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Anne of Geierstein; Or, The Maiden of the Mist. Volume 2 (of 2)

by Walter Scott · English · Gutenberg #44247 · 584,470 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Anne of Geierstein; Or, The Maiden of the Mist. Volume 2 (of 2)

Author: Walter Scott

Annotator: Andrew Lang

Illustrator: R. de‏ Los Rios


        
Release date: November 21, 2013 [eBook #44247]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN; OR, THE MAIDEN OF THE MIST. VOLUME 2 (OF 2) ***

Transcriber's Note:

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistent
  spelling, hyphenation, and capitalization (e.g. his grace/Grace) in
  the original document have been preserved.

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
  signs=.




     WAVERLEY NOVELS

     FORTY-EIGHT VOLUMES
     VOLUME XLIV.




     BORDER EDITION

     The Introductory Essays and Notes by ANDREW LANG to this
     Edition of the Waverley Novels are Copyright

     [Illustration: KING RENÉ.
      Drawn and Etched by R. de Los Rios.]




     ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN

     BY

     SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.

     WITH INTRODUCTORY ESSAY AND NOTES
     BY ANDREW LANG

     TEN ETCHINGS

     VOLUME II.

     LONDON

     JOHN C. NIMMO

     14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND

     MDCCCXCIV




     PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
     At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh




LIST OF ETCHINGS.

PRINTED BY F. GOULDING, LONDON.


VOLUME THE SECOND.

     KING RENÉ. Drawn and Etched by R. de Los Rios
     (p. 213)                                         Frontispiece

     THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. Drawn and Etched by R. de
     Los Rios                                      To face page 32

     ARTHUR BEFORE THE QUEEN. Drawn and Etched by
     R. de Los Rios                                            112

     THE DEFIANCE. Drawn and Etched by R. de Los
     Rios                                                      182

     THE FUNERAL OF THE QUEEN. Drawn and Etched by
     R. de Los Rios                                            288




     ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN;
     OR,
     THE MAIDEN OF THE MIST.


     What! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
     Sink in the ground?

     SHAKSPEARE.




CHAPTER I.

     _1st Carrier._ What, ostler!--a plague on thee, hast never
     an eye in thy head? Canst thou not hear? An 'twere not as
     good a deed as drink to break the pate of thee, I am a
     very villain--Come, and be hanged--Hast thou no faith in
     thee?

     _Gadshill._ I pray thee, lend me thy lantern, to see my
     gelding in the stable.

     _2d Carrier._ Nay, soft, I pray you--I know a trick worth
     two of that.

     _Gadshill._ I prithee lend me thine.

     _3d Carrier._ Ay, when? Canst tell?--Lend thee my lantern,
     quotha? Marry, I'll see thee hanged first.
                                                   _Henry IV._


The social spirit peculiar to the French nation had already introduced
into the inns of that country the gay and cheerful character of
welcome upon which Erasmus, at a later period, dwells with strong
emphasis, as a contrast to the saturnine and sullen reception which
strangers were apt to meet with at a German caravansera. Philipson
was, therefore, in expectation of being received by the busy, civil,
and talkative host--by the hostess and her daughter, all softness,
coquetry, and glee--the smiling and supple waiter--the officious and
dimpled chambermaid. The better inns in France boast also separate
rooms, where strangers could change or put in order their dress, where
they might sleep without company in their bedroom, and where they
could deposit their baggage in privacy and safety. But all these
luxuries were as yet unknown in Germany; and in Alsace, where the
scene now lies, as well as in the other dependencies of the Empire,
they regarded as effeminacy everything beyond such provisions as were
absolutely necessary for the supply of the wants of travellers; and
even these were coarse and indifferent, and, excepting in the article
of wine, sparingly ministered.

The Englishman, finding that no one appeared at the gate, began to
make his presence known by calling aloud, and finally by alighting,
and smiting with all his might on the doors of the hostelry for a long
time, without attracting the least attention. At length the head of a
grizzled servitor was thrust out at a small window, who, in a voice
which sounded like that of one displeased at the interruption, rather
than hopeful of advantage from the arrival of a guest, demanded what
he wanted.

"Is this an inn?" replied Philipson.

"Yes," bluntly replied the domestic, and was about to withdraw from
the window, when the traveller added,--

"And if it be, can I have lodgings?"

"You may come in," was the short and dry answer.

"Send some one to take the horses," replied Philipson.

"No one is at leisure," replied this most repulsive of waiters; "you
must litter down your horses yourself, in the way that likes you
best."

"Where is the stable?" said the merchant, whose prudence and temper
were scarce proof against this Dutch phlegm.

The fellow, who seemed as sparing of his words as if, like the
Princess in the fairy tale, he had dropped ducats with each of them,
only pointed to a door in an outer building, more resembling that of a
cellar than of a stable, and, as if weary of the conference, drew in
his head, and shut the window sharply against the guest, as he would
against an importunate beggar.

Cursing the spirit of independence which left a traveller to his own
resources and exertions, Philipson, making a virtue of necessity, led
the two nags towards the door pointed out as that of the stable, and
was rejoiced at heart to see light glimmering through its chinks. He
entered with his charge into a place very like the dungeon vault of an
ancient castle, rudely fitted up with some racks and mangers. It was
of considerable extent in point of length, and at the lower end two or
three persons were engaged in tying up their horses, dressing them,
and dispensing them their provender.

This last article was delivered by the ostler, a very old lame man,
who neither put his hand to wisp or curry-comb, but sat weighing forth
hay by the pound, and counting out corn, as it seemed, by the grain,
so anxiously did he bend over his task, by the aid of a blinking light
enclosed within a horn lantern. He did not even turn his head at the
noise which the Englishman made on entering the place with two
additional horses, far less did he seem disposed to give himself the
least trouble, or the stranger the smallest assistance.

In respect of cleanliness, the stable of Augeas bore no small
resemblance to that of this Alsatian _dorf_, and it would have been an
exploit worthy of Hercules to have restored it to such a state of
cleanliness as would have made it barely decent in the eyes, and
tolerable to the nostrils, of the punctilious Englishman. But this was
a matter which disgusted Philipson himself much more than those of his
party which were principally concerned. They, _videlicet_ the two
horses, seeming perfectly to understand that the rule of the place was
"first come first served," hastened to occupy the empty stalls which
happened to be nearest to them. In this one of them at least was
disappointed, being received by a groom with a blow across the face
with a switch.

"Take that," said the fellow, "for forcing thyself into the place
taken up for the horses of the Baron of Randelsheim."

Never in the course of his life had the English merchant more pain to
retain possession of his temper than at that moment. Reflecting,
however, on the discredit of quarrelling with such a man in such a
cause, he contented himself with placing the animal, thus repulsed
from the stall he had chosen, into one next to that of his companion,
to which no one seemed to lay claim.

The merchant then proceeded, notwithstanding the fatigue of the day,
to pay all that attention to the mute companions of his journey which
they deserve from every traveller who has any share of prudence, to
say nothing of humanity. The unusual degree of trouble which Philipson
took to arrange his horses, although his dress, and much more his
demeanour, seemed to place him above this species of servile labour,
appeared to make an impression even upon the iron insensibility of the
old ostler himself. He showed some alacrity in furnishing the
traveller, who knew the business of a groom so well, with corn, straw,
and hay, though in small quantity, and at exorbitant rates, which were
instantly to be paid; nay, he even went as far as the door of the
stable, that he might point across the court to the well, from which
Philipson was obliged to fetch water with his own hands. The duties of
the stable being finished, the merchant concluded that he had gained
such an interest with the grim master of the horse, as to learn of him
whether he might leave his bales safely in the stable.

"You may leave them if you will," said the ostler; "but touching their
safety, you will do much more wisely if you take them with you, and
give no temptation to any one by suffering them to pass from under
your own eyes."

So saying, the man of oats closed his oracular jaws, nor could he be
prevailed upon to unlock them again by any inquiry which his customer
could devise.

In the course of this cold and comfortless reception, Philipson
recollected the necessity of supporting the character of a prudent and
wary trader, which he had forgotten once before in the course of the
day; and, imitating what he saw the others do, who had been, like
himself, engaged in taking charge of their horses, he took up his
baggage, and removed himself and his property to the inn. Here he was
suffered to enter, rather than admitted, into the general or public
_stube_, or room of entertainment, which, like the ark of the
patriarch, received all ranks without distinction, whether clean or
unclean.

The _stube_, or stove, of a German inn, derived its name from the
great hypocaust, which is always strongly heated to secure the warmth
of the apartment in which it is placed. There travellers of every age
and description assembled--there their upper garments were
indiscriminately hung up around the stove to dry or to air--and the
guests themselves were seen employed in various acts of ablution or
personal arrangement, which are generally, in modern times, referred
to the privacy of the dressing-room.

The more refined feelings of the Englishman were disgusted with this
scene, and he was reluctant to mingle in it. For this reason he
inquired for the private retreat of the landlord himself, trusting
that, by some of the arguments powerful among his tribe, he might
obtain separate quarters from the crowd, and a morsel of food, to be
eaten in private. A grey-haired Ganymede, to whom he put the question
where the landlord was, indicated a recess behind the huge stove,
where, veiling his glory in a very dark and extremely hot corner, it
pleased the great man to obscure himself from vulgar gaze. There was
something remarkable about this person. Short, stout, bandylegged, and
consequential, he was in these respects like many brethren of the
profession in all countries. But the countenance of the man, and still
more his manners, differed more from the merry host of France or
England than even the experienced Philipson was prepared to expect. He
knew German customs too well to expect the suppliant and serviceable
qualities of the master of a French inn, or even the more blunt and
frank manners of an English landlord. But such German innkeepers as he
had yet seen, though indeed arbitrary and peremptory in their country
fashions, yet, being humoured in these, they, like tyrants in their
hours of relaxation, dealt kindly with the guests over whom their sway
extended, and mitigated, by jest and jollity, the harshness of their
absolute power. But this man's brow was like a tragic volume, in which
you were as unlikely to find anything of jest or amusement, as in a
hermit's breviary. His answers were short, sudden, and repulsive, and
the air and manner with which they were delivered was as surly as
their tenor; which will appear from the following dialogue betwixt him
and his guest:--

"Good host," said Philipson, in the mildest tone he could assume, "I
am fatigued, and far from well--May I request to have a separate
apartment, a cup of wine, and a morsel of food, in my private
chamber?"

"You may," answered the landlord; but with a look strangely at
variance with the apparent acquiescence which his words naturally
implied.

"Let me have such accommodation, then, with your earliest
convenience."

"Soft!" replied the innkeeper. "I have said that you may request these
things, but not that I would grant them. If you would insist on being
served differently from others, it must be at another inn than mine."

"Well, then," said the traveller, "I will shift without supper for a
night--nay, more, I will be content to pay for a supper which I do
not eat, if you will cause me to be accommodated with a private
apartment."

"Seignor traveller," said the innkeeper, "every one here must be
accommodated as well as you, since all pay alike. Whoso comes to this
house of entertainment must eat as others eat, drink as others drink,
sit at table with the rest of my guests, and go to bed when the
company have done drinking."

"All this," said Philipson, humbling himself where anger would have
been ridiculous, "is highly reasonable; and I do not oppose myself to
your laws or customs. But," added he, taking his purse from his
girdle, "sickness craves some privilege; and when the patient is
willing to pay for it, methinks the rigour of your laws may admit of
some mitigation?"

"I keep an inn, Seignor, and not a hospital. If you remain here, you
shall be served with the same attention as others,--if you are not
willing to do as others do, leave my house and seek another inn."

On receiving this decisive rebuff, Philipson gave up the contest, and
retired from the _sanctum sanctorum_ of his ungracious host, to await
the arrival of supper, penned up like a bullock in a pound, amongst
the crowded inhabitants of the _stube_. Some of these, exhausted by
fatigue, snored away the interval between their own arrival and that
of the expected repast; others conversed together on the news of the
country, and others again played at dice, or such games as might serve
to consume the time. The company were of various ranks, from those who
were apparently wealthy and well appointed, to some whose garments
and manners indicated that they were but just beyond the grasp of
poverty.

A begging friar, a man apparently of a gay and pleasant temper,
approached Philipson, and engaged him in conversation. The Englishman
was well enough acquainted with the world to be aware, that whatever
of his character and purpose it was desirable to conceal would be best
hidden under a sociable and open demeanour. He, therefore, received
the friar's approaches graciously, and conversed with him upon the
state of Lorraine, and the interest which the Duke of Burgundy's
attempt to seize that fief into his own hands was likely to create
both in France and Germany. On these subjects, satisfied with hearing
his fellow-traveller's sentiments, Philipson expressed no opinion of
his own, but, after receiving such intelligence as the friar chose to
communicate, preferred rather to talk upon the geography of the
country, the facilities afforded to commerce, and the rules which
obstructed or favoured trade.

While he was thus engaged in the conversation which seemed most to
belong to his profession, the landlord suddenly entered the room, and,
mounting on the head of an old barrel, glanced his eye slowly and
steadily round the crowded apartment, and when he had completed his
survey, pronounced, in a decisive tone, the double command,--"Shut the
gates! Spread the table!"

"The Baron St. Antonio be praised!" said the friar. "Our landlord has
given up hope of any more guests to-night, until which blessed time we
might have starved for want of food before he had relieved us. Ay,
here comes the cloth. The old gates of the courtyard are now bolted
fast enough; and when Johann Mengs has once said, 'Shut the gates,'
the stranger may knock on the outside as he will, but we may rest
assured that it shall not be opened to him."

"Meinherr Mengs maintains strict discipline in his house," said the
Englishman.

"As absolute as the Duke of Burgundy," answered the friar. "After ten
o'clock, no admittance--the 'seek another inn,' which is before that a
conditional hint, becomes, after the clock has struck, and the
watchmen have begun their rounds, an absolute order of exclusion. He
that is without remains without, and he that is within must, in like
manner, continue there until the gates open at break of day. Till then
the house is almost like a beleaguered citadel, John Mengs its
seneschal"--

"And we its captives, good father," said Philipson. "Well, content am
I. A wise traveller must submit to the control of the leaders of the
people when he travels; and I hope a goodly fat potentate, like John
Mengs, will be as clement as his station and dignity admit of."

While they were talking in this manner, the aged waiter, with many a
weary sigh and many a groan, had drawn out certain boards, by which a
table that stood in the midst of the _stube_ had the capacity of being
extended, so as to contain the company present, and covered it with a
cloth, which was neither distinguished by extreme cleanliness nor
fineness of texture. On this table, when it had been accommodated to
receive the necessary number of guests, a wooden trencher and spoon,
together with a glass drinking-cup, were placed before each, he being
expected to serve himself with his own knife for the other purposes
of the table. As for forks, they were unknown until a much later
period, all the Europeans of that day making the same use of the
fingers to select their morsels and transport them to the mouth which
the Asiatics now practise.

The board was no sooner arranged than the hungry guests hastened to
occupy their seats around it; for which purpose the sleepers were
awakened, the dicers resigned their game, and the idlers and
politicians broke off their sage debates, in order to secure their
station at the supper-table, and be ready to perform their part in the
interesting solemnity which seemed about to take place. But there is
much between the cup and the lip, and not less sometimes between the
covering of a table and the placing food upon it. The guests sat in
order, each with his knife drawn, already menacing the victuals which
were still subject to the operations of the cook. They had waited,
with various degrees of patience, for full half an hour, when at
length the old attendant before mentioned entered with a pitcher of
thin Moselle wine, so light and so sharp-tasted that Philipson put
down his cup with every tooth in his head set on edge by the slender
portion which he had swallowed. The landlord, John Mengs, who had
assumed a seat somewhat elevated at the head of the table, did not
omit to observe this mark of insubordination, and to animadvert upon
it.

"The wine likes you not, I think, my master?" said he to the English
merchant.

"For wine, no," answered Philipson; "but could I see anything
requiring such sauce, I have seldom seen better vinegar."

This jest, though uttered in the most calm and composed manner, seemed
to drive the innkeeper to fury.

"Who are you," he exclaimed, "for a foreign pedlar, that ventures to
quarrel with my wine, which has been approved of by so many princes,
dukes, reigning dukes, graves, rhinegraves, counts, barons, and
knights of the Empire, whose shoes you are altogether unworthy even to
clean? Was it not of this wine that the Count Palatine of Nimmersatt
drank six quarts before he ever rose from the blessed chair in which I
now sit?"

"I doubt it not, mine host," said Philipson; "nor should I think of
scandalising the sobriety of your honourable guest, even if he had
drunken twice the quantity."

"Silence, thou malicious railer!" said the host; "and let instant
apology be made to me, and the wine which you have calumniated, or I
will instantly command the supper to be postponed till midnight."

Here there was a general alarm among the guests, all abjuring any part
in the censures of Philipson, and most of them proposing that John
Mengs should avenge himself on the actual culprit by turning him
instantly out of doors, rather than involve so many innocent and
famished persons in the consequences of his guilt. The wine they
pronounced excellent; some two or three even drank their glass out, to
make their words good; and they all offered, if not with lives and
fortunes, at least with hands and feet, to support the ban of the
house against the contumacious Englishman. While petition and
remonstrance were assailing John Mengs on every side, the friar, like
a wise counsellor and a trusty friend, endeavoured to end the feud by
advising Philipson to submit to the host's sovereignty.

"Humble thyself, my son," he said; "bend the stubbornness of thy heart
before the great lord of the spigot and butt. I speak for the sake of
others as well as my own; for Heaven alone knows how much longer they
or I can endure this extenuating fast!"

"Worthy guests," said Philipson, "I am grieved to have offended our
respected host, and am so far from objecting to the wine that I will
pay for a double flagon of it, to be served all round to this
honourable company--so, only, they do not ask me to share of it."

These last words were spoken aside; but the Englishman could not fail
to perceive, from the wry mouths of some of the party who were
possessed of a nicer palate, that they were as much afraid as himself
of a repetition of the acid potation.

The friar next addressed the company with a proposal that the foreign
merchant, instead of being amerced in a measure of the liquor which he
had scandalised, should be mulcted in an equal quantity of the more
generous wines which were usually produced after the repast had been
concluded. In this mine host, as well as the guests, found their
advantage; and, as Philipson made no objection, the proposal was
unanimously adopted, and John Mengs gave, from his seat of dignity,
the signal for supper to be served.

The long-expected meal appeared, and there was twice as much time
employed in consuming as there had been in expecting it. The articles
of which the supper consisted, as well as the mode of serving them
up, were as much calculated to try the patience of the company as the
delay which had preceded its appearance. Messes of broth and
vegetables followed in succession, with platters of meat sodden and
roasted, of which each in its turn took a formal course around the
ample table, and was specially subjected to every one in rotation.
Black-puddings, hung beef, dried fish, also made the circuit, with
various condiments, called botargo, caviare, and similar names,
composed of the roes of fish mixed with spices, and the like
preparations, calculated to awaken thirst and encourage deep drinking.
Flagons of wine accompanied these stimulating dainties. The liquor was
so superior in flavour and strength to the ordinary wine which had
awakened so much controversy, that it might be objected to on the
opposite account, being so heady, fiery, and strong, that, in spite of
the rebuffs which his criticism had already procured, Philipson
ventured to ask for some cold water to allay it.

"You are too difficult to please, sir guest," replied the landlord,
again bending upon the Englishman a stern and offended brow; "if you
find the wine too strong in my house, the secret to allay its strength
is to drink the less. It is indifferent to us whether you drink or
not, so you pay the reckoning of those good fellows who do." And he
laughed a gruff laugh.

Philipson was about to reply, but the friar, retaining his character
of mediator, plucked him by the cloak, and entreated him to forbear.
"You do not understand the ways of the place," said he; "it is not
here as in the hostelries of England and France, where each guest
calls for what he desires for his own use, and where he pays for what
he has required, and for no more. Here we proceed on a broad principle
of equality and fraternity. No one asks for anything in particular;
but such provisions as the host thinks sufficient are set down before
all indiscriminately; and as with the feast, so is it with the
reckoning. All pay their proportions alike, without reference to the
quantity of wine which one may have swallowed more than another; and
thus the sick and infirm, nay, the female and the child, pay the same
as the hungry peasant and strolling _lanzknecht_."

"It seems an unequal custom," said Philipson; "but travellers are not
to judge. So that when a reckoning is called, every one, I am to
understand, pays alike?"

"Such is the rule," said the friar,--"excepting, perhaps, some poor
brother of our own order, whom Our Lady and St. Francis send into such
a scene as this, that good Christians may bestow their alms upon him,
and so make a step on their road to Heaven."

The first words of this speech were spoken in the open and independent
tone in which the friar had begun the conversation; the last sentence
died away into the professional whine of mendicity proper to the
convent, and at once apprised Philipson at what price he was to pay
for the friar's counsel and mediation. Having thus explained the
custom of the country, good Father Gratian turned to illustrate it by
his example, and, having no objection to the new service of wine on
account of its strength, he seemed well disposed to signalise himself
amongst some stout topers, who, by drinking deeply, appeared
determined to have full pennyworths for their share of the reckoning.
The good wine gradually did its office, and even the host relaxed his
sullen and grim features, and smiled to see the kindling flame of
hilarity catch from one to another, and at length embrace almost all
the numerous guests at the table d'hôte, except a few who were too
temperate to partake deeply of the wine, or too fastidious to enter
into the discussions to which it gave rise. On these the host cast,
from time to time, a sullen and displeased eye.

Philipson, who was reserved and silent, both in consequence of his
abstinence from the wine-pot and his unwillingness to mix in
conversation with strangers, was looked upon by the landlord as a
defaulter in both particulars; and as he aroused his own sluggish
nature with the fiery wine, Mengs began to throw out obscure hints
about kill-joy, mar-company, spoil-sport, and such like epithets,
which were plainly directed against the Englishman. Philipson replied,
with the utmost equanimity, that he was perfectly sensible that his
spirits did not at this moment render him an agreeable member of a
merry company, and that with the leave of those present he would
withdraw to his sleeping-apartment, and wish them all a good evening,
and continuance to their mirth.

But this very reasonable proposal, as it might have elsewhere seemed,
contained in it treason against the laws of German compotation.

"Who are you," said John Mengs, "who presume to leave the table before
the reckoning is called and settled? Sapperment der teufel! we are
not men upon whom such an offence is to be put with impunity! You may
exhibit your polite pranks in Rams-Alley if you will, or in Eastcheap,
or in Smithfield; but it shall not be in John Mengs's Golden Fleece,
nor will I suffer one guest to go to bed to blink out of the
reckoning, and so cheat me and all the rest of my company."

Philipson looked round, to gather the sentiments of the company, but
saw no encouragement to appeal to their judgment. Indeed, many of them
had little judgment left to appeal to, and those who paid any
attention to the matter at all were some quiet old soakers, who were
already beginning to think of the reckoning, and were disposed to
agree with the host in considering the English merchant as a flincher,
who was determined to evade payment of what might be drunk after he
left the room; so that John Mengs received the applause of the whole
company, when he concluded his triumphant denunciation against
Philipson.

"Yes, sir, you may withdraw if you please; but, poz element! it shall
not be for this time to seek for another inn, but to the courtyard
shall you go, and no farther, there to make your bed upon the stable
litter; and good enough for the man that will needs be the first to
break up good company."

"It is well said, my jovial host," said a rich trader from Ratisbon;
"and here are some six of us--more or less--who will stand by you to
maintain the good old customs of Germany; and the--umph--laudable
and--and praiseworthy rules of the Golden Fleece."

"Nay, be not angry, sir," said Philipson; "yourself and your three
companions, whom the good wine has multiplied into six, shall have
your own way of ordering the matter; and since you will not permit me
to go to bed, I trust that you will take no offence if I fall asleep
in my chair."

"How say you? what think you, mine host?" said the citizen from
Ratisbon; "may the gentleman, being drunk, as you see he is, since he
cannot tell that three and one make six--I say, may he, being drunk,
sleep in the elbow-chair?"

This question introduced a contradiction on the part of the host, who
contended that three and one made four, not six; and this again
produced a retort from the Ratisbon trader. Other clamours rose at the
same time, and were at length with difficulty silenced by the stanzas
of a chorus song of mirth and good fellowship, which the friar, now
become somewhat oblivious of the rule of St. Francis, thundered forth
with better good-will than he ever sang a canticle of King David.
Under cover of this tumult, Philipson drew himself a little aside, and
though he felt it impossible to sleep, as he had proposed, was yet
enabled to escape the reproachful glances with which John Mengs
distinguished all those who did not call for wine loudly, and drink it
lustily. His thoughts roamed far from the _stube_ of the Golden
Fleece, and upon matter very different from that which was discussed
around him, when his attention was suddenly recalled by a loud and
continued knocking on the door of the hostelry.

"What have we here?" said John Mengs, his nose reddening with very
indignation; "who the foul fiend presses on the Golden Fleece at such
an hour, as if he thundered at the door of a bordel? To the turret
window some one--Geoffrey, knave ostler, or thou, old Timothy, tell
the rash man there is no admittance into the Golden Fleece save at
timeous hours."

The men went as they were directed, and might be heard in the _stube_
vying with each other in the positive denial which they gave to the
ill-fated guest who was pressing for admission. They returned,
however, to inform their master, that they were unable to overcome the
obstinacy of the stranger, who refused positively to depart until he
had an interview with Mengs himself.

Wroth was the master of the Golden Fleece at this ill-omened
pertinacity, and his indignation extended, like a fiery exhalation,
from his nose, all over the adjacent regions of his cheeks and brow.
He started from his chair, grasped in his hand a stout stick, which
seemed his ordinary sceptre or leading staff of command, and muttering
something concerning cudgels for the shoulders of fools, and pitchers
of fair or foul water for the drenching of their ears, he marched off
to the window which looked into the court, and left his guests
nodding, winking, and whispering to each other, in full expectation of
hearing the active demonstrations of his wrath. It happened otherwise,
however; for, after the exchange of a few indistinct words, they were
astonished when they heard the noise of the unbolting and unbarring of
the gates of the inn, and presently after the footsteps of men upon
the stairs; and the landlord entering, with an appearance of clumsy
courtesy, prayed those assembled to make room for an honoured guest,
who came, though late, to add to their numbers. A tall dark form
followed, muffled in a travelling-cloak; on laying aside which,
Philipson at once recognised his late fellow-traveller, the Black
Priest of St. Paul's.

There was in the circumstance itself nothing at all surprising, since
it was natural that a landlord, however coarse and insolent to
ordinary guests, might yet show deference to an ecclesiastic, whether
from his rank in the Church or from his reputation for sanctity. But
what did appear surprising to Philipson was the effect produced by the
entrance of this unexpected guest. He seated himself, without
hesitation, at the highest place of the board, from which John Mengs
had dethroned the aforesaid trader from Ratisbon, notwithstanding his
zeal for ancient German customs, his steady adherence and loyalty to
the Golden Fleece, and his propensity to brimming goblets. The priest
took instant and unscrupulous possession of his seat of honour, after
some negligent reply to the host's unwonted courtesy; when it seemed
that the effect of his long black vestments, in place of the slashed
and flounced coat of his predecessor, as well as of the cold grey eye
with which he slowly reviewed the company, in some degree resembled
that of the fabulous Gorgon, and if it did not literally convert those
who looked upon it into stone, there was yet something petrifying in
the steady unmoved glance with which he seemed to survey them, looking
as if desirous of reading their very inmost souls, and passing from
one to another, as if each upon whom he looked in succession was
unworthy of longer consideration.

Philipson felt, in his turn, that momentary examination, in which,
however, there mingled nothing that seemed to convey recognition. All
the courage and composure of the Englishman could not prevent an
unpleasant feeling while under this mysterious man's eye, so that he
felt a relief when it passed from him and rested upon another of the
company, who seemed in turn to acknowledge the chilling effects of
that freezing glance. The noise of intoxicated mirth and drunken
disputation, the clamorous argument, and the still more boisterous
laugh, which had been suspended on the priest's entering the
eating-apartment, now, after one or two vain attempts to resume them,
died away, as if the feast had been changed to a funeral, and the
jovial guests had been at once converted into the lugubrious mutes who
attend on such solemnities. One little rosy-faced man, who afterwards
proved to be a tailor from Augsburg, ambitious, perhaps, of showing a
degree of courage not usually supposed consistent with his effeminate
trade, made a bold effort; and yet it was with a timid and restrained
voice that he called on the jovial friar to renew his song. But
whether it was that he did not dare to venture on an uncanonical
pastime in presence of a brother in orders, or whether he had some
other reason for declining the invitation, the merry churchman hung
his head, and shook it with such an expressive air of melancholy, that
the tailor drew back as if he had been detected in cabbaging from a
cardinal's robes, or cribbing the lace of some cope or altar gown. In
short, the revel was hushed into deep silence, and so attentive were
the company to what should arrive next, that the bells of the village
church, striking the first hour after midnight, made the guests start
as if they heard them rung backwards, to announce an assault or
conflagration. The Black Priest, who had taken some slight and hasty
repast, which the host had made no kind of objection to supplying him
with, seemed to think the bells, which announced the service of lauds,
being the first after midnight, a proper signal for breaking up the
party.

"We have eaten," he said, "that we may support life, let us pray that
we may be fit to meet death; which waits upon life as surely as night
upon day, or the shadow upon the sunbeam, though we know not when or
from whence it is to come upon us."

The company, as if mechanically, bent their uncovered heads, while the
priest said, with his deep and solemn voice, a Latin prayer,
expressing thanks to God for protection throughout the day, and
entreating for its continuance during the witching hours which were to
pass ere the day again commenced. The hearers bowed their heads in
token of acquiescence in the holy petition; and, when they raised
them, the Black Priest of St. Paul's had followed the host out of the
apartment, probably to that which was destined for his repose. His
absence was no sooner perceived than signs, and nods, and even
whispers were exchanged between the guests; but no one spoke above his
breath, or in such connected manner, as that Philipson could
understand anything distinctly from them. He himself ventured to ask
the friar, who sat near him, observing at the same time the under-tone
which seemed to be fashionable for the moment, whether the worthy
ecclesiastic who had left them was not the Priest of St. Paul's, on
the frontier town of La Ferette.

"And if you know it is he," said the friar, with a countenance and a
tone from which all signs of intoxication were suddenly banished,
"why do you ask of me?"

"Because," said the merchant, "I would willingly learn the spell which
so suddenly converted so many merry tipplers into men of sober
manners, and a jovial company into a convent of Carthusian friars?"

"Friend," said the friar, "thy discourse savoureth mightily of asking
after what thou knowest right well. But I am no such silly duck as to
be taken by a decoy. If thou knowest the Black Priest, thou canst not
be ignorant of the terrors which attend his presence, and that it were
safer to pass a broad jest in the holy House of Loretto than where he
shows himself."

So saying, and as if desirous of avoiding further discourse, he
withdrew to a distance from Philipson.

At the same moment the landlord again appeared, and, with more of the
usual manners of a publican than he had hitherto exhibited, commanded
his waiter, Geoffrey, to hand round to the company a sleeping-drink,
or pillow-cup of distilled water, mingled with spices, which was
indeed as good as Philipson himself had ever tasted. John Mengs, in
the meanwhile, with somewhat of more deference, expressed to his
guests a hope that his entertainment had given satisfaction; but this
was in so careless a manner, and he seemed so conscious of deserving
the affirmative which was expressed on all hands, that it became
obvious there was very little humility in proposing the question. The
old man, Timothy, was in the meantime mustering the guests, and
marking with chalk on the bottom of a trencher the reckoning, the
particulars of which were indicated by certain conventional
hieroglyphics, while he showed on another the division of the sum
total among the company, and proceeded to collect an equal share of it
from each. When the fatal trencher, in which each man paid down his
money, approached the jolly friar, his countenance seemed to be
somewhat changed. He cast a piteous look towards Philipson, as the
person from whom he had the most hope of relief; and our merchant,
though displeased with the manner in which he had held back from his
confidence, yet not unwilling in a strange country to incur a little
expense, in the hope of making a useful acquaintance, discharged the
mendicant's score as well as his own. The poor friar paid his thanks
in many a blessing in good German and bad Latin, but the host cut them
short; for, approaching Philipson with a candle in his hand, he
offered his own services to show him where he might sleep, and even
had the condescension to carry his mail, or portmanteau, with his own
landlordly hands.

"You take too much trouble, mine host," said the merchant, somewhat
surprised at the change in the manner of John Mengs, who had hitherto
contradicted him at every word.

"I cannot take too much pains for a guest," was the reply, "whom my
venerable friend, the Priest of St. Paul's, hath especially
recommended to my charge."

He then opened the door of a small bedroom, prepared for the
occupation of a guest, and said to Philipson,--"Here you may rest till
to-morrow at what hour you will, and for as many days more as you
incline. The key will secure your wares against theft or pillage of
any kind. I do not this for every one; for, if my guests were every
one to have a bed to himself, the next thing they would demand might
be a separate table; and then there would be an end of the good old
German customs, and we should be as foppish and frivolous as our
neighbours."

He placed the portmanteau on the floor, and seemed about to leave the
apartment, when, turning about, he began a sort of apology for the
rudeness of his former behaviour.

"I trust there is no misunderstanding between us, my worthy guest. You
might as well expect to see one of our bears come aloft and do tricks
like a jackanapes, as one of us stubborn old Germans play the feats of
a French or an Italian host. Yet I pray you to note, that if our
behaviour is rude our charges are honest, and our articles what they
profess to be. We do not expect to make Moselle pass for Rhenish, by
dint of a bow and a grin, nor will we sauce your mess with poison,
like the wily Italian, and call you all the time Illustrissimo and
Magnifico."

He seemed in these words to have exhausted his rhetoric, for, when
they were spoken, he turned abruptly and left the apartment.

Philipson was thus deprived of another opportunity to inquire who or
what this ecclesiastic could be, that had exercised such influence on
all who approached him. He felt, indeed, no desire to prolong a
conference with John Mengs, though he had laid aside in such a
considerable degree his rude and repulsive manners; yet he longed to
know who this man could be, who had power with a word to turn aside
the daggers of Alsatian banditti, habituated as they were, like most
borderers, to robbery and pillage, and to change into civility the
proverbial rudeness of a German innkeeper. Such were the reflections
of Philipson, as he doffed his clothes to take his much-needed repose,
after a day of fatigue, danger, and difficulty, on the pallet afforded
by the hospitality of the Golden Fleece, in the Rhein-Thal.




CHAPTER II.

     _Macbeth._ How now, ye secret, black, and midnight hags,
     What is't ye do?

     _Witches._ A deed without a name.
                                                   _Macbeth._


We have said in the conclusion of the last chapter, that, after a day
of unwonted fatigue and extraordinary excitation, the merchant,
Philipson, naturally expected to forget so many agitating passages in
that deep and profound repose which is at once the consequence and the
cure of extreme exhaustion. But he was no sooner laid on his lowly
pallet than he felt that the bodily machine, over-laboured by so much
exercise, was little disposed to the charms of sleep. The mind had
been too much excited, the body was far too feverish, to suffer him to
partake of needful rest. His anxiety about the safety of his son, his
conjectures concerning the issue of his mission to the Duke of
Burgundy, and a thousand other thoughts which recalled past events, or
speculated on those which were to come, rushed upon his mind like the
waves of a perturbed sea, and prevented all tendency to repose. He had
been in bed about an hour, and sleep had not yet approached his couch,
when he felt that the pallet on which he lay was sinking below him,
and that he was in the act of descending along with it he knew not
whither. The sound of ropes and pulleys was also indistinctly heard,
though every caution had been taken to make them run smooth; and the
traveller, by feeling around him, became sensible that he and the bed
on which he lay had been spread upon a large trap-door, which was
capable of being let down into the vaults, or apartments beneath.

Philipson felt fear in circumstances so well qualified to produce it;
for how could he hope a safe termination to an adventure which had
begun so strangely? But his apprehensions were those of a brave,
ready-witted man, who, even in the extremity of danger, which appeared
to surround him, preserved his presence of mind. His descent seemed to
be cautiously managed, and he held himself in readiness to start to
his feet and defend himself, as soon as he should be once more upon
firm ground. Although somewhat advanced in years, he was a man of
great personal vigour and activity, and unless taken at advantage,
which no doubt was at present much to be apprehended, he was likely to
make a formidable defence. His plan of resistance, however, had been
anticipated. He no sooner reached the bottom of the vault, down to
which he was lowered, than two men, who had been waiting there till
the operation was completed, laid hands on him from either side, and
forcibly preventing him from starting up as he intended, cast a rope
over his arms, and made him a prisoner as effectually as when he was
in the dungeons of La Ferette. He was obliged, therefore, to remain
passive and unresisting, and await the termination of this formidable
adventure. Secured as he was, he could only turn his head from one
side to the other; and it was with joy that he at length saw lights
twinkle, but they appeared at a great distance from him.

From the irregular manner in which these scattered lights advanced,
sometimes keeping a straight line, sometimes mixing and crossing each
other, it might be inferred that the subterranean vault in which they
appeared was of very considerable extent. Their number also increased;
and as they collected more together, Philipson could perceive that the
lights proceeded from many torches, borne by men muffled in black
cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or the Black Friars of St.
Francis's Order, wearing their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to
conceal their features. They appeared anxiously engaged in measuring
off a portion of the apartment; and, while occupied in that
employment, they sang, in the ancient German language, rhymes more
rude than Philipson could well understand, but which may be imitated
thus:--

     Measurers of good and evil,
     Bring the square, the line, the level,--
     Rear the altar, dig the trench,
     Blood both stone and ditch shall drench.
     Cubits six, from end to end,
     Must the fatal bench extend,--
     Cubits six, from side to side,
     Judge and culprit must divide.
     On the east the Court assembles,
     On the west the Accused trembles--
     Answer, brethren, all and one,
     Is the ritual rightly done?

A deep chorus seemed to reply to the question. Many voices joined in
it, as well of persons already in the subterranean vault as of others
who as yet remained without in various galleries and passages which
communicated with it, and whom Philipson now presumed to be very
numerous. The answer chanted ran as follows:--

     On life and soul, on blood and bone,
     One for all, and all for one,
     We warrant this is rightly done.

The original strain was then renewed in the same manner as before--

     How wears the night?--Doth morning shine
     In early radiance on the Rhine?
     What music floats upon his tide?
     Do birds the tardy morning chide?
     Brethren, look out from hill and height,
     And answer true, how wears the night?

The answer was returned, though less loud than at first, and it seemed
that those by whom the reply was given were at a much greater distance
than before; yet the words were distinctly heard.

     The night is old; on Rhine's broad breast
     Glance drowsy stars which long to rest.
         No beams are twinkling in the east.
     There is a voice upon the flood,
     The stern still call of blood for blood;
         'Tis time we listen the behest.

The chorus replied, with many additional voices--

     Up, then, up! When day's at rest,
     'Tis time that such as we are watchers;
     Rise to judgment, brethren, rise!
     Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes,
     He and night are matchers.

The nature of the verses soon led Philipson to comprehend that he was
in presence of the Initiated, or the Wise Men; names which were
applied to the celebrated Judges of the Secret Tribunal, which
continued at that period to subsist in Suabia, Franconia, and other
districts of the east of Germany, which was called, perhaps from the
frightful and frequent occurrence of executions by command of those
invisible judges, the Red Land. Philipson had often heard that the
seat of a Free Count, or chief of the Secret Tribunal, was secretly
instituted even on the left bank of the Rhine, and that it maintained
itself in Alsace, with the usual tenacity of those secret societies,
though Duke Charles of Burgundy had expressed a desire to discover and
discourage its influence so far as was possible, without exposing
himself to danger from the thousands of poniards which that mysterious
tribunal could put in activity against his own life;--an awful means
of defence, which for a long time rendered it extremely hazardous for
the sovereigns of Germany, and even the Emperors themselves, to put
down by authority those singular associations.

So soon as this explanation flashed on the mind of Philipson, it gave
some clue to the character and condition of the Black Priest of St.
Paul's. Supposing him to be a president, or chief official of the
secret association, there was little wonder that he should confide so
much in the inviolability of his terrible office as to propose
vindicating the execution of De Hagenbach; that his presence should
surprise Bartholomew, whom he had power to have judged and executed
upon the spot; and that his mere appearance at supper on the preceding
evening should have appalled the guests; for though everything about
the institution, its proceedings and its officers, was preserved in as
much obscurity as is now practised in free-masonry, yet the secret was
not so absolutely well kept as to prevent certain individuals from
being guessed or hinted at as men initiated and intrusted with high
authority by the Vehme-gericht, or tribunal of the bounds. When such
suspicion attached to an individual, his secret power, and supposed
acquaintance with all guilt, however secret, which was committed
within the society in which he was conversant, made him at once the
dread and hatred of every one who looked on him; and he enjoyed a high
degree of personal respect, on the same terms on which it would have
been yielded to a powerful enchanter, or a dreaded genie. In
conversing with such a person, it was especially necessary to abstain
from all questions alluding, however remotely, to the office which he
bore in the Secret Tribunal; and, indeed, to testify the least
curiosity upon a subject so solemn and mysterious was sure to occasion
some misfortune to the inquisitive person.

All these things rushed at once upon the mind of the Englishman, who
felt that he had fallen into the hands of an unsparing tribunal, whose
proceedings were so much dreaded by those who resided within the
circle of their power, that the friendless stranger must stand a poor
chance of receiving justice at their hands, whatever might be his
consciousness of innocence. While Philipson made this melancholy
reflection, he resolved, at the same time, not to forsake his own
cause, but defend himself as he best might; conscious as he was that
these terrible and irresponsible judges were nevertheless governed by
certain rules of right and wrong, which formed a check on the rigours
of their extraordinary code.

  [Illustration: THE SECRET TRIBUNAL.
   Drawn and Etched by R. de los Rios.]

He lay, therefore, devising the best means of obviating the present
danger, while the persons whom he beheld glimmered before him, less
like distinct and individual forms than like the phantoms
of a fever, or the phantasmagoria with which a disease of the optic
nerves has been known to people a sick man's chamber. At length they
assembled in the centre of the apartment where they had first
appeared, and seemed to arrange themselves into form and order. A
great number of black torches were successively lighted, and the scene
became distinctly visible. In the centre of the hall, Philipson could
now perceive one of the altars which are sometimes to be found in
ancient subterranean chapels. But we must pause, in order briefly to
describe, not the appearance only, but the nature and constitution, of
this terrible court.

Behind the altar, which seemed to be the central point, on which all
eyes were bent, there were placed in parallel lines two benches
covered with black cloth. Each was occupied by a number of persons,
who seemed assembled as judges; but those who held the foremost bench
were fewer, and appeared of a rank superior to those who crowded the
seat most remote from the altar. The first seemed to be all men of
some consequence, priests high in their order, knights, or noblemen;
and notwithstanding an appearance of equality which seemed to pervade
this singular institution, much more weight was laid upon their
opinion, or testimonies. They were called Free Knights, Counts, or
whatever title they might bear, while the inferior class of the judges
were only termed Free and worthy Burghers. For it must be observed,
that the Vehmique Institution,[1] which was the name that it commonly
bore, although its power consisted in a wide system of espionage, and
the tyrannical application of force which acted upon it, was yet (so
rude were the ideas of enforcing public law) accounted to confer a
privilege on the country in which it was received, and only freemen
were allowed to experience its influence. Serfs and peasants could not
have a place among the Free Judges, their assessors, or assistants;
for there was in this assembly even some idea of trying the culprit by
his peers.

Besides the dignitaries who occupied the benches, there were others
who stood around, and seemed to guard the various entrances to the
hall of judgment, or, standing behind the seats on which their
superiors were ranged, looked prepared to execute their commands.
These were members of the order, though not of the highest ranks.
Schöppen is the name generally assigned to them, signifying officials,
or sergeants of the Vehmique court, whose doom they stood sworn to
enforce, through good report and bad report, against their own nearest
and most beloved, as well as in cases of ordinary malefactors.

The Schöppen, or Scabini, as they were termed in Latin, had another
horrible duty to perform--that, namely, of denouncing to the tribunal
whatever came under their observation, that might be construed as an
offence falling under its cognisance; or, in their language, a crime
against the Vehme. This duty extended to the judges as well as to the
assistants, and was to be discharged without respect of persons; so
that, to know, and wilfully conceal, the guilt of a mother or brother,
inferred, on the part of the unfaithful official, the same penalty as
if he himself had committed the crime which his silence screened from
punishment. Such an institution could only prevail at a time when
ordinary means of justice were excluded by the hand of power, and
when, in order to bring the guilty to punishment, it required all the
influence and authority of such a confederacy. In no other country
than one exposed to every species of feudal tyranny, and deprived of
every ordinary mode of obtaining justice or redress, could such a
system have taken root and flourished.

We must now return to the brave Englishman, who, though feeling all
the danger he encountered from so tremendous a tribunal, maintained
nevertheless a dignified and unaltered composure.

The meeting being assembled, a coil of ropes, and a naked sword, the
well-known signals and emblems of Vehmique authority, were deposited
on the altar; where the sword, from its being usually straight, with a
cross handle, was considered as representing the blessed emblem of
Christian Redemption, and the cord as indicating the right of criminal
jurisdiction, and capital punishment. Then the President of the
meeting, who occupied the centre seat on the foremost bench, arose,
and laying his hand on the symbols, pronounced aloud the formula
expressive of the duty of the tribunal, which all the inferior judges
and assistants repeated after him, in deep and hollow murmurs.

"I swear by the Holy Trinity, to aid and co-operate, without
relaxation, in the things belonging to the Holy Vehme, to defend its
doctrines and institutions against father and mother, brother and
sister, wife and children; against fire, water, earth, and air;
against all that the sun enlightens; against all that the dew
moistens; against all created things of heaven and earth, or the
waters under the earth; and I swear to give information to this holy
judicature, of all that I know to be true, or hear repeated by
credible testimony, which, by the rules of the Holy Vehme, is
deserving of animadversion or punishment; and that I will not cloak,
cover, or conceal, such my knowledge, neither for love, friendship, or
family affection, nor for gold, silver, or precious stones; neither
will I associate with such as are under the sentence of this Sacred
Tribunal, by hinting to a culprit his danger, or advising him to
escape, or aiding and supplying him with counsel, or means to that
effect; neither will I relieve such culprit with fire, clothes, food,
or shelter, though my father should require from me a cup of water in
the heat of summer noon, or my brother should request to sit by my
fire in the bitterest cold night of winter: And further, I vow and
promise to honour this holy association, and do its behests speedily,
faithfully, and firmly, in preference to those of any other tribunal
whatsoever--so help me God, and His holy Evangelists."

When this oath of office had been taken, the President addressing the
assembly, as men who judge in secret and punish in secret, like the
Deity, desired them to say, why this "child of the cord"[2] lay before
them, bound and helpless. An individual rose from the more remote
bench, and in a voice which, though altered and agitated, Philipson
conceived that he recognised, declared himself the accuser, as bound
by his oath, of the child of the cord, or prisoner, who lay before
them.

"Bring forward the prisoner," said the President, "duly secured, as is
the order of our secret law; but not with such severity as may
interrupt his attention to the proceedings of the tribunal, or limit
his power of hearing and replying."

Six of the assistants immediately dragged forward the pallet and
platform of boards on which Philipson lay, and advanced it towards the
foot of the altar. This done, each unsheathed his dagger, while two of
them unloosed the cords by which the merchant's hands were secured,
and admonished him in a whisper, that the slightest attempt to resist
or escape would be the signal to stab him dead.

"Arise!" said the President; "listen to the charge to be preferred
against you, and believe you shall in us find judges equally just and
inflexible."

Philipson, carefully avoiding any gesture which might indicate a
desire to escape, raised his body on the lower part of the couch, and
remained seated, clothed as he was in his under-vest and _caleçons_,
or drawers, so as exactly to face the muffled President of the
terrible court. Even in these agitating circumstances, the mind of the
undaunted Englishman remained unshaken, and his eyelid did not quiver,
nor his heart beat quicker, though he seemed, according to the
expression of Scripture, to be a pilgrim in the Valley of the Shadow
of Death, beset by numerous snares, and encompassed by total
darkness, where light was most necessary for safety.

The President demanded his name, country, and occupation.

"John Philipson," was the reply; "by birth an Englishman, by
profession a merchant."

"Have you ever borne any other name and profession?" demanded the
Judge.

"I have been a soldier, and, like most others, had then a name by
which I was known in war."

"What was that name?"

"I laid it aside when I resigned my sword, and I do not desire again
to be known by it. Moreover, I never bore it where your institutions
have weight and authority," answered the Englishman.

"Know you before whom you stand?" continued the Judge.

"I may at least guess," replied the merchant.

"Tell your guess, then," continued the interrogator. "Say who we are,
and wherefore are you before us?"

"I believe that I am before the Unknown, or Secret Tribunal, which is
called Vehme-gericht."

"Then are you aware," answered the Judge, "that you would be safer if
you were suspended by the hair over the Abyss of Schaffhausen, or if
you lay below an axe, which a thread of silk alone kept back from the
fall. What have you done to deserve such a fate?"

"Let those reply by whom I am subjected to it," answered Philipson,
with the same composure as before.

"Speak, accuser!" said the President, "to the four quarters of
heaven!--To the ears of the free judges of this tribunal, and the
faithful executors of their doom!--And to the face of the child of
the cord, who denies or conceals his guilt, make good the substance of
thine accusation!"

"Most dreaded," answered the accuser, addressing the President, "this
man hath entered the Sacred Territory, which is called the Red
Land,--a stranger under a disguised name and profession. When he was
yet on the eastern side of the Alps, at Turin, in Lombardy, and
elsewhere, he at various times spoke of the Holy Tribunal in terms of
hatred and contempt, and declared that were he Duke of Burgundy he
would not permit it to extend itself from Westphalia, or Suabia, into
his dominions. Also I charge him, that, nourishing this malevolent
intention against the Holy Tribunal, he who now appears before the
bench as child of the cord has intimated his intention to wait upon
the court of the Duke of Burgundy, and use his influence with him,
which he boasts will prove effectual to stir him up to prohibit the
meetings of the Holy Vehme in his dominions, and to inflict on their
officers, and the executors of their mandates, the punishment due to
robbers and assassins."

"This is a heavy charge, brother!" said the President of the assembly,
when the accuser ceased speaking. "How do you purpose to make it
good?"

"According to the tenor of those secret statutes the perusal of which
is prohibited to all but the initiated," answered the accuser.

"It is well," said the President; "but I ask thee once more, What are
those means of proof? You speak to holy and to initiated ears."

"I will prove my charge," said the accuser, "by the confession of the
party himself, and by my own oath upon the holy emblems of the Secret
Judgment--that is, the steel and the cord."

"It is a legitimate offer of proof," said a member of the aristocratic
bench of the assembly; "and it much concerns the safety of the system
to which we are bound by such deep oaths--a system handed down to us
from the most Christian and holy Roman Emperor, Charlemagne, for the
conversion of the heathen Saracens, and punishing such of them as
revolted again to their Pagan practices, that such criminals should be
looked to. This Duke Charles of Burgundy hath already crowded his army
with foreigners, whom he can easily employ against this Sacred Court,
more especially with English, a fierce, insular people, wedded to
their own usages, and hating those of every other nation. It is not
unknown to us, that the Duke hath already encouraged opposition to the
officials of the Tribunal in more than one part of his German
dominions; and that in consequence, instead of submitting to their
doom with reverent resignation, children of the cord have been found
bold enough to resist the executioners of the Vehme, striking,
wounding, and even slaying those who have received commission to put
them to death. This contumacy must be put an end to; and if the
accused shall be proved to be one of those by whom such doctrines are
harboured and inculcated, I say let the steel and cord do their work
on him."

A general murmur seemed to approve what the speaker had said; for all
were conscious that the power of the Tribunal depended much more on
the opinion of its being deeply and firmly rooted in the general
system, than upon any regard or esteem for an institution of which
all felt the severity. It followed, that those of the members who
enjoyed consequence by means of their station in the ranks of the
Vehme saw the necessity of supporting its terrors by occasional
examples of severe punishment; and none could be more readily
sacrificed than an unknown and wandering foreigner. All this rushed
upon Philipson's mind, but did not prevent his making a steady reply
to the accusation.

"Gentlemen," he said, "good citizens, burgesses, or by whatever other
name you please to be addressed, know, that in my former days I have
stood in as great peril as now, and have never turned my heel to save
my life. Cords and daggers are not calculated to strike terror into
those who have seen swords and lances. My answer to the accusation is,
that I am an Englishman, one of a nation accustomed to yield and to
receive open-handed and equal justice dealt forth in the broad light
of day. I am, however, a traveller, who knows that he has no right to
oppose the rules and laws of other nations because they do not
resemble those of his own. But this caution can only be called for in
lands where the system about which we converse is in full force and
operation. If we speak of the institutions of Germany, being at the
time in France or Spain, we may, without offence to the country in
which they are current, dispute concerning them, as students debate
upon a logical thesis in a university. The accuser objects to me, that
at Turin, or elsewhere in the north of Italy, I spoke with censure of
the institution under which I am now judged. I will not deny that I
remember something of the kind; but it was in consequence of the
question being in a manner forced upon me by two guests with whom I
chanced to find myself at table. I was much and earnestly solicited
for an opinion ere I gave one."

"And was that opinion," said the presiding Judge, "favourable or
otherwise to the Holy and Secret Vehme-gericht? Let truth rule your
tongue--remember, life is short, judgment is eternal!"

"I would not save my life at the expense of a falsehood. My opinion
was unfavourable; and I expressed myself thus:--No laws or judicial
proceedings can be just or commendable which exist and operate by
means of a secret combination. I said, that justice could only live
and exist in the open air, and that when she ceased to be public she
degenerated into revenge and hatred. I said, that a system of which
your own jurists have said, _non frater a fratre, non hospes a
hospite, tutus_, was too much adverse to the laws of nature to be
connected with or regulated by those of religion."

These words were scarcely uttered, when there burst a murmur from the
Judges highly unfavourable to the prisoner,--"He blasphemes the Holy
Vehme--Let his mouth be closed for ever!"

"Hear me," said the Englishman, "as you will one day wish to be
yourselves heard! I say such were my sentiments, and so I expressed
them--I say also, I had a right to express these opinions, whether
sound or erroneous, in a neutral country, where this Tribunal neither
did, nor could, claim any jurisdiction. My sentiments are still the
same. I would avow them if that sword were at my bosom, or that cord
around my throat. But I deny that I have ever spoken against the
institutions of your Vehme, in a country where it had its course as a
national mode of justice. Far more strongly, if possible, do I
denounce the absurdity of the falsehood, which represents me, a
wandering foreigner, as commissioned to traffic with the Duke of
Burgundy about such high matters, or to form a conspiracy for the
destruction of a system to which so many seem warmly attached. I never
said such a thing, and I never thought it."

"Accuser," said the presiding Judge, "thou hast heard the
accused--What is thy reply?"

"The first part of the charge," said the accuser, "he hath confessed
in this high presence--namely, that his foul tongue hath basely
slandered our holy mysteries; for which he deserves that it should be
torn out of his throat. I myself, on my oath of office, will aver, as
use and law is, that the rest of the accusation--namely, that which
taxes him as having entered into machinations for the destruction of
the Vehmique institutions--is as true as those which he has found
himself unable to deny."

"In justice," said the Englishman, "the accusation, if not made good
by satisfactory proof, ought to be left to the oath of the party
accused, instead of permitting the accuser to establish by his own
deposition the defects in his own charge."

"Stranger," replied the presiding Judge, "we permit to thy ignorance a
longer and more full defence than consists with our usual forms. Know,
that the right of sitting among these venerable judges confers on the
person of him who enjoys it a sacredness of character which ordinary
men cannot attain to. The oath of one of the initiated must
counterbalance the most solemn asseveration of every one that is not
acquainted with our holy secrets. In the Vehmique court all must be
Vehmique. The averment of the Emperor, he being uninitiated, would not
have so much weight in our counsels as that of one of the meanest of
these officials. The affirmation of the accuser can only be rebutted
by the oath of a member of the same Tribunal, being of superior rank."

"Then, God be gracious to me, for I have no trust save in Heaven!"
said the Englishman, in solemn accents. "Yet I will not fall without
an effort. I call upon thee thyself, dark spirit, who presidest in
this most deadly assembly--I call upon thyself, to declare on thy
faith and honour, whether thou holdest me guilty of what is thus
boldly averred by this false calumniator--I call upon thee by thy
sacred character--by the name of"----

"Hold!" replied the presiding Judge. "The name by which we are known
in open air must not be pronounced in this subterranean
judgment-seat."

He then proceeded to address the prisoner and the assembly.--"I, being
called on in evidence, declare that the charge against thee is so far
true as it is acknowledged by thyself--namely, that thou hast in other
lands than the Red Soil[3] spoken lightly of this holy institution of
justice. But I believe in my soul, and will bear witness on my honour,
that the rest of the accusation is incredible and false. And this I
swear, holding my hand on the dagger and the cord.--What is your
judgment, my brethren, upon the case which you have investigated?"

A member of the first-seated and highest class amongst the judges,
muffled like the rest, but the tone of whose voice and the stoop of
whose person announced him to be more advanced in years than the other
two who had before spoken, arose with difficulty, and said with a
trembling voice,--

"The child of the cord who is before us has been convicted of folly
and rashness in slandering our holy institution. But he spoke his
folly to ears which had never heard our sacred laws--He has,
therefore, been acquitted, by irrefragable testimony, of combining for
the impotent purpose of undermining our power, or stirring up princes
against our holy association, for which death were too light a
punishment--He hath been foolish, then, but not criminal; and as the
holy laws of the Vehme bear no penalty save that of death, I propose
for judgment that the child of the cord be restored without injury to
society, and to the upper world, having been first duly admonished of
his errors."

"Child of the cord," said the presiding Judge, "thou hast heard thy
sentence of acquittal. But, as thou desirest to sleep in an unbloody
grave, let me warn thee, that the secrets of this night shall remain
with thee, as a secret not to be communicated to father nor mother, to
spouse, son, or daughter; neither to be spoken aloud nor whispered; to
be told in words or written in characters; to be carved or to be
painted, or to be otherwise communicated, either directly or by
parable and emblem. Obey this behest, and thy life is in surety. Let
thy heart then rejoice within thee, but let it rejoice with trembling.
Never more let thy vanity persuade thee that thou art secure from the
servants and Judges of the Holy Vehme. Though a thousand leagues lie
between thee and the Red Land, and thou speakest in that where our
power is not known; though thou shouldst be sheltered by thy native
island, and defended by thy kindred ocean, yet, even there, I warn
thee to cross thyself when thou dost so much as think of the Holy and
Invisible Tribunal, and to retain thy thoughts within thine own bosom;
for the Avenger may be beside thee, and thou mayst die in thy folly.
Go hence, be wise, and let the fear of the Holy Vehme never pass from
before thine eyes."

At the concluding words, all the lights were at once extinguished with
a hissing noise. Philipson felt once more the grasp of the hands of
the officials, to which he resigned himself as the safest course. He
was gently prostrated on his pallet-bed, and transported back to the
place from which he had been advanced to the foot of the altar. The
cordage was again applied to the platform, and Philipson was sensible
that his couch rose with him for a few moments, until a slight shock
apprised him that he was again brought to a level with the floor of
the chamber in which he had been lodged on the preceding night, or
rather morning. He pondered over the events that had passed, in which
he was sensible that he owed Heaven thanks for a great deliverance.
Fatigue at length prevailed over anxiety, and he fell into a deep and
profound sleep, from which he was only awakened by returning light.
He resolved on an instant departure from so dangerous a spot, and,
without seeing any one of the household but the old ostler, pursued
his journey to Strasburg, and reached that city without further
accident.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The word Wehme, pronounced Vehme, is of uncertain derivation, but
was always used to intimate this inquisitorial and secret Court. The
members were termed Wissenden, or Initiated, answering to the modern
phrase of Illuminati. Mr. Palgrave seems inclined to derive the word
_Vehme_ from _Ehme_, _i.e._ _Law_, and he is probably right.

[2] The term _Strick-kind_, or child of the cord, was applied to the
person accused before these awful assemblies.

[3] The parts of Germany subjected to the operation of the Secret
Tribunal were called, from the blood which it spilt, or from some
other reason (Mr. Palgrave suggests the ground tincture of the ancient
banner of the district), the Red Soil. Westphalia, as the limits of
that country were understood in the Middle Ages, which are
considerably different from the present boundaries, was the principal
theatre of the Vehme.




CHAPTER III.

     Away with these!--True Wisdom's world will be
     Within its own creation, or in thine,
     Maternal Nature! for who teems like thee
     Thus on the banks of thy majestic Rhine?
     There Harold gazes on a work divine,
     A blending of all beauties, streams, and dells--
     Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,
     And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells,
     From grey but leafy walls, where ruin greenly dwells.
                   _Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto III._


When Arthur Philipson left his father, to go on board the bark which
was to waft him across the Rhine, he took but few precautions for his
own subsistence, during a separation of which he calculated the
duration to be very brief. Some necessary change of raiment, and a
very few pieces of gold, were all which he thought it needful to
withdraw from the general stock; the rest of the baggage and money he
left with the sumpter-horse, which he concluded his father might need,
in order to sustain his character as an English trader. Having
embarked with his horse and his slender appointments on board a
fishing-skiff, she instantly raised her temporary mast, spread a sail
across the yard, and, supported by the force of the wind against the
downward power of the current, moved across the river obliquely in the
direction of Kirch-hoff, which, as we have said, lies somewhat lower
on the river than Hans-Kapelle. Their passage was so favourable that
they reached the opposite side in a few minutes, but not until Arthur,
whose eye and thoughts were on the left bank, had seen his father
depart from the Chapel of the Ferry, accompanied by two horsemen, whom
he readily concluded to be the guide Bartholomew, and some chance
traveller who had joined him; but the second of whom was in truth the
Black Priest of St. Paul's, as has been already mentioned.

This augmentation of his father's company was, he could not but think,
likely to be attended with an increase of his safety, since it was not
probable he would suffer a companion to be forced upon him, and one of
his own choosing might be a protection, in case his guide should prove
treacherous. At any rate, he had to rejoice that he had seen his
father depart in safety from the spot where they had reason to
apprehend some danger awaited him. He resolved, therefore, to make no
stay at Kirch-hoff, but to pursue his way, as fast as possible,
towards Strasburg, and rest, when darkness compelled him to stop, in
one of the _dorfs_, or villages, which were situated on the German
side of the Rhine. At Strasburg, he trusted, with the sanguine spirit
of youth, he might again be able to rejoin his father; and if he could
not altogether subdue his anxiety on their separation, he fondly
nourished the hope that he might meet him in safety. After some short
refreshment and repose afforded to his horse, he lost no time in
proceeding on his journey down the eastern bank of the broad river.

He was now upon the most interesting side of the Rhine, walled in and
repelled as the river is on that shore by the most romantic cliffs,
now mantled with vegetation of the richest hue, tinged with all the
variegated colours of autumn; now surmounted by fortresses, over whose
gates were displayed the pennons of their proud owners; or studded
with hamlets, where the richness of the soil supplied to the poor
labourer the food of which the oppressive hand of his superior
threatened altogether to deprive him. Every stream which here
contributes its waters to the Rhine winds through its own tributary
dell, and each valley possesses a varying and separate character, some
rich with pastures, cornfields, and vineyards, some frowning with
crags and precipices, and other romantic beauties.

The principles of taste were not then explained or analysed as they
have been since, in countries where leisure has been found for this
investigation. But the feelings arising from so rich a landscape as is
displayed by the valley of the Rhine must have been the same in every
bosom, from the period when our Englishman took his solitary journey
through it, in doubt and danger, till that in which it heard the
indignant Childe Harold bid a proud farewell to his native country, in
the vain search of a land in which his heart might throb less
fiercely.

Arthur enjoyed this scene, although the fading daylight began to
remind him that, alone as he was, and travelling with a very valuable
charge, it would be matter of prudence to look out for some place of
rest during the night. Just as he had formed the resolution of
inquiring at the next habitation he should pass, which way he should
follow for this purpose, the road he pursued descended into a
beautiful amphitheatre filled with large trees, which protected from
the heats of summer the delicate and tender herbage of the pasture. A
large brook flowed through it, and joined the Rhine. At a short mile
up the brook its waters made a crescent round a steep craggy eminence,
crowned with flanking walls, and Gothic towers and turrets, enclosing
a feudal castle of the first order. A part of the savannah that has
been mentioned had been irregularly cultivated for wheat, which had
grown a plentiful crop. It was gathered in, but the patches of deep
yellow stubble contrasted with the green of the undisturbed pasture
land, and with the seared and dark-red foliage of the broad oaks which
stretched their arms athwart the level space. There a lad, in a rustic
dress, was employed in the task of netting a brood of partridges with
the assistance of a trained spaniel; while a young woman, who had the
air rather of a domestic in some family of rank than that of an
ordinary villager, sat on the stump of a decayed tree, to watch the
progress of the amusement. The spaniel, whose duty it was to drive the
partridges under the net, was perceptibly disturbed at the approach of
the traveller; his attention was divided, and he was obviously in
danger of marring the sport, by barking and putting up the covey, when
the maiden quitted her seat, and, advancing towards Philipson,
requested him, for courtesy, to pass at a greater distance, and not
interfere with their amusement.

The traveller willingly complied with her request.

"I will ride, fair damsel," he said, "at whatever distance you please.
And allow me, in guerdon, to ask, whether there is convent, castle, or
good man's house, where a stranger, who is belated and weary, might
receive a night's hospitality?"

The girl, whose face he had not yet distinctly seen, seemed to
suppress some desire to laugh, as she replied, "Hath not yon castle,
think you," pointing to the distant towers, "some corner which might
accommodate a stranger in such extremity?"

"Space enough, certainly," said Arthur; "but perhaps little
inclination to grant it."

"I myself," said the girl, "being one, and a formidable part of the
garrison, will be answerable for your reception. But as you parley
with me in such hostile fashion, it is according to martial order that
I should put down my visor."

So saying, she concealed her face under one of those riding-masks
which at that period women often wore when they went abroad, whether
for protecting their complexion or screening themselves from intrusive
observation. But ere she could accomplish this operation Arthur had
detected the merry countenance of Annette Veilchen, a girl who, though
her attendance on Anne of Geierstein was in a menial capacity, was
held in high estimation at Geierstein. She was a bold wench,
unaccustomed to the distinctions of rank, which were little regarded
in the simplicity of the Helvetian hills, and she was ready to laugh,
jest, and flirt with the young men of the Landamman's family. This
attracted no attention, the mountain manners making little distinction
between the degrees of attendant and mistress, further than that the
mistress was a young woman who required help, and the maiden one who
was in a situation to offer and afford it. This kind of familiarity
would perhaps have been dangerous in other lands, but the simplicity
of Swiss manners, and the turn of Annette's disposition, which was
resolute and sensible, though rather bold and free, when compared to
the manners of more civilised countries, kept all intercourse betwixt
her and the young men of the family in the strict path of honour and
innocence.

Arthur himself had paid considerable attention to Annette, being
naturally, from his feelings towards Anne of Geierstein, heartily
desirous to possess the good graces of her attendant; a point which
was easily gained by the attentions of a handsome young man, and the
generosity with which he heaped upon her small presents of articles of
dress or ornament, which the damsel, however faithful, could find no
heart to refuse.

The assurance that he was in Anne's neighbourhood, and that he was
likely to pass the night under the same roof, both of which
circumstances were intimated by the girl's presence and language, sent
the blood in a hastier current through Arthur's veins; for though,
since he had crossed the river, he had sometimes nourished hopes of
again seeing her who had made so strong an impression on his
imagination, yet his understanding had as often told him how slight
was the chance of their meeting, and it was even now chilled by the
reflection that it could be followed only by the pain of a sudden and
final separation. He yielded himself, however, to the prospect of
promised pleasure, without attempting to ascertain what was to be its
duration or its consequence. Desirous, in the meantime, to hear as
much of Anne's circumstances as Annette chose to tell, he resolved not
to let that merry maiden perceive that she was known by him, until
she chose of her own accord to lay aside her mystery.

While these thoughts passed rapidly through his imagination, Annette
bade the lad drop his nets, and directed him that, having taken two of
the best-fed partridges from the covey, and carried them into the
kitchen, he was to set the rest at liberty.

"I must provide supper," said she to the traveller, "since I am
bringing home unexpected company."

Arthur earnestly expressed his hope that his experiencing the
hospitality of the castle would occasion no trouble to the inmates,
and received satisfactory assurances upon the subject of his scruples.

"I would not willingly be the cause of inconvenience to your
mistress," pursued the traveller.

"Look you there," said Annette Veilchen, "I have said nothing of
master or mistress, and this poor forlorn traveller has already
concluded in his own mind that he is to be harboured in a lady's
bower!"

"Why, did you not tell me," said Arthur, somewhat confused at his
blunder, "that you were the person of second importance in the place?
A damsel, I judged, could only be an officer under a female governor."

"I do not see the justice of the conclusion," replied the maiden. "I
have known ladies bear offices of trust in lords' families; nay, and
over the lords themselves."

"Am I to understand, fair damsel, that you hold so predominant a
situation in the castle which we are now approaching, and of which I
pray you to tell me the name?"

"The name of the castle is Arnheim," said Annette.

"Your garrison must be a large one," said Arthur, looking at the
extensive building, "if you are able to man such a labyrinth of walls
and towers."

"In that point," said Annette, "I must needs own we are very
deficient. At present, we rather hide in the castle than inhabit it;
and yet it is well enough defended by the reports which frighten every
other person who might disturb its seclusion."

"And yet you yourselves dare to reside in it?" said the Englishman,
recollecting the tale which had been told by Rudolph Donnerhugel,
concerning the character of the Barons of Arnheim, and the final
catastrophe of the family.

"Perhaps," replied his guide, "we are too intimate with the cause of
such fears to feel ourselves strongly oppressed with them--perhaps we
have means of encountering the supposed terrors proper to
ourselves--perhaps, and it is not the least likely conjecture, we have
no choice of a better place of refuge. Such seems to be your own fate
at present, sir, for the tops of the distant hills are gradually
losing the lights of the evening; and if you rest not in Arnheim, well
contented or not, you are likely to find no safe lodging for many a
mile."

As she thus spoke she separated from Arthur, taking, with the fowler
who attended her, a very steep but short footpath, which ascended
straight up to the site of the castle; at the same time motioning to
the young Englishman to follow a horse-track, which, more circuitous,
led to the same point, and, though less direct, was considerably more
easy.

He soon stood before the south front of Arnheim Castle, which was a
much larger building than he had conceived, either from Rudolph's
description or from the distant view. It had been erected at many
different periods, and a considerable part of the edifice was less in
the strict Gothic than in what has been termed the Saracenic style, in
which the imagination of the architect is more florid than that which
is usually indulged in the North--rich in minarets, cupolas, and
similar approximations to Oriental structures. This singular building
bore a general appearance of desolation and desertion, but Rudolph had
been misinformed when he declared that it had become ruinous. On the
contrary, it had been maintained with considerable care; and when it
fell into the hands of the Emperor, although no garrison was
maintained within its precincts, care was taken to keep the building
in repair; and though the prejudices of the country people prevented
any one from passing the night within the fearful walls, yet it was
regularly visited from time to time by a person having commission from
the Imperial Chancery to that effect. The occupation of the domain
around the castle was a valuable compensation for this official
person's labour, and he took care not to endanger the loss of it by
neglecting his duty. Of late this officer had been withdrawn, and now
it appeared that the young Baroness of Arnheim had found refuge in the
deserted towers of her ancestors.

The Swiss damsel did not leave the youthful traveller time to study
particularly the exterior of the castle, or to construe the meaning
of emblems and mottoes, seemingly of an Oriental character, with which
the outside was inscribed, and which expressed in various modes, more
or less directly, the attachment of the builders of this extensive
pile to the learning of the Eastern sages. Ere he had time to take
more than a general survey of the place, the voice of the Swiss maiden
called him to an angle of the wall in which there was a projection,
whence a long plank extended over a dry moat, and was connected with a
window in which Annette was standing.

"You have forgotten your Swiss lessons already," said she, observing
that Arthur went rather timidly about crossing the temporary and
precarious drawbridge.

The reflection that Anne, her mistress, might make the same
observation, recalled the young traveller to the necessary degree of
composure. He passed over the plank with the same _sang froid_ with
which he had learned to brave the far more terrific bridge beneath the
ruinous castle of Geierstein. He had no sooner entered the window than
Annette, taking off her mask, bade him welcome to Germany, and to old
friends with new names.

"Anne of Geierstein," she said, "is no more; but you will presently
see the Lady Baroness of Arnheim, who is extremely like her; and I,
who was Annette Veilchen in Switzerland, the servant to a damsel who
was not esteemed much greater than myself, am now the young Baroness's
waiting-woman, and make everybody of less quality stand back."

"If, in such circumstances," said young Philipson, "you have the
influence due to your consequence, let me beseech of you to tell the
Baroness, since we must now call her so, that my present intrusion on
her is occasioned by my ignorance."

"Away, away!" said the girl, laughing. "I know better what to say in
your behalf. You are not the first poor man and pedlar that has got
the graces of a great lady; but I warrant you it was not by making
humble apologies, and talking of unintentional intrusion. I will tell
her of love, which all the Rhine cannot quench, and which has driven
you hither, leaving you no other choice than to come or to perish!"

"Nay, but Annette, Annette"----

"Fie on you for a fool,--make a shorter name of it,--cry Anne, Anne!
and there will be more prospect of your being answered."

So saying, the wild girl ran out of the room, delighted, as a
mountaineer of her description was likely to be, with the thought of
having done as she would desire to be done by, in her benevolent
exertions to bring two lovers together, when on the eve of inevitable
separation.

In this self-approving disposition, Annette sped up a narrow turnpike
stair to a closet, or dressing-room, where her young mistress was
seated, and exclaimed, with open mouth,--"Anne of Gei----, I mean my
Lady Baroness, they are come--they are come!"

"The Philipsons?" said Anne, almost breathless as she asked the
question.

"Yes--no--" answered the girl; "that is, yes,--for the best of them is
come, and that is Arthur."

"What meanest thou, girl? Is not Seignor Philipson, the father, along
with his son?"

"Not he, indeed," answered Veilchen, "nor did I ever think of asking
about him. He was no friend of mine, nor of any one else, save the old
Landamman; and well met they were for a couple of wiseacres, with
eternal proverbs in their mouths, and care upon their brows."

"Unkind, inconsiderate girl, what hast thou done?" said Anne of
Geierstein. "Did I not warn and charge thee to bring them both hither?
and you have brought the young man alone to a place where we are
nearly in solitude! What will he--what can he think of me?"

"Why, what should I have done?" said Annette, remaining firm in her
argument. "He was alone, and should I have sent him down to the _dorf_
to be murdered by the Rhinegrave's Lanzknechts? All is fish, I trow,
that comes to their net; and how is he to get through this country, so
beset with wandering soldiers, robber barons (I beg your ladyship's
pardon), and roguish Italians, flocking to the Duke of Burgundy's
standard?--Not to mention the greatest terror of all, that is never in
one shape or other absent from one's eye or thought."

"Hush, hush, girl! add not utter madness to the excess of folly; but
let us think what is to be done. For our sake, for his own, this
unfortunate young man must leave this castle instantly."

"You must take the message yourself, then, Anne--I beg pardon, most
noble Baroness;--it may be very fit for a lady of high birth to send
such a message, which, indeed, I have heard the Minne-singers tell in
their romances; but I am sure it is not a meet one for me, or any
frank-hearted Swiss girl, to carry. No more foolery; but remember, if
you were born Baroness of Arnheim, you have been bred and brought up
in the bosom of the Swiss hills, and should conduct yourself like an
honest and well-meaning damsel."

"And in what does your wisdom reprehend my folly, good Mademoiselle
Annette?" replied the Baroness.

"Ay, marry! now our noble blood stirs in our veins. But remember,
gentle my lady, that it was a bargain between us, when I left yonder
noble mountains, and the free air that blows over them, to coop myself
up in this land of prisons and slaves, that I should speak my mind to
you as freely as I did when our heads lay on the same pillow."

"Speak, then," said Anne, studiously averting her face as she prepared
to listen; "but beware that you say nothing which it is unfit for me
to hear."

"I will speak nature and common-sense; and if your noble ears are not
made fit to hear and understand these, the fault lies in them, and not
in my tongue. Look you, you have saved this youth from two great
dangers--one at the earth-shoot at Geierstein, the other this very
day, when his life was beset. A handsome young man he is, well spoken,
and well qualified to gain deservedly a lady's favour. Before you saw
him, the Swiss youth were at least not odious to you. You danced with
them,--you jested with them,--you were the general object of their
admiration,--and, as you well know, you might have had your choice
through the Canton--Why, I think it possible a little urgency might
have brought you to think of Rudolph Donnerhugel as your mate."

"Never, wench, never!" exclaimed Anne.

"Be not so very positive, my lady. Had he recommended himself to the
uncle in the first place, I think, in my poor sentiment, he might at
some lucky moment have carried the niece. But since we have known this
young Englishman, it has been little less than contemning, despising,
and something like hating, all the men whom you could endure well
enough before."

"Well, well," said Anne, "I will detest and hate thee more than any of
them, unless you bring your matters to an end."

"Softly, noble lady, fair and easy go far. All this argues you love
the young man, and let those say that you are wrong who think there is
anything wonderful in the matter. There is much to justify you, and
nothing that I know against it."

"What, foolish girl! Remember my birth forbids me to love a mean
man--my condition to love a poor man--my father's commands to love one
whose addresses are without his consent--above all, my maidenly pride
forbids me fixing my affections on one who cares not for me--nay,
perhaps, is prejudiced against me by appearances."

"Here is a fine homily!" said Annette; "but I can clear every point of
it as easily as Father Francis does his text in a holiday sermon. Your
birth is a silly dream, which you have only learned to value within
these two or three days, when, having come to German soil, some of the
old German weed, usually called family pride, has begun to germinate
in your heart. Think of such folly as you thought when you lived at
Geierstein--that is, during all the rational part of your life, and
this great terrible prejudice will sink into nothing. By condition, I
conceive you mean estate. But Philipson's father, who is the most
free-hearted of men, will surely give his son as many zechins as will
stock a mountain farm. You have firewood for the cutting, and land for
the occupying, since you are surely entitled to part of Geierstein,
and gladly will your uncle put you in possession of it. You can manage
the dairy, Arthur can shoot, hunt, fish, plough, harrow, and reap."

Anne of Geierstein shook her head, as if she greatly doubted her
lover's skill in the last of the accomplishments enumerated.

"Well, well, he can learn, then," said Annette Veilchen; "and you will
only live the harder the first year or so. Besides, Sigismund
Biederman will aid him willingly, and he is a very horse at labour;
and I know another besides, who is a friend"----

"Of thine own, I warrant," quoth the young Baroness.

"Marry, it is my poor friend Louis Sprenger; and I'll never be so
false-hearted as to deny my bachelor."

"Well, well, but what is to be the end of all this?" said the
Baroness, impatiently.

"The end of it, in my opinion," said Annette, "is very simple. Here
are priests and prayer-books within a mile--go down to the parlour,
speak your mind to your lover, or hear him speak his mind to you; join
hands, go quietly back to Geierstein in the character of man and wife,
and get everything ready to receive your uncle on his return. This is
the way that a plain Swiss wench would cut off the romance of a
German Baroness"----

"And break the heart of her father," said the young lady, with a sigh.

"It is more tough than you are aware of," replied Annette. "He hath
not lived without you so long but that he will be able to spare you
for the rest of his life, a great deal more easily than you, with all
your new-fangled ideas of quality, will be able to endure his schemes
of wealth and ambition, which will aim at making you the wife of some
illustrious Count, like De Hagenbach, whom we saw not long since make
such an edifying end, to the great example of all Robber-Chivalry upon
the Rhine."

"Thy plan is naught, wench; a childish vision of a girl who never knew
more of life than she has heard told over her milking-pail. Remember
that my uncle entertains the highest ideas of family discipline, and
that to act contrary to my father's will would destroy us in his good
opinion. Why else am I here? Wherefore has he resigned his
guardianship? And why am I obliged to change the habits that are dear
to me, and assume the manners of a people that are strange, and
therefore unpleasing to me?"

"Your uncle," said Annette firmly, "is Landamman of the Canton of
Unterwalden; respects its freedom, and is the sworn protector of its
laws, of which, when you, a denizen of the Confederacy, claim the
protection, he cannot refuse it to you."

"Even then," said the young Baroness, "I should forfeit his good
opinion, his more than paternal affection; but it is needless to dwell
upon this. Know, that although I could have loved the young man, whom
I will not deny to be as amiable as your partiality paints
him--know,"--she hesitated for a moment,--"that he has never spoken a
word to me on such a subject as you, without knowing either his
sentiments or mine, would intrude on my consideration."

"Is it possible?" answered Annette. "I thought--I believed, though I
have never pressed on your confidence--that you must--attached as you
were to each other--have spoken together, like true maid and true
bachelor, before now. I have done wrong, when I thought to do for the
best.--Is it possible!--such things have been heard of even in our
canton--is it possible he can have harboured so unutterably base
purposes, as that Martin of Brisach, who made love to Adela of the
Sundgau, enticed her to folly--the thing, though almost incredible, is
true--fled--fled from the country and boasted of his villany, till her
cousin Raymund silenced for ever his infamous triumph, by beating his
brains out with his club, even in the very street of the villain's
native town? By the Holy Mother of Einsiedlen! could I suspect this
Englishman of meditating such treason, I would saw the plank across
the moat till a fly's weight would break it, and it should be at six
fathom deep that he should abye the perfidy which dared to meditate
dishonour against an adopted daughter of Switzerland!"

As Annette Veilchen spoke, all the fire of her mountain courage
flashed from her eyes, and she listened reluctantly while Anne of
Geierstein endeavoured to obliterate the dangerous impression which
her former words had impressed on her simple but faithful attendant.

"On my word"--she said,--"on my soul--you do Arthur Philipson
injustice--foul injustice, in intimating such a suspicion;--his
conduct towards me has ever been upright and honourable--a friend to a
friend--a brother to a sister--could not, in all he has done and said,
have been more respectful, more anxiously affectionate, more
undeviatingly candid. In our frequent interviews and intercourse he
has indeed seemed very kind--very attached. But had I been
disposed--at times I may have been too much so--to listen to him with
endurance,"--the young lady here put her hand on her forehead, but the
tears streamed through her slender fingers,--"he has never spoken of
any love--any preference;--if he indeed entertains any, some obstacle,
insurmountable on his part, has interfered to prevent him."

"Obstacle?" replied the Swiss damsel. "Ay, doubtless--some childish
bashfulness--some foolish idea about your birth being so high above
his own--some dream of modesty pushed to extremity, which considers as
impenetrable the ice of a spring frost. This delusion may be broken by
a moment's encouragement, and I will take the task on myself, to spare
your blushes, my dearest Anne."

"No, no; for Heaven's sake, no, Veilchen!" answered the Baroness, to
whom Annette had so long been a companion and confidant, rather than a
domestic. "You cannot anticipate the nature of the obstacles which may
prevent his thinking on what you are so desirous to promote. Hear
me--My early education, and the instructions of my kind uncle, have
taught me to know something more of foreigners and their fashions than
I ever could have learned in our happy retirement of Geierstein; I am
well-nigh convinced that these Philipsons are of rank, as they are of
manners and bearing, far superior to the occupation which they appear
to hold. The father is a man of deep observation, of high thought and
pretension, and lavish of gifts, far beyond what consists with the
utmost liberality of a trader."

"That is true," said Annette. "I will say for myself, that the silver
chain he gave me weighs against ten silver crowns, and the cross which
Arthur added to it, the day after the long ride we had together up
towards Mount Pilatus, is worth, they tell me, as much more. There is
not the like of it in the Cantons. Well, what then? They are rich, so
are you. So much the better."

"Alas! Annette, they are not only rich, but noble. I am persuaded of
this; for I have observed often, that even the father retreated, with
an air of quiet and dignified contempt, from discussions with
Donnerhugel and others, who, in our plain way, wished to fasten a
dispute upon him. And when a rude observation or blunt pleasantry was
pointed at the son, his eye flashed, his cheek coloured, and it was
only a glance from his father which induced him to repress the retort
of no friendly character which rose to his lips."

"You have been a close observer," said Annette. "All this may be true,
but I noted it not. But what then, I say once more? If Arthur has some
fine noble name in his own country, are not you yourself Baroness of
Arnheim? And I will frankly allow it as something of worth, if it
smooths the way to a match, where I think you must look for
happiness--I hope so, else I am sure it should have no encouragement
from me."

"I do believe so, my faithful Veilchen; but, alas! how can you, in the
state of natural freedom in which you have been bred, know, or even
dream, of the various restraints which this gilded or golden chain of
rank and nobility hangs upon those whom it fetters and encumbers, I
fear, as much as it decorates? In every country, the distinction of
rank binds men to certain duties. It may carry with it restrictions,
which may prevent alliances in foreign countries--it often may prevent
them from consulting their inclinations, when they wed in their own.
It leads to alliances in which the heart is never consulted, to
treaties of marriage, which are often formed when the parties are in
the cradle, or in leading strings, but which are not the less binding
on them in honour and faith. Such may exist in the present case. These
alliances are often blended and mixed up with state policy; and if the
interest of England, or what he deems such, should have occasioned the
elder Philipson to form such an engagement, Arthur would break his own
heart--the heart of any one else--rather than make false his father's
word."

"The more shame to them that formed such an engagement!" said Annette.
"Well, they talk of England being a free country; but if they can bar
young men and women of the natural privilege to call their hands and
hearts their own, I would as soon be a German serf.--Well, lady, you
are wise, and I am ignorant. But what is to be done? I have brought
this young man here, expecting, God knows, a happier issue to your
meeting. But it is clear you cannot marry him without his asking you.
Now, although I confess that, if I could think him willing to forfeit
the hand of the fairest maid of the Cantons, either from want of manly
courage to ask it, or from regard to some ridiculous engagement,
formed betwixt his father and some other nobleman of their island of
noblemen, I would not in either case grudge him a ducking in the moat;
yet it is another question, whether we should send him down to be
murdered among those cut-throats of the Rhinegrave; and unless we do
so, I know not how to get rid of him."

"Then let the boy William give attendance on him here, and do you see
to his accommodation. It is best we do not meet."

"I will," said Annette; "yet what am I to say for you? Unhappily, I
let him know that you were here."

"Alas, imprudent girl! Yet why should I blame thee," said Anne of
Geierstein, "when the imprudence has been so great on my own side? It
is myself, who, suffering my imagination to rest too long upon this
young man and his merits, have led me into this entanglement. But I
will show thee that I can overcome this folly, and I will not seek in
my own error a cause for evading the duties of hospitality. Go,
Veilchen, get some refreshment ready. Thou shalt sup with us, and thou
must not leave us. Thou shalt see me behave as becomes both a German
lady and a Swiss maiden. Get me first a candle, however, my girl, for
I must wash these tell-tales, my eyes, and arrange my dress."

To Annette this whole explanation had been one scene of astonishment,
for, in the simple ideas of love and courtship in which she had been
brought up amid the Swiss mountains, she had expected that the two
lovers would have taken the first opportunity of the absence of their
natural guardians, and have united themselves for ever; and she had
even arranged a little secondary plot, in which she herself and Martin
Sprenger, her faithful bachelor, were to reside with the young couple
as friends and dependants. Silenced, therefore, but not satisfied, by
the objections of her young mistress, the zealous Annette retreated
murmuring to herself,--"That little hint about her dress is the only
natural and sensible word she has said in my hearing. Please God, I
will return and help her in the twinkling of an eye. That dressing my
mistress is the only part of a waiting-lady's life that I have the
least fancy for--it seems so natural for one pretty maiden to set off
another--in faith we are but learning to dress ourselves at another
time."

And with this sage remark Annette Veilchen tripped down stairs.




CHAPTER IV.

     Tell me not of it--I could ne'er abide
     The mummery of all that forced civility.
     "Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams
     The speech is spoken, and, with bended knee,
     Heard by the smiling courtier.--"Before you, sir?
     It must be on the earth then." Hang it all!
     The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion
     Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom.
                                            _Old Play._


Up stairs and down stairs tripped Annette Veilchen, the soul of all
that was going on in the only habitable corner of the huge castle of
Arnheim. She was equal to every kind of service, and therefore popped
her head into the stable to be sure that William attended properly to
Arthur's horse, looked into the kitchen to see that the old cook,
Marthon, roasted the partridges in due time (an interference for which
she received little thanks), rummaged out a flask or two of Rhine wine
from the huge Dom Daniel of a cellar, and, finally, just peeped into
the parlour to see how Arthur was looking; when, having the
satisfaction to see he had in the best manner he could sedulously
arranged his person, she assured him that he should shortly see her
mistress, who was rather indisposed, yet could not refrain from coming
down to see so valued an acquaintance.

Arthur blushed when she spoke thus, and seemed so handsome in the
waiting-maid's eye, that she could not help saying to herself, as she
went to her young lady's room,--"Well, if true love cannot manage to
bring that couple together, in spite of all the obstacles that they
stand boggling at, I will never believe that there is such a thing as
true love in the world, let Martin Sprenger say what he will, and
swear to it on the Gospels."

When she reached the young Baroness's apartment, she found, to her
surprise, that, instead of having put on what finery she possessed,
that young lady's choice had preferred the same simple kirtle which
she had worn during the first day that Arthur had dined at Geierstein.
Annette looked at first puzzled and doubtful, then suddenly recognised
the good taste which had dictated the attire, and exclaimed,--"You are
right--you are right--it is best to meet him as a free-hearted Swiss
maiden."

Anne also smiled as she replied,--"But, at the same time, in the walls
of Arnheim, I must appear in some respect as the daughter of my
father.--Here, girl, aid me to put this gem upon the riband which
binds my hair."

It was an aigrette, or plume, composed of two feathers of a vulture,
fastened together by an opal, which changed to the changing light with
a variability which enchanted the Swiss damsel, who had never seen
anything resembling it in her life.

"Now, Baroness Anne," said she, "if that pretty thing be really worn
as a sign of your rank, it is the only thing belonging to your dignity
that I should ever think of coveting; for it doth shimmer and change
colour after a most wonderful fashion, even something like one's own
cheek when one is fluttered."

"Alas, Annette!" said the Baroness, passing her hand across her eyes,
"of all the gauds which the females of my house have owned, this
perhaps hath been the most fatal to its possessors."

"And why then wear it?" said Annette. "Why wear it now, of all days in
the year?"

"Because it best reminds me of my duty to my father and family. And
now, girl, look thou sit with us at table, and leave not the
apartment; and see thou fly not to and fro to help thyself or others
with anything on the board, but remain quiet and seated till William
helps you to what you have occasion for."

"Well, that is a gentle fashion, which I like well enough," said
Annette, "and William serves us so debonairly, that it is a joy to see
him; yet, ever and anon, I feel as I were not Annette Veilchen
herself, but only Annette Veilchen's picture, since I can neither
rise, sit down, run about, nor stand still, without breaking some rule
of courtly breeding. It is not so, I dare say, with you, who are
always mannerly."

"Less courtly than thou seemest to think," said the high-born maiden;
"but I feel the restraint more on the greensward, and under heaven's
free air, than when I undergo it closed within the walls of an
apartment."

"Ah, true--the dancing," said Annette; "that was something to be sorry
for indeed."

"But most am I sorry, Annette, that I cannot tell whether I act
precisely right or wrong in seeing this young man, though it must be
for the last time. Were my father to arrive?--Were Ital Schreckenwald
to return"--

"Your father is too deeply engaged on some of his dark and mystic
errands," said the flippant Swiss; "sailed to the mountains of the
Brockenberg, where witches hold their sabbath, or gone on a
hunting-party with the Wild Huntsman."

"Fie, Annette, how dare you talk thus of my father?"

"Why, I know little of him personally," said the damsel, "and you
yourself do not know much more. And how should that be false which all
men say is true?"

"Why, fool, what do they say?"

"Why, that the Count is a wizard,--that your grandmother was a
will-of-wisp, and old Ital Schreckenwald a born devil incarnate; and
there is some truth in that, whatever comes of the rest."

"Where is he?"

"Gone down to spend the night in the village, to see the Rhinegrave's
men quartered, and keep them in some order, if possible; for the
soldiers are disappointed of pay which they had been promised; and
when this happens, nothing resembles a lanzknecht except a chafed
bear."

"Go we down then, girl; it is perhaps the last night which we may
spend, for years, with a certain degree of freedom."

I will not pretend to describe the marked embarrassment with which
Arthur Philipson and Anne of Geierstein met; neither lifted their
eyes, neither spoke intelligibly, as they greeted each other, and the
maiden herself did not blush more deeply than her modest visitor;
while the good-humoured Swiss girl, whose ideas of love partook of the
freedom of a more Arcadian country and its customs, looked on with
eyebrows a little arched, much in wonder, and a little in contempt,
at a couple who, as she might think, acted with such unnatural and
constrained reserve. Deep was the reverence and the blush with which
Arthur offered his hand to the young lady, and her acceptance of the
courtesy had the same character of extreme bashfulness, agitation, and
embarrassment. In short, though little or nothing intelligible passed
between this very handsome and interesting couple, the interview
itself did not on that account lose any interest. Arthur handed the
maiden, as was the duty of a gallant of the day, into the next room,
where their repast was prepared; and Annette, who watched with
singular attention everything which occurred, felt with astonishment
that the forms and ceremonies of the higher orders of society had such
an influence, even over her free-born mind, as the rites of the Druids
over that of the Roman general, when he said,

     I scorn them, yet they awe me.

"What can have changed them?" said Annette. "When at Geierstein they
looked but like another girl and bachelor, only that Anne is so very
handsome; but now they move in time and manner as if they were leading
a stately pavin, and behave to each other with as much formal respect
as if he were Landamman of the Unterwalden, and she the first lady of
Berne. 'Tis all very fine, doubtless, but it is not the way that
Martin Sprenger makes love."

Apparently, the circumstances in which each of the young people was
placed recalled to them the habits of lofty and somewhat formal
courtesy to which they might have been accustomed in former days; and
while the Baroness felt it necessary to observe the strictest
decorum, in order to qualify the reception of Arthur into the interior
of her retreat, he, on the other hand, endeavoured to show, by the
profoundness of his respect, that he was incapable of misusing the
kindness with which he had been treated. They placed themselves at
table, scrupulously observing the distance which might become a
"virtuous gentleman and maid." The youth William did the service of
the entertainment with deftness and courtesy, as one well accustomed
to such duty; and Annette, placing herself between them, and
endeavouring, as closely as she could, to adhere to the ceremonies
which she saw them observe, made practice of the civilities which were
expected from the attendant of a baroness. Various, however, were the
errors which she committed. Her demeanour in general was that of a
greyhound in the slips, ready to start up every moment; and she was
only withheld by the recollection that she was to ask for that which
she had far more mind to help herself to.

Other points of etiquette were transgressed in their turn, after the
repast was over, and the attendant had retired. The waiting damsel
often mingled too unceremoniously in the conversation, and could not
help calling her mistress by her Christian name of Anne, and, in
defiance of all decorum, addressed her, as well as Philipson, with the
pronoun _thou_, which then, as well as now, was a dreadful solecism in
German politeness. Her blunders were so far fortunate that, by
furnishing the young lady and Arthur with a topic foreign to the
peculiarities of their own situation, they enabled them to withdraw
their attentions from its embarrassments, and to exchange smiles at
poor Annette's expense. She was not long of perceiving this, and half
nettled, half availing herself of the apology to speak her mind, said,
with considerable spirit, "You have both been very merry, forsooth, at
my expense, and all because I wished rather to rise and seek what I
wanted, than wait till the poor fellow, who was kept trotting between
the board and beauffet, found leisure to bring it to me. You laugh at
me now, because I call you by your names, as they were given to you in
the blessed church at your christening; and because I say to you
_thee_ and _thou_, addressing my Juncker and my Yungfrau as I would do
if I were on my knees praying to Heaven. But for all your new-world
fancies, I can tell you, you are but a couple of children, who do not
know your own minds, and are jesting away the only leisure given you
to provide for your own happiness. Nay, frown not, my sweet Mistress
Baroness; I have looked at Mount Pilatus too often, to fear a gloomy
brow."

"Peace, Annette," said her mistress, "or quit the room."

"Were I not more your friend than I am my own," said the headstrong
and undaunted Annette, "I would quit the room, and the castle to boot,
and leave you to hold your house here, with your amiable seneschal,
Ital Schreckenwald."

"If not for love, yet for shame, for charity, be silent, or leave the
room."

"Nay," said Annette, "my bolt is shot, and I have but hinted at what
all upon Geierstein Green said, the night when the bow of Buttisholz
was bended. You know what the old saw says"----

"Peace! peace, for Heaven's sake, or I must needs fly!" said the young
Baroness.

"Nay, then," said Annette, considerably changing her tone, as if
afraid that her mistress should actually retire, "if you must fly,
necessity must have its course. I know no one who can follow. This
mistress of mine, Seignor Arthur, would require for her attendant, not
a homely girl of flesh and blood like myself, but a waiting-woman with
substance composed of gossamer, and breath supplied by the spirit of
ether. Would you believe it--It is seriously held by many, that she
partakes of the race of spirits of the elements, which makes her so
much more bashful than maidens of this every-day world."

Anne of Geierstein seemed rather glad to lead away the conversation
from the turn which her wayward maiden had given to it, and to turn it
on more indifferent subjects, though these were still personal to
herself.

"Seignor Arthur," she said, "thinks, perhaps, he has some room to
nourish some such strange suspicion as your heedless folly expresses,
and some fools believe, both in Germany and Switzerland. Confess,
Seignor Arthur, you thought strangely of me when I passed your guard
upon the bridge of Graffs-lust, on the night last past."

The recollection of the circumstances which had so greatly surprised
him at the time so startled Arthur that it was with some difficulty he
commanded himself, so as to attempt an answer at all; and what he did
say on the occasion was broken and unconnected.

"I did hear, I own--that is, Rudolph Donnerhugel reported--But that I
believed that you, gentle lady, were other than a Christian
maiden"----

"Nay, if Rudolph were the reporter," said Annette, "you would hear
the worst of my lady and her lineage, that is certain. He is one of
those prudent personages who depreciate and find fault with the goods
he has thoughts of purchasing, in order to deter other offerers. Yes,
he told you a fine goblin story, I warrant you, of my lady's
grandmother; and truly, it so happened, that the circumstances of the
case gave, I dare say, some colour in your eyes to"----

"Not so, Annette," answered Arthur; "whatever might be said of your
lady that sounded uncouth and strange, fell to the ground as
incredible."

"Not quite so much so, I fancy," interrupted Annette, without heeding
sign or frown. "I strongly suspect I should have had much more trouble
in dragging you hither to this castle, had you known you were
approaching the haunt of the Nymph of the Fire, the Salamander, as
they call her, not to mention the shock of again seeing the descendant
of that Maiden of the Fiery Mantle."

"Peace, once more, Annette," said her mistress; "since Fate has
occasioned this meeting, let us not neglect the opportunity to
disabuse our English friend of the absurd report he has listened to,
with doubt and wonder perhaps, but not with absolute incredulity.

"Seignor Arthur Philipson," she proceeded, "it is true my grandfather,
by the mother's side, Baron Herman of Arnheim, was a man of great
knowledge in abstruse sciences. He was also a presiding judge of a
tribunal of which you must have heard, called the Holy Vehme. One
night a stranger, closely pursued by the agents of that body, which"
(crossing herself) "it is not safe even to name, arrived at the castle
and craved his protection, and the rights of hospitality. My
grandfather, finding the advance which the stranger had made to the
rank of Adept, gave him his protection, and became bail to deliver him
to answer the charge against him, for a year and a day, which delay he
was, it seems, entitled to require on his behalf. They studied
together during that term, and pushed their researches into the
mysteries of nature, as far, in all probability, as men have the power
of urging them. When the fatal day drew nigh on which the guest must
part from his host, he asked permission to bring his daughter to the
castle, that they might exchange a last farewell. She was introduced
with much secrecy, and after some days, finding that her father's fate
was so uncertain, the Baron, with the sage's consent, agreed to give
the forlorn maiden refuge in his castle, hoping to obtain from her
some additional information concerning the languages and the wisdom of
the East. Dannischemend, her father, left this castle, to go to render
himself up to the Vehme-gericht at Fulda. The result is unknown;
perhaps he was saved by Baron Arnheim's testimony, perhaps he was
given up to the steel and the cord. On such matters, who dare speak?

"The fair Persian became the wife of her guardian and protector. Amid
many excellences, she had one peculiarity allied to imprudence. She
availed herself of her foreign dress and manners, as well as of a
beauty which was said to have been marvellous, and an agility seldom
equalled, to impose upon and terrify the ignorant German ladies, who,
hearing her speak Persian and Arabic, were already disposed to
consider her as over closely connected with unlawful arts. She was of
a fanciful and imaginative disposition, and delighted to place herself
in such colours and circumstances as might confirm their most
ridiculous suspicions, which she considered only as matter of sport.
There was no end to the stories to which she gave rise. Her first
appearance in the castle was said to be highly picturesque, and to
have inferred something of the marvellous. With the levity of a child,
she had some childish passions, and while she encouraged the growth
and circulation of the most extraordinary legends amongst some of the
neighbourhood, she entered into disputes with persons of her own
quality concerning rank and precedence, on which the ladies of
Westphalia have at all times set great store. This cost her her life;
for, on the morning of the christening of my poor mother, the Baroness
of Arnheim died suddenly, even while a splendid company was assembled
in the castle chapel to witness the ceremony. It was believed that she
died of poison, administered by the Baroness Steinfeldt, with whom she
was engaged in a bitter quarrel, entered into chiefly on behalf of her
friend and companion, the Countess Waldstetten."

"And the opal gem?--and the sprinkling with water?" said Arthur
Philipson.

"Ah!" replied the young Baroness, "I see you desire to hear the real
truth of my family history, of which you have yet learned only the
romantic legend.--The sprinkling of water was necessarily had recourse
to, on my ancestress's first swoon. As for the opal, I have heard that
it did indeed grow pale, but only because it is said to be the nature
of that noble gem, on the approach of poison. Some part of the quarrel
with the Baroness Steinfeldt was about the right of the Persian
maiden to wear this stone, which an ancestor of my family won in
battle from the Soldan of Trebizond. All these things were confused in
popular tradition, and the real facts turned into a fairy tale."

"But you have said nothing," suggested Arthur Philipson, "on--on"----

"On what?" said his hostess.

"On your appearance last night."

"Is it possible," said she, "that a man of sense, and an Englishman,
cannot guess at the explanation which I have to give, though not,
perhaps, very distinctly? My father, you are aware, has been a busy
man in a disturbed country, and has incurred the hatred of many
powerful persons. He is, therefore, obliged to move in secret, and
avoid unnecessary observation. He was, besides, averse to meet his
brother, the Landamman. I was therefore told, on our entering Germany,
that I was to expect a signal where and when to join him,--the token
was to be a small crucifix of bronze, which had belonged to my poor
mother. In my apartment at Graffs-lust I found the token, with a note
from my father, making me acquainted with a secret passage proper to
such places, which, though it had the appearance of being blocked up,
was in fact very slightly barricaded. By this I was instructed to pass
to the gate, make my escape into the woods, and meet my father at a
place appointed there."

"A wild and perilous adventure," said Arthur.

"I have never been so much shocked," continued the maiden, "as at
receiving this summons, compelling me to steal away from my kind and
affectionate uncle, and go I knew not whither. Yet compliance was
absolutely necessary. The place of meeting was plainly pointed out. A
midnight walk, in the neighbourhood of protection, was to me a trifle;
but the precaution of posting sentinels at the gate might have
interfered with my purpose, had I not mentioned it to some of my elder
cousins, the Biedermans, who readily agreed to let me pass and repass
unquestioned. But you know my cousins; honest and kind-hearted, they
are of a rude way of thinking, and as incapable of feeling a generous
delicacy as--some other persons."--(Here there was a glance towards
Annette Veilchen.)--"They exacted from me, that I should conceal
myself and my purpose from Sigismund; and as they are always making
sport with the simple youth, they insisted that I should pass him in
such a manner as might induce him to believe that I was a spiritual
apparition, and out of his terrors for supernatural beings they
expected to have much amusement. I was obliged to secure their
connivance at my escape on their own terms; and, indeed, I was too
much grieved at the prospect of quitting my kind uncle to think much
of anything else. Yet my surprise was considerable, when, contrary to
expectation, I found you on the bridge as sentinel, instead of my
cousin Sigismund. Your own ideas I ask not for."

"They were those of a fool," said Arthur, "of a thrice-sodden fool.
Had I been aught else, I would have offered my escort. My sword"----

"I could not have accepted your protection," said Anne, calmly. "My
mission was in every respect a secret one. I met my father--some
intercourse had taken place betwixt him and Rudolph Donnerhugel, which
induced him to alter his purpose of carrying me away with him last
night. I joined him, however, early this morning, while Annette acted
for a time my part amongst the Swiss pilgrims. My father desired that
it should not be known when or with whom I left my uncle and his
escort. I need scarce remind you, that I saw you in the dungeon."

"You were the preserver of my life," said the youth,--"the restorer of
my liberty."

"Ask me not the reason of my silence. I was then acting under the
agency of others, not under mine own. Your escape was effected, in
order to establish a communication betwixt the Swiss without the
fortress and the soldiers within. After the alarm at La Ferette, I
learned from Sigismund Biederman that a party of banditti were
pursuing your father and you, with a view to pillage and robbery. My
father had furnished me with the means of changing Anne of Geierstein
into a German maiden of quality. I set out instantly, and glad I am to
have given you a hint which might free you from danger."

"But my father?" said Arthur.

"I have every reason to hope he is well and safe," answered the young
lady. "More than I were eager to protect both you and him--poor
Sigismund amongst the first.--And now, my friend, these mysteries
explained, it is time we part, and for ever."

"Part!--and for ever!" repeated the youth, in a voice like a dying
echo.

"It is our fate," said the maiden. "I appeal to you if it is not your
duty--I tell you it is mine. You will depart with early dawn to
Strasburg--and--and--we never meet again."

With an ardour of passion which he could not repress, Arthur Philipson
threw himself at the feet of the maiden, whose faltering tone had
clearly expressed that she felt deeply in uttering the words. She
looked round for Annette, but Annette had disappeared at this most
critical moment; and her mistress for a second or two was not perhaps
sorry for her absence.

"Rise," she said, "Arthur--rise. You must not give way to feelings
that might be fatal to yourself and me."

"Hear me, lady, before I bid you adieu, and for ever--the word of a
criminal is heard, though he plead the worst cause--I am a belted
knight, and the son and heir of an Earl, whose name has been spread
throughout England and France, and wherever valour has had fame."

"Alas!" said she, faintly, "I have but too long suspected what you now
tell me--Rise, I pray you, rise."

"Never till you hear me," said the youth, seizing one of her hands,
which trembled, but hardly could be said to struggle in his
grasp.--"Hear me," he said, with the enthusiasm of first love, when
the obstacles of bashfulness and diffidence are surmounted,--"My
father and I are--I acknowledge it--bound on a most hazardous and
doubtful expedition. You will very soon learn its issue for good or
bad. If it succeed, you shall hear of me in my own character--If I
fall, I must--I will--I do claim a tear from Anne of Geierstein. If I
escape, I have yet a horse, a lance, and a sword; and you shall hear
nobly of him whom you have thrice protected from imminent danger."

"Arise--arise," repeated the maiden, whose tears began to flow fast,
as, struggling to raise her lover, they fell thick upon his head and
face. "I have heard enough--to listen to more were indeed madness,
both for you and myself."

"Yet one single word," added the youth; "while Arthur has a heart, it
beats for you--while Arthur can wield an arm, it strikes for you, and
in your cause."

Annette now rushed into the room.

"Away, away!" she cried--"Schreckenwald has returned from the village
with some horrible tidings, and I fear me he comes this way."

Arthur had started to his feet at the first signal of alarm.

"If there is danger near your lady, Annette, there is at least one
faithful friend by her side."

Annette looked anxiously at her mistress.

"But Schreckenwald," she said--"Schreckenwald, your father's
steward--his confidant.--Oh, think better of it--I can hide Arthur
somewhere."

The noble-minded girl had already resumed her composure, and replied
with dignity,--"I have done nothing," she said, "to offend my father.
If Schreckenwald be my father's steward, he is my vassal. I hide no
guest to conciliate him. Sit down" (addressing Arthur), "and let us
receive this man.--Introduce him instantly, Annette, and let us hear
his tidings--and bid him remember, that when he speaks to me he
addresses his mistress."

Arthur resumed his seat, still more proud of his choice from the noble
and fearless spirit displayed by one who had so lately shown herself
sensible to the gentlest feelings of the female sex.

Annette, assuming courage from her mistress's dauntless demeanour,
clapped her hands together as she left the room, saying, but in a low
voice, "I see that after all it is something to be a Baroness, if one
can assert her dignity conformingly. How could I be so much frightened
for this rude man!"




CHAPTER V.

                   Affairs that walk
     (As they say spirits do) at midnight, have
     In them a wilder nature than the business
     That seeks dispatch by day.
                           _Henry VIII. Act V._


The approach of the steward was now boldly expected by the little
party. Arthur, flattered at once and elevated by the firmness which
Anne had shown when this person's arrival was announced, hastily
considered the part which he was to act in the approaching scene, and
prudently determined to avoid all active and personal interference,
till he should observe from the demeanour of Anne that such was likely
to be useful or agreeable to her. He resumed his place, therefore, at
a distant part of the board, on which their meal had been lately
spread, and remained there, determined to act in the manner Anne's
behaviour should suggest as most prudent and fitting,--veiling, at the
same time, the most acute internal anxiety, by an appearance of that
deferential composure, which one of inferior rank adopts when admitted
to the presence of a superior. Anne, on her part, seemed to prepare
herself for an interview of interest. An air of conscious dignity
succeeded the extreme agitation which she had so lately displayed,
and, busying herself with some articles of female work, she also
seemed to expect with tranquillity the visit to which her attendant
was disposed to attach so much alarm.

A step was heard upon the stair, hurried and unequal, as that of some
one in confusion as well as haste; the door flew open, and Ital
Schreckenwald entered.

This person, with whom the details given to the elder Philipson by the
Landamman Biederman have made the reader in some degree acquainted,
was a tall, well-made, soldierly looking man. His dress, like that of
persons of rank at the period in Germany, was more varied in colour,
more cut and ornamented, slashed and jagged, than the habit worn in
France and England. The never-failing hawk's feather decked his cap,
secured with a medal of gold, which served as a clasp. His doublet was
of buff, for defence, but _laid down_, as it was called in the
tailor's craft, with rich lace on each seam, and displaying on the
breast a golden chain, the emblem of his rank in the Baron's
household. He entered with rather a hasty step, and busy and offended
look, and said, somewhat rudely, "Why, how now, young lady--wherefore
this? Strangers in the castle at this period of night!"

Anne of Geierstein, though she had been long absent from her native
country, was not ignorant of its habits and customs, and knew the
haughty manner in which all who were noble exerted their authority
over their dependants.

"Are you a vassal of Arnheim, Ital Schreckenwald, and do you speak to
the Lady of Arnheim in her own castle with an elevated voice, a saucy
look, and bonneted withal? Know your place; and, when you have
demanded pardon for your insolence, and told your errand in such
terms as befit your condition and mine, I may listen to what you have
to say."

Schreckenwald's hand, in spite of him, stole to his bonnet, and
uncovered his haughty brow.

"Noble lady," he said, in a somewhat milder tone, "excuse me if my
haste be unmannerly, but the alarm is instant. The soldiery of the
Rhinegrave have mutinied, plucked down the banners of their master,
and set up an independent ensign, which they call the pennon of St.
Nicholas, under which they declare that they will maintain peace with
God, and war with all the world. This castle cannot escape them, when
they consider that the first course to maintain themselves must be to
take possession of some place of strength. You must up then, and ride
with the very peep of dawn. For the present, they are busy with the
wine-skins of the peasants, but when they wake in the morning they
will unquestionably march hither; and you may chance to fall into the
hands of those who will think of the terrors of the castle of Arnheim
as the figments of a fairy tale, and laugh at its mistress's
pretensions to honour and respect."

"Is it impossible to make resistance? The castle is strong," said the
young lady, "and I am unwilling to leave the house of my fathers
without attempting somewhat in our defence."

"Five hundred men," said Schreckenwald, "might garrison Arnheim,
battlement and tower. With a less number it were madness to attempt to
keep such an extent of walls; and how to get twenty soldiers together,
I am sure I know not.--So, having now the truth of the story, let me
beseech you to dismiss this guest,--too young, I think, to be the
inmate of a lady's bower,--and I will point to him the nighest way out
of the castle; for this is a strait in which we must all be contented
with looking to our own safety."

"And whither is it that you propose to go?" said the Baroness,
continuing to maintain, in respect to Ital Schreckenwald, the complete
and calm assertion of absolute superiority, to which the seneschal
gave way with such marks of impatience as a fiery steed exhibits under
the management of a complete cavalier.

"To Strasburg, I propose to go,--that is, if it so please you,--with
such slight escort as I can get hastily together by daybreak. I trust
we may escape being observed by the mutineers; or, if we fall in with
a party of stragglers, I apprehend but little difficulty in forcing my
way."

"And wherefore do you prefer Strasburg as a place of asylum?"

"Because I trust we shall there meet your excellency's father, the
noble Count Albert of Geierstein."

"It is well," said the young lady.--"You also, I think, Seignor
Philipson, spoke of directing your course to Strasburg. If it consist
with your convenience, you may avail yourself of the protection of my
escort as far as that city, where you expect to meet your father."

It will readily be believed that Arthur cheerfully bowed assent to a
proposal which was to prolong their remaining in society together, and
might possibly, as his romantic imagination suggested, afford him an
opportunity, on a road beset with dangers, to render some service of
importance.

Ital Schreckenwald attempted to remonstrate.

"Lady!--lady!"--he said, with some marks of impatience.

"Take breath and leisure, Schreckenwald," said Anne, "and you will be
more able to express yourself with distinctness, and with respectful
propriety."

The impatient vassal muttered an oath betwixt his teeth, and answered
with forced civility,--"Permit me to state, that our case requires we
should charge ourselves with the care of no one but you. We shall be
few enough for your defence, and I cannot permit any stranger to
travel with us."

"If," said Arthur, "I conceived that I was to be a useless incumbrance
on the retreat of this noble young lady, worlds, Sir Squire, would not
induce me to accept her offer. But I am neither child nor woman--I am
a full-grown man, and ready to show such good service as manhood may
in defence of your lady."

"If we must not challenge your valour and ability, young sir," said
Schreckenwald, "who shall answer for your fidelity?"

"To question that elsewhere," said Arthur, "might be dangerous."

But Anne interfered between them. "We must straight to rest, and
remain prompt for alarm, perhaps even before the hour of dawn.
Schreckenwald, I trust to your care for due watch and ward.--You have
men enough at least for that purpose.--And hear and mark--It is my
desire and command, that this gentleman be accommodated with lodgings
here for this night, and that he travel with us to-morrow. For this I
will be responsible to my father, and your part is only to obey my
commands. I have long had occasion to know both the young man's father
and himself, who were ancient guests of my uncle, the Landamman. On
the journey you will keep the youth beside you, and use such courtesy
to him as your rugged temper will permit."

Ital Schreckenwald intimated his acquiescence with a look of
bitterness, which it were vain to attempt to describe. It expressed
spite, mortification, humbled pride, and reluctant submission. He did
submit, however, and ushered young Philipson into a decent apartment
with a bed, which the fatigue and agitation of the preceding day
rendered very acceptable.

Notwithstanding the ardour with which Arthur expected the rise of the
next dawn, his deep repose, the fruit of fatigue, held him until the
reddening of the east, when the voice of Schreckenwald exclaimed, "Up,
Sir Englishman, if you mean to accomplish your boast of loyal service.
It is time we were in the saddle, and we shall tarry for no
sluggards."

Arthur was on the floor of the apartment, and dressed, in almost an
instant, not forgetting to put on his shirt of mail, and assume
whatever weapons seemed most fit to render him an efficient part of
the convoy. He next hastened to seek out the stable, to have his horse
in readiness; and descending for that purpose into the under story of
the lower mass of buildings, he was wandering in search of the way
which led to the offices, when the voice of Annette Veilchen softly
whispered, "This way, Seignor Philipson; I would speak with you."

The Swiss maiden, at the same time, beckoned him into a small room,
where he found her alone.

"Were you not surprised," she said, "to see my lady queen it so over
Ital Schreckenwald, who keeps every other person in awe with his stern
looks and cross words? But the air of command seems so natural to her,
that, instead of being a baroness, she might have been an empress. It
must come of birth, I think, after all, for I tried last night to take
state upon me, after the fashion of my mistress, and, would you think
it, the brute Schreckenwald threatened to throw me out of the window?
But if ever I see Martin Sprenger again, I'll know if there is
strength in a Swiss arm, and virtue in a Swiss quarter-staff.--But
here I stand prating, and my lady wishes to see you for a minute ere
we take to horse."

"Your lady?" said Arthur, starting. "Why did you lose an instant? why
not tell me before?"

"Because I was only to keep you here till she came, and--here she is."

Anne of Geierstein entered, fully attired for her journey. Annette,
always willing to do as she would wish to be done by, was about to
leave the apartment, when her mistress, who had apparently made up her
mind concerning what she had to do or say, commanded her positively to
remain.

"I am sure," she said, "Seignor Philipson will rightly understand the
feelings of hospitality--I will say of friendship--which prevented my
suffering him to be expelled from my castle last night, and which have
determined me this morning to admit of his company on the somewhat
dangerous road to Strasburg. At the gate of that town we part, I to
join my father, you to place yourself under the direction of yours.
From that moment intercourse between us ends, and our remembrance of
each other must be as the thoughts which we pay to friends deceased."

"Tender recollections," said Arthur, passionately, "more dear to our
bosoms than all we have surviving upon earth."

"Not a word in that tone," answered the maiden. "With night delusion
should end, and reason awaken with dawning. One word more--Do not
address me on the road; you may, by doing so, expose me to vexatious
and insulting suspicion, and yourself to quarrels and peril.--Farewell,
our party is ready to take horse."

She left the apartment, where Arthur remained for a moment deeply
bewildered in grief and disappointment. The patience, nay, even
favour, with which Anne of Geierstein had, on the previous night,
listened to his passion, had not prepared him for the terms of reserve
and distance which she now adopted towards him. He was ignorant that
noble maids, if feeling or passion has for a moment swayed them from
the strict path of principle and duty, endeavour to atone for it by
instantly returning, and severely adhering, to the line from which
they have made a momentary departure. He looked mournfully on Annette,
who, as she had been in the room before Anne's arrival, took the
privilege of remaining a minute after her departure; but he read no
comfort in the glances of the confidant, who seemed as much
disconcerted as himself.

"I cannot imagine what hath happened to her," said Annette; "to me she
is kind as ever, but to every other person about her she plays
countess and baroness with a witness; and now she is begun to
tyrannise over her own natural feelings--and--if this be greatness,
Annette Veilchen trusts always to remain the penniless Swiss girl; she
is mistress of her own freedom, and at liberty to speak with her
bachelor when she pleases, so as religion and maiden modesty suffer
nothing in the conversation. Oh, a single daisy twisted with content
into one's hair, is worth all the opals in India, if they bind us to
torment ourselves and other people, or hinder us from speaking our
mind, when our heart is upon our tongue. But never fear, Arthur; for
if she has the cruelty to think of forgetting you, you may rely on one
friend who, while she has a tongue, and Anne has ears, will make it
impossible for her to do so."

So saying, away tripped Annette, having first indicated to Philipson
the passage by which he would find the lower court of the castle.
There his steed stood ready, among about twenty others. Twelve of
these were accoutred with war saddles, and frontlets of proof, being
intended for the use of as many cavaliers, or troopers, retainers of
the family of Arnheim, whom the seneschal's exertions had been able to
collect on the spur of the occasion. Two palfreys, somewhat
distinguished by their trappings, were designed for Anne of Geierstein
and her favourite female attendant. The other menials, chiefly boys
and women servants, had inferior horses. At a signal made, the
troopers took their lances and stood by their steeds, till the females
and menials were mounted and in order; they then sprang into their
saddles and began to move forward, slowly and with great precaution.
Schreckenwald led the van, and kept Arthur Philipson close beside
him. Anne and her attendant were in the centre of the little body,
followed by the unwarlike train of servants, while two or three
experienced cavaliers brought up the rear, with strict orders to guard
against surprise.

On their being put into motion, the first thing which surprised Arthur
was, that the horses' hoofs no longer sent forth the sharp and ringing
sound arising from the collision of iron and flint, and as the morning
light increased he could perceive that the fetlock and hoof of every
steed, his own included, had been carefully wrapped around with a
sufficient quantity of wool, to prevent the usual noise which
accompanied their motions. It was a singular thing to behold the
passage of the little body of cavalry down the rocky road which led
from the castle, unattended with the noise which we are disposed to
consider as inseparable from the motions of horse, the absence of
which seemed to give a peculiar and almost an unearthly appearance to
the cavalcade.

They passed in this manner the winding path which led from the castle
of Arnheim to the adjacent village, which, as was the ancient feudal
custom, lay so near the fortress that its inhabitants, when summoned
by their lord, could instantly repair for its defence. But it was at
present occupied by very different inhabitants, the mutinous soldiers
of the Rhinegrave. When the party from Arnheim approached the entrance
of the village, Schreckenwald made a signal to halt, which was
instantly obeyed by his followers. He then rode forward in person to
reconnoitre, accompanied by Arthur Philipson, both moving with the
utmost steadiness and precaution. The deepest silence prevailed in
the deserted streets. Here and there a soldier was seen, seemingly
designed for a sentinel, but uniformly fast asleep.

"The swinish mutineers!" said Schreckenwald; "a fair night-watch they
keep, and a beautiful morning's rouse would I treat them with, were
not the point to protect yonder peevish wench.--Halt thou here,
stranger, while I ride back and bring them on--there is no danger."

Schreckenwald left Arthur as he spoke, who, alone in the street of a
village filled with banditti, though they were lulled into temporary
insensibility, had no reason to consider his case as very comfortable.
The chorus of a wassel song, which some reveller was trolling over in
his sleep; or, in its turn, the growling of some village cur, seemed
the signal for an hundred ruffians to start up around him. But in the
space of two or three minutes, the noiseless cavalcade, headed by Ital
Schreckenwald, again joined him, and followed their leader, observing
the utmost precaution not to give an alarm. All went well till they
reached the farther end of the village, where, although the
Baaren-hauter[4] who kept guard was as drunk as his companions on
duty, a large shaggy dog which lay beside him was more vigilant. As
the little troop approached, the animal sent forth a ferocious yell,
loud enough to have broken the rest of the Seven Sleepers, and which
effectually dispelled the slumbers of its master. The soldier snatched
up his carabine and fired, he knew not well at what, or for what
reason. The ball, however, struck Arthur's horse under him, and, as
the animal fell, the sentinel rushed forward to kill or make prisoner
the rider.

"Haste on, haste on, men of Arnheim! care for nothing but the young
lady's safety," exclaimed the leader of the band.

"Stay, I command you;--aid the stranger, on your lives!"--said Anne,
in a voice which, usually gentle and meek, she now made heard by those
around her, like the note of a silver clarion. "I will not stir till
he is rescued."

Schreckenwald had already spurred his horse for flight; but,
perceiving Anne's reluctance to follow him, he dashed back, and
seizing a horse which, bridled and saddled, stood picketed near him,
he threw the reins to Arthur Philipson; and pushing his own horse, at
the same time, betwixt the Englishman and the soldier, he forced the
latter to quit the hold he had on his person. In an instant Philipson
was again mounted, when, seizing a battle-axe which hung at the
saddle-bow of his new steed, he struck down the staggering sentinel,
who was endeavouring again to seize upon him. The whole troop then
rode off at a gallop, for the alarm began to grow general in the
village; some soldiers were seen coming out of their quarters, and
others were beginning to get upon horseback. Before Schreckenwald and
his party had ridden a mile, they heard more than once the sound of
bugles; and when they arrived upon the summit of an eminence
commanding a view of the village, their leader, who, during the
retreat, had placed himself in the rear of his company, now halted to
reconnoitre the enemy they had left behind them. There was bustle and
confusion in the street, but there did not appear to be any pursuit;
so that Schreckenwald followed his route down the river, with speed
and activity indeed, but with so much steadiness, at the same time, as
not to distress the slowest horse of his party.

When they had ridden two hours and more, the confidence of their
leader was so much augmented, that he ventured to command a halt at
the edge of a pleasant grove, which served to conceal their number,
whilst both riders and horses took some refreshment, for which purpose
forage and provisions had been borne along with them. Ital
Schreckenwald, having held some communication with the Baroness,
continued to offer their travelling companion a sort of surly
civility. He invited him to partake of his own mess, which was indeed
little different from that which was served out to the other troopers,
but was seasoned with a glass of wine from a more choice flask.

"To your health, brother," he said; "if you tell this day's story
truly, you will allow that I was a true comrade to you two hours
since, in riding through the village of Arnheim."

"I will never deny it, fair sir," said Philipson, "and I return you
thanks for your timely assistance; alike, whether it sprang from your
mistress's order, or your own good-will."

"Ho! ho! my friend," said Schreckenwald, laughing, "you are a
philosopher, and can try conclusions while your horse lies rolling
above you, and a Baaren-hauter aims his sword at your throat?--Well,
since your wit hath discovered so much, I care not if you know, that I
should not have had much scruple to sacrifice twenty such smooth-faced
gentlemen as yourself, rather than the young Baroness of Arnheim had
incurred the slightest danger."

"The propriety of the sentiment," said Philipson, "is so undoubtedly
correct, that I subscribe to it, even though it is something
discourteously expressed towards myself."

In making this reply, the young man, provoked at the insolence of
Schreckenwald's manner, raised his voice a little. The circumstance
did not escape observation, for, on the instant, Annette Veilchen
stood before them, with her mistress's commands on them both to speak
in whispers, or rather to be altogether silent.

"Say to your mistress that I am mute," said Philipson.

"Our mistress, the Baroness, says," continued Annette, with an
emphasis on the title, to which she began to ascribe some talismanic
influence,--"the Baroness, I tell you, says, that silence much
concerns our safety, for it were most hazardous to draw upon this
little fugitive party the notice of any passengers who may pass along
the road during the necessary halt; and so, sirs, it is the Baroness's
request that you will continue the exercise of your teeth as fast as
you can, and forbear that of your tongues till you are in a safer
condition."

"My lady is wise," answered Ital Schreckenwald, "and her maiden is
witty. I drink, Mrs. Annette, in a cup of Rudersheimer, to the
continuance of her sagacity, and of your amiable liveliness of
disposition. Will it please you, fair mistress, to pledge me in this
generous liquor?"

"Out, thou German wine-flask!--Out, thou eternal swill-flagon!--Heard
you ever of a modest maiden who drank wine before she had dined?"

"Remain without the generous inspiration then," said the German, "and
nourish thy satirical vein on sour cider or acid whey."

A short space having been allowed to refresh themselves, the little
party again mounted their horses, and travelled with such speed, that
long before noon they arrived at the strongly fortified town of Kehl,
opposite to Strasburg, on the eastern bank of the Rhine.

It is for local antiquaries to discover whether the travellers crossed
from Kehl to Strasburg by the celebrated bridge of boats which at
present maintains the communication across the river, or whether they
were wafted over by some other mode of transportation. It is enough
that they passed in safety, and had landed on the other side,
where--whether she dreaded that he might forget the charge she had
given him, that here they were to separate, or whether she thought
that something more might be said in the moment of parting--the young
Baroness, before remounting her horse, once more approached Arthur
Philipson, who too truly guessed the tenor of what she had to say.

"Gentle stranger," she said, "I must now bid you farewell. But first
let me ask if you know whereabouts you are to seek your father?"

"In an inn called the Flying Stag," said Arthur, dejectedly; "but
where that is situated in this large town, I know not."

"Do you know the place, Ital Schreckenwald?"

"I, young lady?--Not I--I know nothing of Strasburg and its inns. I
believe most of our party are as ignorant as I am."

"You and they speak German, I suppose," said the Baroness, drily, "and
can make inquiry more easily than a foreigner? Go, sir, and forget
not that humanity to the stranger is a religious duty."

With that shrug of the shoulders which testifies a displeased messenger,
Ital went to make some inquiry, and, in his absence, brief as it was,
Anne took an opportunity to say apart,--"Farewell!--Farewell! Accept
this token of friendship, and wear it for my sake. May you be happy!"

Her slender fingers dropped into his hand a very small parcel. He
turned to thank her, but she was already at some distance; and
Schreckenwald, who had taken his place by his side, said in his harsh
voice, "Come, Sir Squire, I have found out your place of rendezvous,
and I have but little time to play the gentleman-usher."

He then rode on; and Philipson, mounted on his military charger,
followed him in silence to the point where a large street joined, or
rather crossed, that which led from the quay on which they had landed.

"Yonder swings the Flying Stag," said Ital, pointing to an immense
sign, which, mounted on a huge wooden frame, crossed almost the whole
breadth of the street. "Your intelligence can, I think, hardly abandon
you, with such a guide-post in your eye."

So saying, he turned his horse without further farewell, and rode back
to join his mistress and her attendants.

Philipson's eyes rested on the same group for a moment, when he was
recalled to a sense of his situation by the thoughts of his father;
and, spurring his jaded horse down the cross street, he reached the
hostelry of the Flying Stag.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] _Baaren-hauter_,--he of the Bear's hide,--a nickname for a German
private soldier.




CHAPTER VI.

                       I was, I must confess,
     Great Albion's queen in former golden days;
     But now mischance hath trod my title down,
     And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
     Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
     And to my humble seat conform myself.
                            _Henry VI. Part III._


The hostelry of the Flying Stag, in Strasburg, was, like every inn in
the empire at the period, conducted much with the same discourteous
inattention to the wants and accommodation of the guests as that of
John Mengs. But the youth and good looks of Arthur Philipson,
circumstances which seldom or never fail to produce some effect where
the fair are concerned, prevailed upon a short, plump, dimpled,
blue-eyed, fair-skinned yungfrau, the daughter of the landlord of the
Flying Stag (himself a fat old man, pinned to the oaken chair in the
_stube_), to carry herself to the young Englishman with a degree of
condescension which, in the privileged race to which she belonged, was
little short of degradation. She not only put her light buskins and
her pretty ankles in danger of being soiled by tripping across the
yard to point out an unoccupied stable, but, on Arthur's inquiry after
his father, condescended to recollect that such a guest as he
described had lodged in the house last night, and had said he expected
to meet there a young person, his fellow-traveller.

"I will send him out to you, fair sir," said the little yungfrau with
a smile, which, if things of the kind are to be valued by their rare
occurrence, must have been reckoned inestimable.

She was as good as her word. In a few instants the elder Philipson
entered the stable, and folded his son in his arms.

"My son--my dear son!" said the Englishman, his usual stoicism broken
down and melted by natural feeling and parental tenderness,--"Welcome
to me at all times--welcome, in a period of doubt and danger--and most
welcome of all, in a moment which forms the very crisis of our fate.
In a few hours I shall know what we may expect from the Duke of
Burgundy.--Hast thou the token?"

Arthur's hand first sought that which was nearest to his heart, both
in the literal and allegorical sense--the small parcel, namely, which
Anne had given him at parting. But he recollected himself in the
instant, and presented to his father the packet which had been so
strangely lost and recovered at La Ferette.

"It hath run its own risk since you saw it," he observed to his
father, "and so have I mine. I received hospitality at a castle last
night, and behold a body of lanzknechts in the neighbourhood began in
the morning to mutiny for their pay. The inhabitants fled from the
castle to escape their violence, and, as we passed their leaguer in
the grey of the morning, a drunken Baaren-hauter shot my poor horse,
and I was forced, in the way of exchange, to take up with his heavy
Flemish animal, with its steel saddle, and its clumsy chaffron."

"Our road is beset with perils," said his father. "I too have had my
share, having been in great danger [he told not its precise nature] at
an inn where I rested last night. But I left it in the morning, and
proceeded hither in safety. I have at length, however, obtained a safe
escort to conduct me to the Duke's camp near Dijon; and I trust to
have an audience of him this evening. Then, if our last hope should
fail, we will seek the seaport of Marseilles, hoist sail for Candia or
for Rhodes, and spend our lives in defence of Christendom, since we
may no longer fight for England."

Arthur heard these ominous words without reply; but they did not the
less sink upon his heart, deadly as the doom of the judge which
secludes the criminal from society and all its joys, and condemns him
to an eternal prison-house. The bells from the cathedral began to toll
at this instant, and reminded the elder Philipson of the duty of
hearing mass, which was said at all hours in some one or other of the
separate chapels which are contained in that magnificent pile. His son
followed, on an intimation of his pleasure.

In approaching the access to this superb cathedral, the travellers
found it obstructed, as is usual in Catholic countries, by the number
of mendicants of both sexes, who crowded round the entrance to give
the worshippers an opportunity of discharging the duty of alms-giving,
so positively enjoined as a chief observance of their Church. The
Englishmen extricated themselves from their importunity by bestowing,
as is usual on such occasions, a donative of small coin upon those who
appeared most needy, or most deserving of their charity. One tall
woman stood on the steps close to the door, and extended her hand to
the elder Philipson, who, struck with her appearance, exchanged for a
piece of silver the copper coins which he had been distributing
amongst others.

"A marvel!" she said, in the English language, but in a tone
calculated only to be heard by him alone, although his son also caught
the sound and sense of what she said,--"Ay, a miracle!--An Englishman
still possesses a silver piece, and can afford to bestow it on the
poor!"

Arthur was sensible that his father started somewhat at the voice or
words, which bore, even in his ear, something of deeper import than
the observation of an ordinary mendicant. But after a glance at the
female who thus addressed him, his father passed onwards into the body
of the church, and was soon engaged in attending to the solemn
ceremony of the mass, as it was performed by a priest at the altar of
a chapel divided from the main body of the splendid edifice, and
dedicated, as it appeared from the image over the altar, to St.
George; that military saint, whose real history is so obscure, though
his popular legend rendered him an object of peculiar veneration
during the feudal ages. The ceremony was begun and finished with all
customary forms. The officiating priest, with his attendants,
withdrew, and though some of the few worshippers who had assisted at
the solemnity remained telling their beads, and occupied with the
performance of their private devotions, far the greater part left the
chapel, to visit other shrines, or to return to the prosecution of
their secular affairs.

But Arthur Philipson remarked that, whilst they dropped off one after
another, the tall woman who had received his father's alms continued
to kneel near the altar; and he was yet more surprised to see that his
father himself, who, he had many reasons to know, was desirous to
spend in the church no more time than the duties of devotion
absolutely claimed, remained also on his knees, with his eyes resting
on the form of the veiled devotee (such she seemed from her dress), as
if his own motions were to be guided by hers. By no idea which
occurred to him was Arthur able to form the least conjecture as to his
father's motives--he only knew that he was engaged in a critical and
dangerous negotiation, liable to influence or interruption from
various quarters; and that political suspicion was so generally awake,
both in France, Italy, and Flanders, that the most important agents
were often obliged to assume the most impenetrable disguises, in order
to insinuate themselves without suspicion into the countries where
their services were required. Louis XI., in particular, whose singular
policy seemed in some degree to give a character to the age in which
he lived, was well known to have disguised his principal emissaries
and envoys in the fictitious garbs of mendicant monks, minstrels,
gypsies, and other privileged wanderers of the meanest description.

Arthur concluded, therefore, that it was not improbable that this
female might, like themselves, be something more than her dress
imported; and he resolved to observe his father's deportment towards
her, and regulate his own actions accordingly. A bell at last
announced that mass, upon a more splendid scale, was about to be
celebrated before the high altar of the cathedral itself, and its
sound withdrew from the sequestered chapel of St. George the few who
had remained at the shrine of the military saint, excepting the father
and son, and the female penitent who kneeled opposite to them. When
the last of the worshippers had retired, the female arose and advanced
towards the elder Philipson, who, folding his arms on his bosom, and
stooping his head, in an attitude of obeisance which his son had never
before seen him assume, appeared rather to wait what she had to say,
than to propose addressing her.

There was a pause. Four lamps, lighted before the shrine of the saint,
cast a dim radiance on his armour and steed, represented as he was in
the act of transfixing with his lance the prostrate dragon, whose
outstretched wings and writhing neck were in part touched by their
beams. The rest of the chapel was dimly illuminated by the autumnal
sun, which could scarce find its way through the stained panes of the
small lanceolated window, which was its only aperture to the open air.
The light fell doubtful and gloomy, tinged with the various hues
through which it passed, upon the stately yet somewhat broken and
dejected form of the female, and on those of the melancholy and
anxious father, and his son, who, with all the eager interest of
youth, suspected and anticipated extraordinary consequences from so
singular an interview.

At length the female approached to the same side of the shrine with
Arthur and his father, as if to be more distinctly heard, without
being obliged to raise the slow solemn voice in which she had spoken.

"Do you here worship," she said, "the St. George of Burgundy, or the
St. George of merry England, the flower of chivalry?"

"I serve," said Philipson, folding his hands humbly on his bosom, "the
saint to whom this chapel is dedicated, and the Deity with whom I hope
for his holy intercession, whether here or in my native country."

"Ay--you," said the female, "even you can forget--you, even you, who
have been numbered among the mirror of knighthood--can forget that you
have worshipped in the royal fane of Windsor--that you have there bent
a _gartered_ knee, where kings and princes kneeled around you--you can
forget this, and make your orisons at a foreign shrine, with a heart
undisturbed with the thoughts of what you have been,--praying, like
some poor peasant, for bread and life during the day that passes over
you."

"Lady," replied Philipson, "in my proudest hours, I was, before the
Being to whom I preferred my prayers, but as a worm in the dust--In
His eyes I am now neither less nor more, degraded as I may be in the
opinion of my fellow-reptiles."

"How canst thou think thus?" said the devotee; "and yet it is well
with thee that thou canst. But what have thy losses been, compared to
mine!"

She put her hand to her brow, and seemed for a moment overpowered by
agonising recollections.

Arthur pressed to his father's side, and inquired, in a tone of
interest which could not be repressed, "Father, who is this lady?--Is
it my mother?"

"No, my son," answered Philipson;--"peace, for the sake of all you
hold dear or holy!"

The singular female, however, heard both the question and answer,
though expressed in a whisper.

"Yes," she said, "young man--I am--I should say I was--your mother;
the mother, the protectress, of all that was noble in England--I am
Margaret of Anjou."

Arthur sank on his knees before the dauntless widow of Henry the
Sixth, who so long, and in such desperate circumstances, upheld, by
unyielding courage and deep policy, the sinking cause of her feeble
husband; and who, if she occasionally abused victory by cruelty and
revenge, had made some atonement by the indomitable resolution with
which she had supported the fiercest storms of adversity. Arthur had
been bred in devoted adherence to the now dethroned line of Lancaster,
of which his father was one of the most distinguished supporters; and
his earliest deeds of arms, which, though unfortunate, were neither
obscure nor ignoble, had been done in their cause. With an enthusiasm
belonging to his age and education, he in the same instant flung his
bonnet on the pavement, and knelt at the feet of his ill-fated
sovereign.

Margaret threw back the veil which concealed those noble and majestic
features, which even yet,--though rivers of tears had furrowed her
cheek,--though care, disappointment, domestic grief, and humbled pride
had quenched the fire of her eye, and wasted the smooth dignity of her
forehead,--even yet showed the remains of that beauty which once was
held unequalled in Europe. The apathy with which a succession of
misfortunes and disappointed hopes had chilled the feelings of the
unfortunate Princess was for a moment melted by the sight of the fair
youth's enthusiasm. She abandoned one hand to him, which he covered
with tears and kisses, and with the other stroked with maternal
tenderness his curled locks, as she endeavoured to raise him from the
posture he had assumed. His father, in the meanwhile, shut the door of
the chapel, and placed his back against it, withdrawing himself thus
from the group, as if for the purpose of preventing any stranger from
entering, during a scene so extraordinary.

"And thou, then," said Margaret, in a voice where female tenderness
combated strangely with her natural pride of rank, and with the calm,
stoical indifference induced by the intensity of her personal
misfortunes; "thou, fair youth, art the last scion of the noble stem,
so many fair boughs of which have fallen in our hapless cause. Alas,
alas! what can I do for thee? Margaret has not even a blessing to
bestow. So wayward is her fate, that her benedictions are curses, and
she has but to look on you and wish you well, to insure your speedy
and utter ruin. I--I have been the fatal poison-tree, whose influence
has blighted and destroyed all the fair plants that arose beside and
around me, and brought death upon every one, yet am myself unable to
find it!"

"Noble and royal mistress," said the elder Englishman, "let not your
princely courage, which has borne such extremities, be dismayed, now
that they are passed over, and that a chance at least of happier times
is approaching to you and to England."

"To England, to _me_, noble Oxford!" said the forlorn and widowed
Queen.--"If to-morrow's sun could place me once more on the throne of
England, could it give back to me what I have lost? I speak not of
wealth or power--they are as nothing in the balance--I speak not of
the hosts of noble friends who have fallen in defence of me and
mine--Somersets, Percys, Staffords, Cliffords--they have found their
place in fame, in the annals of their country--I speak not of my
husband, he has exchanged the state of a suffering saint upon earth
for that of a glorified saint in heaven--But oh, Oxford! my son--my
Edward!--Is it possible for me to look on this youth, and not remember
that thy countess and I on the same night gave birth to two fair boys?
How oft we endeavoured to prophesy their future fortunes, and to
persuade ourselves that the same constellation which shone on their
birth would influence their succeeding life, and hold a friendly and
equal bias till they reached some destined goal of happiness and
honour! Thy Arthur lives; but, alas! my Edward, born under the same
auspices, fills a bloody grave!"

She wrapped her head in her mantle, as if to stifle the complaints and
groans which maternal affection poured forth at these cruel
recollections. Philipson, or the exiled Earl of Oxford as we may now
term him, distinguished in those changeful times by the steadiness
with which he had always maintained his loyalty to the line of
Lancaster, saw the imprudence of indulging his sovereign in her
weakness.

  [Illustration: ARTHUR BEFORE THE QUEEN.
   Drawn and Etched by R. de los Rios.]

"Royal mistress," he said, "life's journey is that of a brief winter's
day, and its course will run on, whether we avail ourselves of its
progress or no. My sovereign is, I trust, too much mistress
of herself to suffer lamentation for what is passed to deprive
her of the power of using the present time. I am here in obedience to
your command; I am to see Burgundy forthwith, and if I find him pliant
to the purpose to which we would turn him, events may follow which
will change into gladness our present mourning. But we must use our
opportunity with speed as well as zeal. Let me know then, madam, for
what reason your Majesty hath come hither, disguised and in danger?
Surely it was not merely to weep over this young man that the
high-minded Queen Margaret left her father's court, disguised herself
in mean attire, and came from a place of safety to one of doubt at
least, if not of danger?"

"You mock me, Oxford," said the unfortunate Queen, "or you deceive
yourself, if you think you still serve that Margaret whose word was
never spoken without a reason, and whose slightest action was
influenced by a motive. Alas! I am no longer the same firm and
rational being. The feverish character of grief, while it makes one
place hateful to me, drives me to another in very impotence and
impatience of spirit. My father's residence, thou say'st, is safe; but
is it tolerable for such a soul as mine? Can one who has been deprived
of the noblest and richest kingdom of Europe--one who has lost hosts
of noble friends--one who is a widowed consort, a childless
mother--one upon whose head Heaven hath poured forth its last vial of
unmitigated wrath,--can she stoop to be the companion of a weak old
man, who, in sonnets and in music, in mummery and folly, in harping
and rhyming, finds a comfort for all that poverty has that is
distressing; and, what is still worse, even a solace in all that is
ridiculous and contemptible?"

"Nay, with your leave, madam," said her counsellor, "blame not the
good King René (_a_),[5] because, persecuted by fortune, he has been
able to find out for himself humbler sources of solace, which your
prouder spirit is disposed to disdain. A contention among his
minstrels has for him the animation of a knightly combat; and a crown
of flowers, twined by his troubadours and graced by their sonnets, he
accounts a valuable compensation for the diadems of Jerusalem, of
Naples, and of both Sicilies, of which he only possesses the empty
titles."

"Speak not to me of the pitiable old man," said Margaret; "sunk below
even the hatred of his worst enemies, and never thought worthy of
anything more than contempt. I tell thee, noble Oxford, I have been
driven nearly mad with my forced residence at Aix, in the paltry
circle which he calls his court. My ears, tuned as they now are only
to sounds of affliction, are not so weary of the eternal tinkling of
harps, and squeaking of rebecks, and snapping of castanets;--my eyes
are not so tired of the beggarly affectation of court ceremonial,
which is only respectable when it implies wealth and expresses
power,--as my very soul is sick of the paltry ambition which can find
pleasure in spangles, tassels, and trumpery, when the reality of all
that is great and noble hath passed away. No, Oxford. If I am doomed
to lose the last cast which fickle fortune seems to offer me, I will
retreat into the meanest convent in the Pyrenean hills, and at least
escape the insult of the idiot gaiety of my father.--Let him pass from
our memory as from the page of history, in which his name will never
be recorded. I have much of more importance both to hear and to
tell.--And now, my Oxford, what news from Italy? Will the Duke of
Milan afford us assistance with his counsels, or with his treasures?"

"With his counsels willingly, madam; but how you will relish them I
know not, since he recommends to us submission to our hapless fate,
and resignation to the will of Providence."

"The wily Italian! Will not, then, Galeasso advance any part of his
hoards, or assist a friend, to whom he hath in his time full often
sworn faith?"

"Not even the diamonds which I offered to deposit in his hands,"
answered the Earl, "could make him unlock his treasury to supply us
with ducats for our enterprise. Yet he said, if Charles of Burgundy
should think seriously of an exertion in our favour, such was his
regard for that great prince, and his deep sense of your Majesty's
misfortunes, that he would consider what the state of his exchequer,
though much exhausted, and the condition of his subjects, though
impoverished by taxes and talliages, would permit him to advance in
your behalf."

"The double-faced hypocrite!" said Margaret. "If the assistance of the
princely Burgundy lends us a chance of regaining what is our own, then
he will give us some paltry parcel of crowns, that our restored
prosperity may forget his indifference to our adversity!--But what of
Burgundy? I have ventured hither to tell you what I have learned, and
to hear report of your proceedings--a trusty watch provides for the
secrecy of our interview. My impatience to see you brought me hither
in this mean disguise. I have a small retinue at a convent a mile
beyond the town--I have had your arrival watched by the faithful
Lambert--and now I come to know your hopes or your fears, and to tell
you my own."

"Royal lady," said the Earl, "I have not seen the Duke. You know his
temper to be wilful, sudden, haughty, and unpersuadable. If he can
adopt the calm and sustained policy which the times require, I little
doubt his obtaining full amends of Louis, his sworn enemy, and even of
Edward, his ambitious brother-in-law. But if he continues to yield to
extravagant fits of passion, with or without provocation, he may hurry
into a quarrel with the poor but hardy Helvetians, and is likely to
engage in a perilous contest, in which he cannot be expected to gain
anything, while he undergoes a chance of the most serious losses."

"Surely," replied the Queen, "he will not trust the usurper Edward,
even in the very moment when he is giving the greatest proof of
treachery to his alliance?"

"In what respect, madam?" replied Oxford. "The news you allude to has
not reached me."

"How, my lord? Am I then the first to tell you that Edward of York has
crossed the sea (_b_) with such an army as scarce even the renowned
Henry V., my father-in-law, ever transported from France to Italy?"

"So much I have indeed heard was expected," said Oxford; "and I
anticipated the effect as fatal to our cause."

"Edward is arrived," said Margaret, "and the traitor and usurper hath
sent defiance to Louis of France, and demanded of him the crown of
that kingdom as his own right--that crown which was placed on the head
of my unhappy husband, when he was yet a child in the cradle."

"It is then decided--the English are in France!" answered Oxford, in a
tone expressive of the deepest anxiety.--"And whom brings Edward with
him on this expedition?"

"All--all the bitterest enemies of our house and cause--The false, the
traitorous, the dishonoured George, whom he calls Duke of Clarence--the
blood-drinker, Richard--the licentious Hastings--Howard--Stanley--in a
word, the leaders of all those traitors whom I would not name, unless
by doing so my curses could sweep them from the face of the earth."

"And--I tremble to ask," said the Earl--"Does Burgundy prepare to join
them as a brother of the war, and make common cause with this Yorkish
host against King Louis of France?"

"By my advices," replied the Queen, "and they are both private and
sure, besides that they are confirmed by the bruit of common fame--No,
my good Oxford, no!"

"For that may the Saints be praised!" answered Oxford. "Edward of
York--I will not malign even an enemy--is a bold and fearless
leader--But he is neither Edward the Third, nor the heroic Black
Prince--nor is he that fifth Henry of Lancaster, under whom I won my
spurs, and to whose lineage the thoughts of his glorious memory would
have made me faithful, had my plighted vows of allegiance ever
permitted me to entertain a thought of varying, or of defection. Let
Edward engage in war with Louis without the aid of Burgundy, on which
he has reckoned. Louis is indeed no hero, but he is a cautious and
skilful general, more to be dreaded, perhaps, in these politic days,
than if Charlemagne could again raise the Oriflamme, surrounded by
Roland and all his paladins. Louis will not hazard such fields as
those of Cressy, of Poictiers, or of Agincourt. With a thousand lances
from Hainault, and twenty thousand crowns from Burgundy, Edward shall
risk the loss of England, while he is engaged in a protracted struggle
for the recovery of Normandy and Guienne. But what are the movements
of Burgundy?"

"He has menaced Germany," said Margaret, "and his troops are now
employed in overrunning Lorraine, of which he has seized the principal
towns and castles."

"Where is Ferrand de Vaudemont--a youth, it is said, of courage and
enterprise, and claiming Lorraine in right of his mother, Yolande of
Anjou, the sister of your Grace?"

"Fled," replied the Queen, "into Germany or Helvetia."

"Let Burgundy beware of him," said the experienced Earl; "for should
the disinherited youth obtain confederates in Germany, and allies
among the hardy Swiss, Charles of Burgundy may find him a far more
formidable enemy than he expects. We are strong for the present, only
in the Duke's strength, and if it is wasted in idle and desultory
efforts, our hopes, alas! vanish with his power, even if he should be
found to have the decided will to assist us. My friends in England
are resolute not to stir without men and money from Burgundy."

"It is a fear," said Margaret, "but not our worst fear. I dread more
the policy of Louis, who, unless my espials have grossly deceived me,
has even already proposed a secret peace to Edward, offering with
large sums of money to purchase England to the Yorkists, and a truce
of seven years."

"It cannot be," said Oxford. "No Englishman, commanding such an army
as Edward must now lead, dares for very shame to retire from France
without a manly attempt to recover his lost provinces."

"Such would have been the thoughts of a rightful prince," said
Margaret, "who left behind him an obedient and faithful kingdom. Such
may not be the thoughts of this Edward, misnamed Plantagenet, base
perhaps in mind as in blood, since they say his real father was one
Blackburn, an archer of Middleham--usurper, at least, if not
bastard--such will not be his thoughts.[6] Every breeze that blows
from England will bring with it apprehensions of defection amongst
those over whom he has usurped authority. He will not sleep in peace
till he returns to England with those cut-throats, whom he relies upon
for the defence of his stolen crown. He will engage in no war with
Louis, for Louis will not hesitate to soothe his pride by
humiliation--to gorge his avarice and pamper his voluptuous
prodigality by sums of gold--and I fear much we shall soon hear of
the English army retiring from France with the idle boast, that they
have displayed their banners once more, for a week or two, in the
provinces which were formerly their own."

"It the more becomes us to be speedy in moving Burgundy to decision,"
replied Oxford; "and for that purpose I post to Dijon. Such an army as
Edward's cannot be transported over the narrow seas in several weeks.
The probability is, that they must winter in France, even if they
should have truce with King Louis. With a thousand Hainault lances
from the eastern part of Flanders, I can be soon in the North, where
we have many friends, besides the assurance of help from Scotland. The
faithful West will rise at a signal--a Clifford can be found, though
the mountain mists have hid him from Richard's researches--the Welsh
will assemble at the rallying word of Tudor--the Red Rose raises its
head once more--and so, God save King Henry!"

"Alas!" said the Queen--"But no husband--no friend of mine--the son
but of my mother-in-law by a Welsh chieftain--cold, they say, and
crafty--But be it so--let me only see Lancaster triumph, and obtain
revenge upon York, and I will die contented!"

"It is then your pleasure that I should make the proffers expressed by
your Grace's former mandates, to induce Burgundy to stir himself in
our cause? If he learns the proposal of a truce betwixt France and
England, it will sting sharper than aught I can say."

"Promise all, however," said the Queen. "I know his inmost soul--it is
set upon extending the dominions of his House in every direction. For
this he has seized Gueldres--for this he now overruns and occupies
Lorraine--for this he covets such poor remnants of Provence as my
father still calls his own. With such augmented territories, he
proposes to exchange his ducal diadem for an arched crown of
independent sovereignty. Tell the Duke, Margaret can assist his
views--tell him, that my father René shall disown the opposition made
to the Duke's seizure of Lorraine--He shall do more--he shall declare
Charles his heir in Provence, with my ample consent--tell him, the old
man shall cede his dominions to him upon the instant that his
Hainaulters embark for England, some small pension deducted to
maintain a concert of fiddlers, and a troop of morrice-dancers. These
are René's only earthly wants. Mine are still fewer--Revenge upon
York, and a speedy grave!--For the paltry gold which we may need, thou
hast jewels to pledge--For the other conditions, security if
required."

"For these, madam, I can pledge my knightly word, in addition to your
royal faith; and if more is required, my son shall be a hostage with
Burgundy."

"Oh, no--no!" exclaimed the dethroned Queen, touched by perhaps the
only tender feeling, which repeated and extraordinary misfortunes had
not chilled into insensibility,--"Hazard not the life of the noble
youth--he that is the last of the loyal and faithful House of Vere--he
that should have been the brother in arms of my beloved Edward--he
that had so nearly been his companion in a bloody and untimely grave!
Do not involve this poor child in these fatal intrigues, which have
been so baneful to his family. Let him go with me. Him at least I
will shelter from danger whilst I live, and provide for when I am no
more."

"Forgive me, madam," said Oxford, with the firmness which
distinguished him. "My son, as you deign to recollect, is a De Vere,
destined, perhaps, to be the last of his name. Fall, he may, but it
must not be without honour. To whatever dangers his duty and
allegiance call him, be it from sword or lance, axe or gibbet, to
these he must expose himself frankly, when his doing so can mark his
allegiance. His ancestors have shown him how to brave them all."

"True, true," exclaimed the unfortunate Queen, raising her arms
wildly,--"All must perish--all that have honoured Lancaster--all that
have loved Margaret, or whom she has loved! The destruction must be
universal--the young must fall with the old--not a lamb of the
scattered flock shall escape!"

"For God's sake, gracious madam," said Oxford, "compose yourself!--I
hear them knock on the chapel door."

"It is the signal of parting," said the exiled Queen, collecting
herself. "Do not fear, noble Oxford, I am not often thus; but how
seldom do I see those friends, whose faces and voices can disturb the
composure of my despair! Let me tie this relic about thy neck, good
youth, and fear not its evil influence, though you receive it from an
ill-omened hand. It was my husband's, blessed by many a prayer, and
sanctified by many a holy tear; even my unhappy hands cannot pollute
it. I should have bound it on my Edward's bosom on the dreadful
morning of Tewkesbury fight; but he armed early--went to the field
without seeing me, and all my purpose was vain."

She passed a golden chain round Arthur's neck as she spoke, which
contained a small gold crucifix of rich but barbarous manufacture. It
had belonged, said tradition, to Edward the Confessor. The knock at
the door of the chapel was repeated.

"We must not tarry," said Margaret; "let us part here--you for Dijon,
I to Aix, my abode of unrest in Provence. Farewell--we may meet in a
better hour--yet how can I hope it? Thus I said on the morning before
the fight of St. Albans--thus on the dark dawning of Towton--thus on
the yet more bloody field of Tewkesbury--and what was the event? Yet
hope is a plant which cannot be rooted out of a noble breast, till the
last heart-string crack as it is pulled away."

So saying, she passed through the chapel door, and mingled in the
miscellaneous assemblage of personages who worshipped or indulged
their curiosity, or consumed their idle hours amongst the aisles of
the cathedral.

Philipson and his son, both deeply impressed with the singular
interview which had just taken place, returned to their inn, where
they found a pursuivant, with the Duke of Burgundy's badge and livery,
who informed them, that if they were the English merchants who were
carrying wares of value to the court of the Duke, he had orders to
afford them the countenance of his escort and inviolable character.
Under his protection they set out from Strasburg; but such was the
uncertainty of the Duke of Burgundy's motions, and such the numerous
obstacles which occurred to interrupt their journey, in a country
disturbed by the constant passage of troops and preparation for war,
that it was evening on the second day ere they reached the plain near
Dijon, on which the whole, or great part of his power, lay encamped.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] See Editor's Notes at the end of the Volume. Wherever a similar
reference occurs, the reader will understand that the same direction
applies.

[6] The Lancastrian party threw the imputation of bastardy (which was
totally unfounded) upon Edward IV.




CHAPTER VII.

     Thus said the Duke--thus did the Duke infer.
                                   _Richard III._


The eyes of the elder traveller were well accustomed to sights of
martial splendour, yet even he was dazzled with the rich and glorious
display of the Burgundian camp, in which, near the walls of Dijon,
Charles, the wealthiest prince in Europe, had displayed his own
extravagance, and encouraged his followers to similar profusion. The
pavilions of the meanest officers were of silk and samite, while those
of the nobility and great leaders glittered with cloth of silver,
cloth of gold, variegated tapestry, and other precious materials,
which in no other situation would have been employed as a cover from
the weather, but would themselves have been thought worthy of the most
careful protection. The horsemen and infantry who mounted guard were
arrayed in the richest and most gorgeous armour. A beautiful and very
numerous train of artillery was drawn up near the entrance of the
camp, and in its commander Philipson (to give the Earl the travelling
name to which our readers are accustomed) recognised Henry
Colvin(_c_), an Englishman of inferior birth, but distinguished for
his skill in conducting these terrible engines, which had of late come
into general use in war. The banners and pennons which were displayed
by every knight, baron, and man of rank floated before their tents,
and the owners of these transitory dwellings sat at the door
half-armed, and enjoyed the military contests of the soldiers, in
wrestling, pitching the bar, and other athletic exercises.

Long rows of the noblest horses were seen at picket, prancing and
tossing their heads, as impatient of the inactivity to which they were
confined, or were heard neighing over the provender which was spread
plentifully before them. The soldiers formed joyous groups around the
minstrels and strolling jugglers, or were engaged in drinking-parties
at the sutlers' tents; others strolled about with folded arms, casting
their eyes now and then to the sinking sun, as if desirous that the
hour should arrive which should put an end to a day unoccupied, and
therefore tedious.

At length the travellers reached, amidst the dazzling varieties of
this military display, the pavilion of the Duke himself, before which
floated heavily in the evening breeze the broad and rich banner, in
which glowed the armorial bearings and quarterings of a prince, Duke
of six provinces, and Count of fifteen counties, who was, from his
power, his disposition, and the success which seemed to attend his
enterprises, the general dread of Europe. The pursuivant made himself
known to some of the household, and the Englishmen were immediately
received with courtesy, though not such as to draw attention upon
them, and conveyed to a neighbouring tent, the residence of a general
officer, which they were given to understand was destined for their
accommodation, and where their packages accordingly were deposited,
and refreshments offered them.

"As the camp is filled," said the domestic who waited upon them, "with
soldiers of different nations and uncertain dispositions, the Duke of
Burgundy, for the safety of your merchandise, has ordered you the
protection of a regular sentinel. In the meantime, be in readiness to
wait on his Highness, seeing you may look to be presently sent for."

Accordingly, the elder Philipson was shortly after summoned to the
Duke's presence, introduced by a back entrance into the ducal
pavilion, and into that part of it which, screened by close curtains
and wooden barricades, formed Charles's own separate apartment. The
plainness of the furniture, and the coarse apparatus of the Duke's
toilette, formed a strong contrast to the appearance of the exterior
of the pavilion; for Charles, whose character was, in that as in other
things, far from consistent, exhibited in his own person during war an
austerity, or rather coarseness of dress, and sometimes of manners
also, which was more like the rudeness of a German lanzknecht, than
the bearing of a prince of exalted rank; while, at the same time, he
encouraged and enjoined a great splendour of expense and display
amongst his vassals and courtiers, as if to be rudely attired, and to
despise every restraint, even of ordinary ceremony, were a privilege
of the sovereign alone. Yet when it pleased him to assume state in
person and manners, none knew better than Charles of Burgundy how he
ought to adorn and demean himself.

Upon his toilette appeared brushes and combs, which might have claimed
dismissal as past the term of service, over-worn hats and doublets,
dog-leashes, leather-belts, and other such paltry articles; amongst
which lay at random, as it seemed, the great diamond called
Sanci,--the three rubies termed the Three Brothers of Antwerp,--another
great diamond called the Lamp of Flanders, and other precious stones
of scarcely inferior value and rarity. This extraordinary display
somewhat resembled the character of the Duke himself, who mixed
cruelty with justice, magnanimity with meanness of spirit, economy
with extravagance, and liberality with avarice; being, in fact,

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