upon a plant, whose leaves were just bursting, that he had
not time to observe what was going on behind his back.
Albert took immediate advantage of the happy moment, and pressed Bertha
once more to his heart. The noise occasioned by her heavy silken dress,
and the clattering of his sword, drew the scribe's attention from his
botanical observations; he looked around, and oh, wonder! he saw his
very reserved cousin in the arms of his guest.
"That was a salute for the dear cousin in Franconia, I suppose?" he
remarked, after he had recovered from his surprise.
"No, Mr. Secretary," answered Albert, with firmness, "it was a salute
for me alone, and from her whom I hope one day to call my own. Have you
anything to say against it, my friend?"
"God forbid! I congratulate you with all my heart," answered Dieterick,
somewhat subdued by the determined look of the young man. "But, by the
powers, I call that an entire case of _veni_, _vidi_, _vici_. I have
been trying my luck with the beauty for more than a quarter of a year,
and I can scarcely boast of one kind look from her during the whole
time."
"Forgive the joke, cousin, which we have played upon you," said Marie;
"be reasonable, and let me explain the matter." She then gave him to
understand, why Albert and he had been invited into the garden, and
begged him to be silent upon the subject before Bertha's father. He was
softened into compliance by the kind look of Marie, upon condition,
that she would submit also to the same ordeal her cousin had just
undergone.
Marie gently repelled his unmannerly request, and, by way of teazing
him, asked him again at the garden door the natural history of a
violet, the first of the season. He was kind enough to give her a long
and learned dissertation upon the subject, without allowing himself to
be interrupted by the noise of a rustling silk dress or clattering
sword. A grateful look from Bertha, a friendly shake of the hand from
Marie, rewarded him at parting; and long floated the veils of the
pretty cousins over the garden hedge, as their eyes followed the path
of the young men.
CHAPTER VIII.
"In the still cloister's solitary grove,
A maiden walk'd, and thought upon her love;
The virgin moon, as if in mockery,
Shed forth her splendour on her misery,
And the bright lustre of the beams that fell
Lit up the tears that coursed her cheek so pale."
L. UHLAND.
During the following days, Ulm resembled a large camp. Instead of the
peaceable peasant, the busy citizens, passing, as in ordinary times,
through the streets with sober tranquil step to their several
avocations, were now to be seen strange figures, with helmets and caps
of iron, carrying lances, cross bows and fire-arms. In lieu of
statesmen in their plain black dresses, proud knights clad in steel,
and wearing helmets adorned with waving plumes, strode about the
squares and market places, accompanied by numerous bands of followers.
Still more animated was this warlike scene without the gates of the
town. In an open space on the banks of the Danube, Sickingen was
exercising his cavalry, whilst, in a large flax-field towards the
village of Soeflingen, Fronsberg was occupied in man[oe]uvring his
infantry.
One fine morning, about three or four days after Bertha von
Lichtenstein had left Ulm with her father, an immense concourse of
people were assembled in the above field, to witness Fronsberg's
infantry going through their evolutions. They looked upon this man,
whose military reputation had long preceded him, with not less interest
than we should, perhaps, were we to see the imperial or royal son of
Mars performing the part of a field marshal. The state of an army
depends in great measure on the character and experience of its leader;
and we are more or less interested in the accounts given in history, or
the public papers, of battles, according to the renown of the general
who fought them. Such might have been the motive, which induced the
inhabitants of Ulm on that morning to quit their narrow streets, to see
the celebrated man of the day, employed in his military occupations.
The dexterity with which he kept his men in solid masses, who before
were accustomed to fight in scattered bodies; the celerity with which
they moved on all sides at his word, or closed together, producing a
formidable array of pikes and fire-arms; his powerful voice, which even
rose above the noise of the drums, and his noble warlike figure, formed
a sight so novel and attractive, that even the citizen most fond of his
ease, was tempted to pass a long forenoon on foot, to enjoy the
spectacle.
The general appeared, on this morning, more cheerful and friendly than
usual. The warm interest which the good people of Ulm took in him, and
which was visibly depicted on every countenance, perhaps produced this
feeling; or perhaps he felt himself happier when engaged in military
exercises, than confined to the cold narrow streets. Whatever might
have been the cause, the crowd took his gay mood in such good part,
that each individual thought himself specially noticed and saluted by
him as he passed, and the cheer, "A gallant man, a brave knight!"
followed his path.
But there was a certain spot, to which his attention appeared to be
more particularly drawn; for, every time he rode by it, he was observed
to salute some one, either with his sword or hand, and to nod
familiarly. Those in the rear of the spectators stood upon tiptoes to
find out the object of his friendly nod, those in front looked
inquisitively at each other, wondering who the favoured one could be,
as none of the assembled citizens thought themselves worthy of the
honor. When Fronsberg passed the same spot again, and repeated his
salutation, an hundred heads were on the stretch to satisfy their
curiosity, and they discovered that it was directed to a tall slim
young man, who stood in the front rank of the spectators. His jacket of
fine cloth, slashed with silk, the high feather in his cap playing in
the morning breeze, his long sword and his scarf or sash, distinguished
him as a man of quality from among his surrounding neighbours, who were
less adorned than he was, and whose diminutive stature and broad faces
did not set them off to the best advantage beside him.
The good townsfolk felt hurt that the young man did not appear
flattered by the high favour conferred on him in their very presence.
His attitude, also, standing there as he did, with sunken head, and his
arms folded across his breast, they thought did not betoken good
breeding, so especially noticed as he was by an old warrior. Besides
which, the salutation of the general seemed to spread confusion over
his countenance, for he returned it by a slight inclination of the head
only, and followed it with a gloomy though friendly look.
"That gentleman must be a strange fellow," said the chief of the Ulm
weavers to his neighbour, a sturdy armourer; "I would give my Sunday
jacket for such a salute from Fronsberg; but he scarcely notices it.
Would it not be the inquiry of the whole town, what has Fronsberg done
to Master Köhler, that he did not return his salute, for they were
lately like two brothers? 'Oh! they are long acquainted,' would be the
answer, 'they knew each other from their youth up.' But it vexes me
much, that so sensible and superior a man should salute such an
apparent coxcomb."
The armourer, a little old fellow, nodded assent to his friend's
remark. "May God punish me, but you are right, Master Köhler. There are
many other people here, whom he might have noticed. The burgomaster is
on the ground, and my godfather Hans von Besserer, who lives in the
corner house, stands among the crowd also,--both as good as that
youngster! If I were his master, I would soon teach him to bend his
head, though he looks to me, as if it would require an emperor to make
him do so. He must be a man of some consequence, for the secretary to
the council, my neighbour in town, who is otherwise an enemy to
receiving guests, has given him a lodging in his own house."
"Kraft?" asked the weaver, astonished; "but stop, there may be
something in it. He must be a young nobleman, or, likely enough, the
son of the burgomaster of Cologne, who intends to join the army also.
Is that not old John, Kraft's servant, standing there?"
"Yes, that's him," said the armourer, whose curiosity was excited by
the weaver's inquiry: "it is him; and I will stand confessor to him, in
spite of the provost of Elchingen." But though the space between the
two citizens and Kraft's servant was small, the smith could not accost
him, on account of the density of the crowd. The important bearing,
however, of the chief of the weavers among his brother tradesmen, for
he was rich, and respected in the town, enabled him to force his way,
and he succeeded in getting possession of John, and forthwith conducted
him to the armourer. Old John, when questioned, could not give them
much information on the subject of their inquiry; all he could say was,
that his master's guest was a Herr von Sturmfeder, and that he could
not have come from any great distance, as he had only one horse, and no
servant. "But my master will get the worst of it," he said, "for our
old Sabina is as furious as a dragon, because he has destroyed the
economy of the house by inviting a stranger, booted and spurred,
without consulting her."
"No offence," interrupted the chief of the weavers, "but your master,
John, is a fool! I would have thrown that old witch--God forgive
me!--long ago out of the window. The gentleman has already arrived at
years of discretion, and why does he allow himself to be treated as if
he were still in swaddling clothes?"
"You have spoken well, Master Köhler," answered the old servant, "but
you don't understand matters properly. Throw her into the street,
indeed! who would take care of the house, then, I should like to know?"
"Who," cried the inflamed weaver, "who? he should take a wife, a
housekeeper, as other Christians and citizens do. Why does he remain a
bachelor, and run after all the young girls in the town? Did I not
catch him, not long ago, saying pretty things to our Katharine? I
should like to have thrown my looms, beams and all, at his worship's
head; but when I recollected, that his good mother had many a good
piece of linen wove by me, I was obliged to take off my cap, and say,
'An humble good evening, and has your honour any commands?' May
the----"
"Upon my word," said John, with a displeased look, "I have always
thought that a gentleman, like my master, the secretary to the grand
council of state, might exchange a word in all honour with your
daughter, without the wicked world----"
"Really! exchange a word! and after vesper bell in March! He will not
marry her, nevertheless; and do you suppose the reputation of my
daughter must not be kept as clean as the white cravat of your master?
I should like to know that!" Master Köhler's voice during this
conversation was raised to so high a pitch as to draw the attention of
the bystanders, and having grasped Old John by the collar, there was no
saying what might have been the consequences, had not the master smith
dragged the querulous couple away by force, and separated them. He
thereby quelled the dispute, but he could not stop the report, which
was speedily circulated through the whole town, that Old John, having
an intrigue in his old age with Master Köhler's young daughter, had
been brought to an account by her angry father, in the open field.
The man[oe]uvres of the infantry were by this time at an end, the crowd
separated, and the young man, who had been the original cause of the
foregoing conversation, was observed to bend his way also towards the
town. His step was slow, and undecided; his face looked paler than
usual, his eyes sought the ground, or wandered occasionally, with an
expression of silent grief, towards the distant blue mountains, the
boundaries of Würtemberg. Albert von Sturmfeder had never felt so
unhappy as in these moments. Bertha had left Ulm with her father; she
had made him swear again to be faithful to his promise, an act which he
unavailingly felt to create a lurking regret in his breast. It had cost
him no small struggle at the time, to consent to her wishes, but the
overwhelming pain at parting from her, and the grief exhibited by the
beloved girl, had mastered every feeling but that of desire to soothe
the agony of her mind. His position was now one of extreme difficulty,
when he calmly considered his future plans. To crush in the bud all
those golden dreams and bright hopes of glory and honour, with which he
thought to render himself worthy the hand of the daughter of
Lichtenstein, was nothing, he felt, compared with the disgrace and
contempt, which he must expect to meet at the hands of men, whose
esteem was dear to him, for having deserted their colours, at a moment
when the struggle was about to commence. How could he give a reason, or
find words sufficiently convincing, to justify his conduct, before that
gallant old friend of his father, Breitenstein? How could he appear
before the noble Fronsberg? Ah, that friendly salute, with which he
appeared to encourage the son of his brave companion in arms, produced
a thousand torments. His father had fallen by his side, and he had
heard him, in his dying moments, bequeath to his orphan child the
renown of his name and a brilliant example, as his sole inheritance.
Before this man, who, mindful of his father's bequest, had kindly
opened to him a path which would lead to the accomplishment of his
parent's wishes, he must now appear in very doubtful light.
Troubled with these gloomy forebodings, he had slowly approached the
gate of the town, when he was suddenly seized by the arm, and turning
around, a man, to appearance a peasant, stood before him.
"What is your business with me?" asked Albert, rather angrily, annoyed
at being disturbed in his musing.
"My answer will depend upon whether you are the person I am looking
for," answered the man. "Tell me, what belongs to _Licht_ and
_Sturm_?"
Albert was astonished at this singular question, and observed him more
closely. He was not very tall, but strongly built, broad-chested, and
of mean appearance. His face, much tanned by the sun, might have passed
as plain and insignificant to a superficial observer, but, upon a
narrower inspection, there was a certain expression about the eyes and
mouth which, in addition to cunning and acuteness, bespoke daring and
audacity. His hair and beard were dark yellow, and smooth; he carried a
long dagger or knife in his leathern girdle; in one hand he held an
axe, in the other a low round leathern cap, such as the Swabian peasant
of the present day wears.
Whilst Albert made these hasty observations, he narrowly watched the
expression of his features.
"Perhaps you did not thoroughly understand me, sir knight," continued
the other, after a short silence; "so I will explain myself more fully.
Let me ask, what should be added to _Sturm_ and _Licht_, to form two
noble names?"
"_Feder_ and _stein_," answered the young man, to whom it was
immediately clear, what was to be understood by the question; "but what
is your business?"
"So you are Albert von Sturmfeder?" said the other; "and I come from
Bertha von----"
"For heaven's sake be silent, friend; mention no names," said Albert;
"tell me quickly, have you got any thing for me?"
"A note, sir," said the peasant; when, unbuckling a broad black leather
band, wound under his knee, he produced a small strip of parchment.
Albert took the parchment with hasty joy; there were a few words
written on it with black shining ink. It appeared to have cost some
trouble to the writer, and proved that the young ladies of 1519 were
not so ready with their pen, to express their tender feelings, as those
of the present day, when every village beauty can write an epistle to
her swain as long as her garter. The chronicle whence we have taken
this history, has happily preserved every word of the confused traces
on the parchment, which Albert's greedy eye now speedily deciphered as
follows:
"Remember your oath--fly bytimes. God conduct thee. Your Bertha----to
eternity."
These few words expressed a pious, tender feeling, dictated by a loving
heart. No wonder then that Albert was for some moments lost in a state
of joyous intoxication. He sent a look of gratitude toward the distant
blue mountains in the direction of Lichtenstein, and thanked his love
for the consolation these lines afforded him, for truly, never had he
stood so much in need of comfort, as at this moment. He was now
convinced, that a being, the dearest that existed in the world to him,
had not forsaken him. His heart resumed its usual cheerfulness, he
proffered his hand to the trusty messenger, thanked him cordially, and
asked him how he came by the strip of parchment.
"Did not I know," he answered, "that that little scrap of paper
contained no evil enchantment, for the young lady smiled most kindly as
she pressed it into my rough hand! I came to Blaubeuren last Wednesday,
where our army is encamped. There is a magnificent high altar in the
convent church there, over which the history of my patron, John the
Baptist, is represented. About seven years ago, when I was in great
distress of mind, and upon the point of suffering an ignominious death,
I made a vow, to perform a pilgrimage to the spot every year about this
time. I have never neglected this duty, having been saved from the
hangman's hand, by a miracle performed by my saint. When I have
finished my prayers, I always go to the abbot to present my offering of
a couple of fine geese or a lamb, or any thing else he may prefer. But,
sir, you will be tired with my gossip."
"No, no,--go on," said Albert; "come, sit down on that bench, beside
me."
"That would not be proper," answered the messenger; "for a common
peasant to place himself beside a gentleman, whom the general took such
notice of before all the people this morning, would be out of all
character: I would rather stand, with your permission." Albert seated
himself on the stone bench by the road side, and the countryman,
leaning on his axe, went on with his story. "I had little inclination
to prosecute my pilgrimage in these unsettled times, but it is said, an
unfulfilled oath is displeasing to the Almighty; so I was obliged to
perform my vow. This year, when I rose from my prayer, and, as usual,
was going to present my offering to the abbot, one of the priests told
me, I could not go to his reverence this time, because many nobles and
knights were waiting on him; but I insisted on it, for I knew the abbot
to be a kind benevolent man, and he would have been displeased, had I
gone away without seeing him. Should you ever visit the convent, don't
forget to notice a long and narrow staircase leading from the high
altar to the dormitory, through a thick wall, which separates it from
the church. There it was that the lady met me. She approached me, a
delicate-formed female, descending the stairs, covered with a long
veil, with breviary and rosary in her hands. I pressed myself close to
the wall, to allow her to pass, but she stood still, and said, 'Well,
Hans, whither are you going?'"
"But how did the lady know you?" Albert interrupted him.
"My sister is her nurse, and----"
"How, is old Rosel your sister?" said the young man.
"Do you know her also?" said the messenger, "only think! but let me
proceed. I was very happy to see her again, for I visited my sister
often in Lichtenstein, and I have known the young lady, ever since she
was taught to walk with the help of her father's sword belt. I should
scarcely have known her again, she is grown so much, but her rosy
cheeks have disappeared, like the snow on the first day of May. I don't
know how it was, but I was so much struck by her looks, that I could
not help asking her if any thing was the matter with her, and whether I
could render her any assistance. She thought for a moment, and then
said, 'Yes, Hans, if you can be discreet you may indeed render me a
very great service!' I promised, and she appointed a meeting after
vespers."
"But how is it, that she is in the convent?" Albert asked; "for
formerly no female foot dared cross its threshold."
"The abbot is a friend of her father's, and as there are so many people
in Blaubeuren at present, she is in greater safety in the convent than
in the town, where strange things come to pass. After vespers,
therefore, when all was quiet, I stole softly into the cloister, and
met her. I cheered her sunken spirits, as well as we peasants know how
to do, when she gave me that strip of parchment, and bid me find you
out."
"I thank you heartily, good Hans," said Albert; "but is that all she
charged you with?"
"No," answered the messenger; "she moreover commissioned me to tell
you, by word of mouth, to be upon your guard, for there was a plot laid
against you."
"Against me?" said Albert; "you must have misunderstood her. Who, and
what can any one have to say about me?"
"Ah, there you ask me more than I can answer," replied the other; "but,
if I dare guess, I believe the League has an eye upon you. The lady
added also, that her father had spoken about it. I saw Fronsberg nod to
you to-day, and honour you like the Emperor's son, to the astonishment
of every one present. Believe me, there is something in the wind, when
such a man beckons in so friendly a manner to another."
Albert was surprised at the plain remark of the simple countryman. He
recollected, however, that Bertha's father, having pryed deeply into
the secrets of the leaders of the League, might have heard something,
which more immediately concerned him; but, whichever way he turned his
thoughts, he could discover no ground upon which Bertha's mysterious
warning could be founded. His mind was torn with doubt and conjecture;
and he abruptly asked the messenger, how he had found him out so soon?
"Without Fronsberg's aid, it had not been such an easy matter," said
he: "I was desired to inquire for you at Dieterick von Kraft's house.
But as I was entering the gate of the town, I saw a large crowd of
people in the field. I thought half an hour would make no great
difference, so I joined the spectators to see the infantry exercise.
Really, Fronsberg has done wonders. Well; it struck me I heard your
name mentioned. I looked round, and saw three old men talking about
you, and pointing to you. I noticed your figure, and followed your
steps; but not certain if I was quite right, I put the enigma of Sturm
and Licht to you."
"You have acted cleverly," said Albert, smiling; "but come to my house,
and get something to eat. When do you go home again?"
Hans considered a moment; at last, he said, with a cunning smile on his
mouth, "No offence, sir; but I have pledged myself to the young lady,
not to quit you before you have taken your leave of the League."
"And then?" asked Albert.
"And then I go direct to Lichtenstein, to give her good news from you.
How she longs to hear the happy tidings! She stands on the rock of the
garden every day, and all day long, to see whether old Hans is coming."
"She shall soon have that pleasure," answered Albert; "I will be off
to-morrow, if possible; and will write to her in the mean time."
"But be cautious what you do," said Hans; "the strip of parchment must
not be longer than the one I brought you, for I must conceal it also
under my knee-band. We cannot be too careful in these times; and no one
will look for it there."
"Let it be so, then," answered Albert, as he rose from his seat. "And
now adieu for the present; come to me at noon at Dieterick von Kraft's
house, it is not far from the cathedral, and any one will shew it you.
If they ask you where you come from, say you are a countryman of mine
from Franconia, because the Ulmers are not well affected towards the
Würtembergers."
"Don't be afraid, sir; you will not have any fault to find with me,"
replied Hans, as he parted from Albert. He looked back at the slim
young man, and thought his sister's foster child, had made no bad
choice in the object of her love.
CHAPTER IX.
"The world and all I'd sacrifice for thee;
And do it cheerfully--but only flee."
SCHILLER.
Albert felt some uneasiness, at first, as to how his new acquaintance
might behave in Kraft's house. It was not without reason, that he
feared he might betray himself by his dialect or inconsiderate
explanations, which would put him in an awkward position; for, though
it was his firm resolution to quit the service of the League in a few
days, still he did not wish it to be suspected that he was in
correspondence with Würtemberg. Neither could he nor would he betray
the secret of Bertha having sent a messenger to him, should he be
unfortunately discovered. He thought of turning back, looking for the
man, and begging him to leave the town as soon as possible; but when he
recollected that, he must have long since left the place where they had
held their conversation, and that he might in the mean time have
arrived at the house, it appeared to him more advisable to hasten home
to put Hans on his guard, and warn him against committing an
indiscretion.
There was, however, something so peculiar in the sharp eye and the bold
cunning countenance of the man, which gave him reason to hope, that
Bertha, in the hasty choice she had made of the means of communicating
with him, would not have confided her message to uncertain hands.
Albert had scarcely entered Kraft's house, when, at noon, a countryman
from Franconia was announced; and the messenger of his love was shewn
in. Can this man now before me be the same who left me but a few
moments ago, thought Albert, surprised at his appearance, with his back
bent nearly double, his arms hanging lifeless by his body, his eyes
devoid of all animation? He could scarcely believe his eyes and ears,
when he addressed Kraft, who saluted him in pure Franconian dialect,
and answered his many questions with the volubility of a native of that
country. Albert with difficulty repressed a smile at the strange
metamorphosis of his new acquaintance; and was tempted to believe in
the supernatural stories he had heard in his childhood, which described
kind magicians, or gracious fairies, devoting themselves under all
sorts of forms to the service of true lovers, and carrying them safely
through the wiles of fate.
The charm was soon dispelled, when Albert and the messenger were left
alone in the room; and the Swabian peasant had assured him of his being
the same person. But Albert could not conceal his astonishment at the
part he had acted so well.
"I hope you will not think less honourably of me," said the countryman;
"we are often put to our wits to get on in the world: such arts hurt no
one, but assist him who knows how to practise them."
Albert assured him of his confidence, when the messenger urgently
pressed him to think of his immediate departure; and not to forget how
ardently the lady longed to hear the news of it. He added, that he
dared not return home, before he could bring her the positive
intelligence of his having quitted Ulm.
Albert said, he would only wait until the army of the League had
marched, and then return home.
"Oh! then you will not have to remain much longer," said the messenger,
"for, if they do not march to-morrow, they will do so the day after, as
the heart of the country is open before them. I know I can trust you,
sir, therefore I tell you this."
"Is it true then, that the Swiss have deserted the Duke; and that he
will not fight a battle in the field?" asked Albert.
The peasant threw a searching look around the room, carefully opened
the door, to assure himself that no one was listening in the
neighbourhood, and said,
"Sir, I was present at a scene, which I shall never forget, if I live
ninety years. On my way hither, I met large bodies of Swiss on the Alb,
going homewards, recalled by their councils and magistrates. But there
were still eight thousand men at Blaubeuren, all good Würtembergers,
and not a stranger among them."
"And the Duke," Albert interrupted him, "where was he?"
"The Duke treated with the Swiss for the last time at Kirchheim; but
they withdrew from him, because he could not pay them. He then came to
Blaubeuren, where his infantry was encamped. Yesterday morning it was
made known by beat of drum, that all the people should assemble on the
field of the convent by nine o'clock. The assembly was numerous; and
but one feeling ran through the whole. Look ye, sir, Duke Ulerich is a
severe master; and does not understand the manner of winning over the
peasantry. Taxes are oppressive--the injury done to our fields by
hunting is ruinous and galling--and the court squanders what is taken
from us;--but when such a master, though tyrant he be, is in
misfortune, it is quite a different thing. The only feeling now among
us is, that he is our legitimate Duke; and, though unfortunate, he is a
brave man, whom his enemies would drive from his country. A whisper was
no sooner circulated that he wished to fight a battle, than each man
grasped his sword firmer, shook his spear fiercely, and vociferated
loud curses on the League. The Duke then came forward----"
"Did you see him? do you know him?" said Albert, with impatient
curiosity, "Oh! tell me, what is his appearance?"
"Do I know him?" replied the messenger, with a peculiar smile, "truly,
I saw him at a time when the sight of me was not welcome to him. He is
still a young man, about two and thirty years old. His person is
stately and powerful, and it is easy to perceive that he is well
skilled in the use of arms. His eyes sparkle like fire," he added, "and
few there are who can withstand his piercing glance, or penetrate his
thoughts. The Duke stepped into the circle which the armed multitude
had formed, and the stillness of death reigned among them. He said,
with an audible, firm voice, that, seeing himself deserted by his
allies, he knew not where to look for help. Betrayed by those upon
whose aid he had relied,--he was become the sport of his enemies,--for,
without the Swiss, he dare not risk a battle. An hoary-headed old man
then came forward, and said: 'Duke, do you give up all hope before you
have tried the strength of our arms? Look, sir, every man of us is
ready to bleed for you; I have brought my four boys, each with his
spear and knife, and so have many thousands besides. Are you tired of
your country, that you disdain our assistance?' These simple but
patriotic words touched the Duke's heart; he wiped the tears from his
eyes, and gave the old man his hand. 'I don't doubt your courage,' said
he, with a loud voice, 'but we are too few,--death, not victory, will
be our fate. Go to your homes, my good faithful people, and there
remain true to me. I must fly my country, and wander about with bitter
misery for my portion; but, with God's assistance, I hope soon to
return.' So spake the Duke; our people wept, and, grinding their teeth
in anger against his enemies, withdrew in sorrow and despondency."
"And the Duke, what became of him?" asked Albert.
"He rode away from Blaubeuren, it is not known whither. The knights
occupy his castles, to defend them, until he can procure succour."
The appearance of old John, the servant, interrupted the messenger, and
announced that Albert was ordered to attend the council of war, which
was to be held at Fronsberg's quarters at two o'clock. The young man
was not a little astonished at this summons. What could they want with
him at the council of war, of all places? His conscience acquitted him,
indeed, of having given rise to any suspicion of his intentions, but he
was fearful lest his friend Fronsberg might have proposed his being
employed on some service which would compromise his promise to Bertha,
and from which it might be difficult for him to excuse himself
honourably--these were the thoughts which flew through his mind.
"Take care of yourself, sir," said the messenger, as soon as old John
had left the room, "and think of the promise you gave the young lady.
Above all, don't forget what she said to you, namely, to be on your
guard against a plot. Allow me to remain in your house as your servant;
I can look after your horse, and am ready for any other service you may
require."
The offer of the faithful man was accepted with thanks by his new
master, and Hans entered at once into his service, by assisting him to
put on his sword, and arranging his cap properly. He again reminded him
of his oath, and warned him of the plot, on the threshold of the door,
as Albert left his abode.
Albert proceeded towards the house pointed out to him, meditating upon
the incomprehensible summons to the council of war, and the peculiarly
striking warning sent to him by Bertha. When he arrived there, a broad
winding staircase was pointed out to him, at the top of which, in the
first room on the right, he would find the military commanders
assembled. But he was not permitted immediate entrance into this
sanctuary, for, just as he was on the point of opening the door, a
grey-bearded soldier, asking his business, gave him to understand that
he would have to wait at least half an hour before he obtained an
audience, and, taking the young man by the hand, led him through a
narrow passage into a small room, there to exercise his patience
awhile.
Whoever has danced attendance, under the excitement of anxious
expectation, in an anteroom, may well imagine the torment Albert
experienced during that hour of solitary meditation. His heart beat
impatiently to learn the result of his present unexpected position, his
mind was on the stretch, and when he heard a distant door creak on its
hinges, or footsteps in the passage, or when indistinct voices in an
adjoining chamber became plainer, he hoped that rescue was at hand. But
in vain did the doors creak, the approaching footsteps receded, and the
indistinct voices died away into mere whispering sounds. He endeavoured
to beguile time by counting the boards in the floor, and the windows of
the neighbouring houses, when the clear tones of a clock reminded him
of having passed a tedious half hour. He then paced the confined space
of the apartment in nervous agitation, until, his patience being nearly
exhausted, he heard a door open again, and heavy footsteps coming
towards his room. The door opened, and the same old grey-headed soldier
entered, and said, "George von Fronsberg sends you his compliments, and
a can of wine for vespers. The council may still last some time, but,
as it is uncertain how long, you must remain here in the meanwhile."
Saying which, he set the wine on the ledge of the window, for there was
no table, and left the apartment.
Albert followed the old warrior with a look of amazement, for he
thought such treatment unpardonable. He passed more than an hour in
this situation, and still nothing had come to pass. He took a draught
of wine, which he found was not indifferent, but it was out of the
question enjoying his glass in his present painful solitude.
It is a fault common to young people of Albert's years to conceive
themselves of more importance than their station in the world really
warrants. An experienced man will bear with patience, or, at least,
restrain his displeasure, upon feeling himself slighted, whilst the
young man is apt to take fire upon the least hint derogatory to what he
imagines a point of honour. No wonder, then, that Albert, when he was
called to attend the council, after having been kept waiting two long
solitary hours, was not in the best of humours. The old soldier, at
length, having returned, conducted Albert to the council, leading the
way through a narrow passage, with a silence and precaution observed in
cases of a prisoner's presence.
When they came to the door, he turned to Albert, and said, in a
friendly way, "Do not despise the advice of an old man, sir, and put
aside that fierce sullen look of yours; it will be of no service to you
in the presence of the stern men in there."
Around a large unwieldly table sat eight elderly men, who formed the
council of war of the League. Some of them were known to Albert. George
Truchses, Baron of Waldburg, occupied the upper place at the table; on
each side of him sat Fronsberg and Sickingen. He was not acquainted
with the rest, excepting old Ludwig von Hutten; but the chronicle
whence this tale is taken has faithfully transmitted their names to us.
There was Christoph Count of Ortenberg, Alban von Closen, Christoph von
Frauenberg, and Diepold von Stein, aged men, and of repute in the army.
Albert paused at the door as he entered, but Fronsberg beckoned to him
in a kind way to approach. He went up to the table, and faced the
assembly with an open bold look peculiar to him. The members also took
a survey of him, and appeared pleased with his appearance and manly
bearing, for their eyes rested upon him with kindness, whilst some even
encouraged him by a friendly nod.
Truchses von Waldburg at length addressed him. "It has been reported to
us that you have been brought up at the high school in Tübingen; is it
so?"
"Yes, sir knight," answered Albert.
"Are you well acquainted with the neighbourhood of Tübingen?" continued
the other.
Albert blushed when this question was put to him. He thought of his
love, who was now at Lichtenstein, only a few hours (_stunden_) distant
from the university. But he answered composedly, "I have not hunted
much in that neighbourhood; neither have I made many excursions there;
but I am generally acquainted with its locality."
"We have determined," said Truchses, "to send a confidential person
into that neighbourhood to find out what may be the Duke's intentions
upon our approach, and to gain correct information upon the state of
the fortifications of the castle of Tübingen, together with the feeling
of the people of the surrounding country. Such a person, by prudence
and sagacity, may do more harm to the Duke's cause than a hundred
horsemen: we have selected you for this service."
"Me!" cried Albert, in horror.
"You, Albert von Sturmfeder: dexterity and experience are no doubt
requisite in such undertakings: but you must look to that; whatever is
wanting on your part, in the execution of this piece of service, your
head will answer for."
The effect which this order produced on the young man was visibly
depicted on his features. His face turned pale, his eyes became fixed,
his lips firmly pressed together. The warning of Bertha flashed across
his mind, and struck him with increased force; but, however favourable
this opportunity might be to quit the service of the League, he was too
much taken by surprise to be able to decide at that moment.
Truchses fidgeted about in his chair, showing evident symptoms of
impatience at the young man's hesitation to give an answer: "Well," he
cried, "will it come out soon? what are you thinking about so long?"
"Spare me this commission," said Albert, at length, but not without
dread; "I cannot, I dare not undertake it."
The old men looked at each other in astonishment, as if they did not
trust their ears. "You dare not, you cannot," Truchses repeated slowly,
a deep red at the same time mounting up to his eyes, and colouring his
forehead, the forerunner of rising anger.
Albert immediately perceived he had been too hasty in his expression;
he recovered himself, and spoke with more composure: "I proffered my
services to the League for the glory of honourable fight, not to steal
into the enemy's country in the ignominious guise of a spy, to discover
by secrecy and treachery what is not to be obtained openly. It is true,
I am young and inexperienced; but this much I know, that I am
answerable to myself alone for the propriety of my conduct. Who among
you, as a father, would advise his son to commence his military career
in the dishonourable garb of a spy?"
Truchses contracted his dark eyebrows into a frown, and shot a
penetrating glance at the young man, who had ventured to entertain an
opinion so different to his own. "What are you thinking about, sir?" he
cried, "your opinion has nothing to do here; the question is, not
whether your conscience will allow you to execute our orders--it treats
of obedience to our commands, which we insist upon, and which you
_must_ submit to."
"And I will not," replied the young man, with a resolute voice. He felt
his courage increase every moment, in proportion as the insulting tone
of Waldburg excited his anger. He even hoped Truchses might persist in
his offensive manner; for it would strengthen him still more in his
resolve, and fully justify his determination to quit their service.
"Yes, yes!" laughed Waldburg, in sarcastic rage, "to ride about alone
in the enemy's country is certainly a dangerous undertaking. Ha, ha!
These are your fine-spoken gentlemen, proffering head and arm, with
high-sounding words and lofty looks; but, when it comes to the point,
if any service is required of them which is attended with danger, their
hearts fail them. But one generation resembles the other; the apple
does not fall far from its stem; and where there is nothing to be
gained, the Emperor has lost his rights."
"If those words be meant as a reflection on my father," answered
Albert, irritated, "there are witnesses sitting here, who can vouch
that he lives in their memory as a brave man. You think to have
achieved sufficient renown to warrant your taking the liberty of
undervaluing the merits of others."
"Shall such a downy chin prescribe to me what I shall say?" interrupted
Waldburg. "But an end to this trash. I want to know, youngster, whether
or not you will saddle your horse to-morrow, and follow our orders?"
"Truchses von Waldburg," answered Albert, with more composure than he
thought himself master of, "your arrogant language only convinces me
how little you know the way to address a gentleman, who has tendered
his services to the League with honourable motives, and who is the son
of a brave father. You have addressed me in the name of the League, as
president of this council, and have insulted me, as if I were its
greatest enemy. I have, therefore, no other answer to give, than, in
following your orders, to saddle my horse; but I now most decidedly
declare, assuredly no longer in your service. My honour forbids my
remaining under your colours; I therefore pronounce myself henceforth
free and unshackled from you for ever;--farewell."
The young man spoke with vigour and firmness, and turned around to
depart.
"Albert," called Fronsberg, springing from his seat, "son of my
friend!--"
"Not so rash, young man," cried the rest, and cast looks of
disapprobation at Waldburg; but Albert walked out of the apartment
without looking back; the iron latch of the door rang sharply as it
fell; heavy oaken pannels lay between him and the recall of the
better-intentioned members of the council, and separated Albert von
Sturmfeder for ever from the Swabian League.
CHAPTER X.
Oh, when, enveloped in a night of grief,
Thy wounded heart can nowhere find relief;
When the sun plunges in the western sea,
Ah, let the star of love not set to thee.
P. CONY.
Albert felt much relieved when he got to his room, and reflected on
what had just happened. He rejoiced that the weight which had oppressed
his mind ever since he promised to quit the service of the League, was
now removed, in a way which could not have been more _à propos_, and
which he conceived to be every way honourable to his feelings. He
determined, therefore, without delay, to leave Ulm, letting Truchses
take all the blame of this step to himself.
How rapidly had everything changed in the last four days! how different
were his feelings when he first entered the town, from those which were
about to drive him from its walls! At that time, when the thunder of
cannon, mingling with the deep tolling of the church bells, celebrated
the entrance of the League's troops, and the animating sound of
trumpets saluted his ear, seeming to give applause to the part he had
taken in the coming straggle; how his heart then beat for the
opportunity of proving himself worthy of his love! And when he was
first presented to Fronsberg, how elevated and encouraging was the
thought of emulating the reputation of his father, and reaping praise
under the eye of that great commander! But now, all those bright hopes
were blasted. He had learned the intentions of the League. Excited by
motives of sordid interest and cupidity, their only object was plunder.
He blushed to draw his sword in such a cause:--the brilliancy with
which his youthful imagination had coloured his future prospects was
gone for ever. And then again, how painful the thought of being opposed
to Bertha's father, the faithful friend of the unfortunate Duke,
perchance to encounter him in the struggle. It would break his love's
heart, which beat so true for him. "No!" said he, looking up to heaven,
in gratitude, "all has been ordained for my good. Upon any other who
had stood in my situation this day, destruction might have fallen, but
I have been saved!" In thankfulness for the mercies apparently
vouchsafed to him, he cast away the gloomy forebodings with which his
mind had been haunted; his natural cheerfulness returned, and he sang a
song as merrily as in his former happy mood.
Herr von Kraft beheld him with astonishment, as he entered the room.
"Well, that is curious," said he; "I hastened home to console my guest
in his distress, and find him merrier than ever: how do these two
things rhyme together?"
"Have you never heard, Herr Dieterich," replied Albert, who thought it
advisable to conceal his joy, "have you never heard that one can laugh
in anger and sing in pain?"
"I have certainly heard it, but never witnessed it till this moment,"
answered Kraft.
"Well, and so you have heard of my vexatious affair with the grand
council?" asked Albert. "I suppose it has run through all the streets
already?"
"Oh no!" answered the secretary to the council; "no one knows any thing
of it; for it would not do to trumpet forth your intended secret
embassy to Würtemberg. No, thank God! I have my private sources, and
learn many things the very hour they are done or spoken. But, don't be
offended, if I say that I think you have acted a foolish part."
"Really," answered Albert; "and in what way?"
"Could there have been a better opportunity offered you to distinguish
yourself? To whom would the commanders of the League have been under
greater obligations than to him who----"
"Out with it at once," interrupted Albert--"than to him, you mean, who
would steal into the enemy's country as a spy, worm out their secrets,
and then, like other villains, betray them. I only regret that the name
and honour of my father had not secured for me a higher and brighter
destination."
"Those are scruples which I would not have thought to find in you.
Really, if I were as well acquainted as you are with that
neighbourhood, they should not have asked me a second time."
"You, perhaps, in this country, possess different principles upon this
point from us in Franconia," replied Albert, not without disdain:
"Truchses von Waldburg should have thought of that, and appointed an
Ulmer to the service."
"You remind me now of another subject; the general of the forces! How
could you think of making him your enemy? He will never forgive what
has taken place, you may depend upon that."
"That is the least I care about," answered Albert; "but one thing
annoys me, which is, that I cannot meet that insolent arrogant fellow
at the end of my sword, and prove to him, who has already vilified my
father's name upon other occasions, that the arm which he has this day
thrust from him, is not quite so despicable as he supposes."
"For God's sake," said Kraft, "don't speak so loud; it might come to
his ears. Above all, you must be very cautious what you say, if you
intend still to serve in the army under him."
"I intend soon to free Truchses of my hateful person. With God's will,
I have seen the sun set for the last time in Ulm!"
"And is it really true what I also heard, but which I cannot believe,"
asked Kraft, with astonishment, "that Albert von Sturmfeder would quit
our good cause on account of this trifle?"
"To wound a man's honour is by no means a trifle," replied Albert,
gravely; "at least, according to my mind. But having carefully
reconsidered what you call your good cause, I find I should have to
draw my sword neither in an honourable nor a just one, but only to
satisfy the cupidity of a few unwashed townsfolk."
The unfavourable impression which the last words, in particular, seemed
to make on the secretary, did not escape Albert; he went on to say,
therefore, in a milder tone, taking his hand at the same time, with a
friendly squeeze: "Do not take what I have said amiss, my kind host;
God knows, I did not intend to offend you; but from your own mouth I
have learnt the object of the different parties in this army. You may,
therefore, attribute my actions partly to your own explanations; for
you had already taken the bandage off my eyes."
"You are not quite so wrong, after all, good sir; strange things will
come to pass when once these gentlemen begin to divide that fine
country among themselves. But I have thought, if they go to a certain
spot, you might also claim your mite. It is said,--you must not be
offended with me,--that your house is somewhat dilapidated; therefore
it appeared to me----"
"Nothing more upon that subject," said Albert, hastily, touched by the
kind hint of his well-meaning friend. "The house of my ancestors is
indeed in ruins, the doors hang on their broken hinges, grass grows
upon the drawbridge, and owls inhabit the watch-tower. In fifty years
hence a tower or a bit of a wall may still be standing, to remind the
wanderer, that once upon a time a knighted race dwelt there. But should
the decayed wall fall upon me, and bury the last of my family under its
ruin, no one shall ever say of me--He drew his father's sword in an
unjust cause."
"Every one to his thinking," answered Dieterick; "all this sounds very
fine, but I, for my part, would stretch a point for the sake of
re-establishing my house, and making it habitable. But whether you
change your determination or not, I hope, at all events, you will
remain with me a few days longer."
"I am grateful for your kindness," answered Albert; "but, you see,
under existing circumstances, I have nothing more to do in this town. I
propose leaving it by daybreak tomorrow."
"Well, then, one may send a remembrance to a friend by you, I suppose?"
said the secretary, with a most crafty smile: "of course you ride the
direct road to Lichtenstein?"
The young man blushed up to the forehead. Since Bertha's departure she
had not been the subject of conversation between him and his host, and
therefore his sly question took him so much the more by surprise. "I
perceive," said he, "that you do not understand me yet. You believe I
have only turned my back on the League for the purpose of joining the
enemy? How can you think so ill of me?"
"Ah! away with you," replied the wary scribe; "no one else but my
charming cousin has influenced your conduct. You would have shut an eye
to every thing the League did, had old Lichtenstein been on our side;
but now that you know he belongs to the other party, you think yourself
justified in joining it also."
Albert might defend himself as well as he could; the secretary was too
firmly rooted in his opinion to allow himself to be talked out of it.
Moreover, he thought this step very natural, and saw nothing in it
dishonourable or blamable. With a hearty remembrance to his cousin in
Lichtenstein, he left the room of his guest. But on the threshold of
the door he turned round again, and said, "I had almost forgotten to
mention, that I met George von Fronsberg in the street, who begs you
will go and see him this evening at his house."
Albert had already determined not to depart without taking leave of
Fronsberg, but he felt nervous at appearing before a man whose
intentions towards him were kind, but whose plans he had thwarted. He
buckled on his sword, thinking upon this painful meeting, and was
arranging his cloak, when his attention was drawn to an unusual noise
on the stairs. Heavy steps of a party of men approached his door; he
thought he heard the clatter of swords and halberts on the stone floor
of the ante-room. He stepped quickly towards the door to ascertain the
cause of this visit; but before he reached it, it opened, and by the
light of a few candles he perceived many armed men about to enter. The
same old soldier who had received him when he went to the council of
war, stepped forward.
"Albert von Sturmfeder!" said he to the young man, who retreated a step
in astonishment, "by order of the grand council of war I make you my
prisoner."
"Me--prisoner?" said Albert, with consternation. "Why? what am I guilty
of?"
"That 'a not my affair," answered the old man, surlily, "but probably
you will not be left long in ignorance. Be so good to deliver up your
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