"In the still cloister's solitary grove,A maiden walk'd, and thought upon her love;The virgin moon, as if in mockery,Shed forth her splendour on her misery,And the bright lustre of the beams that fellLit up the tears that coursed her cheek so pale."L. Uhland.
"In the still cloister's solitary grove,
A maiden walk'd, and thought upon her love;
The virgin moon, as if in mockery,
Shed forth her splendour on her misery,
And the bright lustre of the beams that fell
Lit up the tears that coursed her cheek so pale."
L. Uhland.
During the following days, Ulm resembled a large camp. Instead of the peaceable peasant, the busy citizens, passing, as in ordinary times, through the streets with sober tranquil step to their several avocations, were now to be seen strange figures, with helmets and caps of iron, carrying lances, cross bows and fire-arms. In lieu of statesmen in their plain black dresses, proud knights clad in steel, and wearing helmets adorned with waving plumes, strode about the squares and market places, accompanied by numerous bands of followers. Still more animated was this warlike scene without the gates of the town. In an open space on the banks of the Danube, Sickingen was exercising his cavalry, whilst, in a large flax-field towards the village of Soeflingen, Fronsberg was occupied in manœuvring his infantry.
One fine morning, about three or four days after Bertha von Lichtenstein had left Ulm with her father, an immense concourse of people were assembled in the above field, to witness Fronsberg's infantry going through their evolutions. They looked upon this man, whose military reputation had long preceded him, with not less interest than we should, perhaps, were we to see the imperial or royal son of Mars performing the part of a field marshal. The state of an army depends in great measure on the character and experience of its leader; and we are more or less interested in the accounts given in history, or the public papers, of battles, according to the renown of the general who fought them. Such might have been the motive, which induced the inhabitants of Ulm on that morning to quit their narrow streets, to see the celebrated man of the day, employed in his military occupations. The dexterity with which he kept his men in solid masses, who before were accustomed to fight in scattered bodies; the celerity with which they moved on all sides at his word, or closed together, producing a formidable array of pikes and fire-arms; his powerful voice, which even rose above the noise of the drums, and his noble warlike figure, formed a sight so novel and attractive, that even the citizen most fond of his ease, was tempted to pass a long forenoon on foot, to enjoy the spectacle.
The general appeared, on this morning, more cheerful and friendly than usual. The warm interest which the good people of Ulm took in him, and which was visibly depicted on every countenance, perhaps produced this feeling; or perhaps he felt himself happier when engaged in military exercises, than confined to the cold narrow streets. Whatever might have been the cause, the crowd took his gay mood in such good part, that each individual thought himself specially noticed and saluted by him as he passed, and the cheer, "A gallant man, a brave knight!" followed his path.
But there was a certain spot, to which his attention appeared to be more particularly drawn; for, every time he rode by it, he was observed to salute some one, either with his sword or hand, and to nod familiarly. Those in the rear of the spectators stood upon tiptoes to find out the object of his friendly nod, those in front looked inquisitively at each other, wondering who the favoured one could be, as none of the assembled citizens thought themselves worthy of the honor. When Fronsberg passed the same spot again, and repeated his salutation, an hundred heads were on the stretch to satisfy their curiosity, and they discovered that it was directed to a tall slim young man, who stood in the front rank of the spectators. His jacket of fine cloth, slashed with silk, the high feather in his cap playing in the morning breeze, his long sword and his scarf or sash, distinguished him as a man of quality from among his surrounding neighbours, who were less adorned than he was, and whose diminutive stature and broad faces did not set them off to the best advantage beside him.
The good townsfolk felt hurt that the young man did not appear flattered by the high favour conferred on him in their very presence. His attitude, also, standing there as he did, with sunken head, and his arms folded across his breast, they thought did not betoken good breeding, so especially noticed as he was by an old warrior. Besides which, the salutation of the general seemed to spread confusion over his countenance, for he returned it by a slight inclination of the head only, and followed it with a gloomy though friendly look.
"That gentleman must be a strange fellow," said the chief of the Ulm weavers to his neighbour, a sturdy armourer; "I would give my Sunday jacket for such a salute from Fronsberg; but he scarcely notices it. Would it not be the inquiry of the whole town, what has Fronsberg done to Master Köhler, that he did not return his salute, for they were lately like two brothers? 'Oh! they are long acquainted,' would be the answer, 'they knew each other from their youth up.' But it vexes me much, that so sensible and superior a man should salute such an apparent coxcomb."
The armourer, a little old fellow, nodded assent to his friend's remark. "May God punish me, but you are right, Master Köhler. There are many other people here, whom he might have noticed. The burgomaster is on the ground, and my godfather Hans von Besserer, who lives in the corner house, stands among the crowd also,--both as good as that youngster! If I were his master, I would soon teach him to bend his head, though he looks to me, as if it would require an emperor to make him do so. He must be a man of some consequence, for the secretary to the council, my neighbour in town, who is otherwise an enemy to receiving guests, has given him a lodging in his own house."
"Kraft?" asked the weaver, astonished; "but stop, there may be something in it. He must be a young nobleman, or, likely enough, the son of the burgomaster of Cologne, who intends to join the army also. Is that not old John, Kraft's servant, standing there?"
"Yes, that's him," said the armourer, whose curiosity was excited by the weaver's inquiry: "it is him; and I will stand confessor to him, in spite of the provost of Elchingen." But though the space between the two citizens and Kraft's servant was small, the smith could not accost him, on account of the density of the crowd. The important bearing, however, of the chief of the weavers among his brother tradesmen, for he was rich, and respected in the town, enabled him to force his way, and he succeeded in getting possession of John, and forthwith conducted him to the armourer. Old John, when questioned, could not give them much information on the subject of their inquiry; all he could say was, that his master's guest was a Herr von Sturmfeder, and that he could not have come from any great distance, as he had only one horse, and no servant. "But my master will get the worst of it," he said, "for our old Sabina is as furious as a dragon, because he has destroyed the economy of the house by inviting a stranger, booted and spurred, without consulting her."
"No offence," interrupted the chief of the weavers, "but your master, John, is a fool! I would have thrown that old witch--God forgive me!--long ago out of the window. The gentleman has already arrived at years of discretion, and why does he allow himself to be treated as if he were still in swaddling clothes?"
"You have spoken well, Master Köhler," answered the old servant, "but you don't understand matters properly. Throw her into the street, indeed! who would take care of the house, then, I should like to know?"
"Who," cried the inflamed weaver, "who? he should take a wife, a housekeeper, as other Christians and citizens do. Why does he remain a bachelor, and run after all the young girls in the town? Did I not catch him, not long ago, saying pretty things to our Katharine? I should like to have thrown my looms, beams and all, at his worship's head; but when I recollected, that his good mother had many a good piece of linen wove by me, I was obliged to take off my cap, and say, 'An humble good evening, and has your honour any commands?' May the----"
"Upon my word," said John, with a displeased look, "I have always thought that a gentleman, like my master, the secretary to the grand council of state, might exchange a word in all honour with your daughter, without the wicked world----"
"Really! exchange a word! and after vesper bell in March! He will not marry her, nevertheless; and do you suppose the reputation of my daughter must not be kept as clean as the white cravat of your master? I should like to know that!" Master Köhler's voice during this conversation was raised to so high a pitch as to draw the attention of the bystanders, and having grasped Old John by the collar, there was no saying what might have been the consequences, had not the master smith dragged the querulous couple away by force, and separated them. He thereby quelled the dispute, but he could not stop the report, which was speedily circulated through the whole town, that Old John, having an intrigue in his old age with Master Köhler's young daughter, had been brought to an account by her angry father, in the open field.
The manœuvres of the infantry were by this time at an end, the crowd separated, and the young man, who had been the original cause of the foregoing conversation, was observed to bend his way also towards the town. His step was slow, and undecided; his face looked paler than usual, his eyes sought the ground, or wandered occasionally, with an expression of silent grief, towards the distant blue mountains, the boundaries of Würtemberg. Albert von Sturmfeder had never felt so unhappy as in these moments. Bertha had left Ulm with her father; she had made him swear again to be faithful to his promise, an act which he unavailingly felt to create a lurking regret in his breast. It had cost him no small struggle at the time, to consent to her wishes, but the overwhelming pain at parting from her, and the grief exhibited by the beloved girl, had mastered every feeling but that of desire to soothe the agony of her mind. His position was now one of extreme difficulty, when he calmly considered his future plans. To crush in the bud all those golden dreams and bright hopes of glory and honour, with which he thought to render himself worthy the hand of the daughter of Lichtenstein, was nothing, he felt, compared with the disgrace and contempt, which he must expect to meet at the hands of men, whose esteem was dear to him, for having deserted their colours, at a moment when the struggle was about to commence. How could he give a reason, or find words sufficiently convincing, to justify his conduct, before that gallant old friend of his father, Breitenstein? How could he appear before the noble Fronsberg? Ah, that friendly salute, with which he appeared to encourage the son of his brave companion in arms, produced a thousand torments. His father had fallen by his side, and he had heard him, in his dying moments, bequeath to his orphan child the renown of his name and a brilliant example, as his sole inheritance. Before this man, who, mindful of his father's bequest, had kindly opened to him a path which would lead to the accomplishment of his parent's wishes, he must now appear in very doubtful light.
Troubled with these gloomy forebodings, he had slowly approached the gate of the town, when he was suddenly seized by the arm, and turning around, a man, to appearance a peasant, stood before him.
"What is your business with me?" asked Albert, rather angrily, annoyed at being disturbed in his musing.
"My answer will depend upon whether you are the person I am looking for," answered the man. "Tell me, what belongs toLichtandSturm?"
Albert was astonished at this singular question, and observed him more closely. He was not very tall, but strongly built, broad-chested, and of mean appearance. His face, much tanned by the sun, might have passed as plain and insignificant to a superficial observer, but, upon a narrower inspection, there was a certain expression about the eyes and mouth which, in addition to cunning and acuteness, bespoke daring and audacity. His hair and beard were dark yellow, and smooth; he carried a long dagger or knife in his leathern girdle; in one hand he held an axe, in the other a low round leathern cap, such as the Swabian peasant of the present day wears.
Whilst Albert made these hasty observations, he narrowly watched the expression of his features.
"Perhaps you did not thoroughly understand me, sir knight," continued the other, after a short silence; "so I will explain myself more fully. Let me ask, what should be added toSturmandLicht, to form two noble names?"
"Federandstein," answered the young man, to whom it was immediately clear, what was to be understood by the question; "but what is your business?"
"So you are Albert von Sturmfeder?" said the other; "and I come from Bertha von----"
"For heaven's sake be silent, friend; mention no names," said Albert; "tell me quickly, have you got any thing for me?"
"A note, sir," said the peasant; when, unbuckling a broad black leather band, wound under his knee, he produced a small strip of parchment.
Albert took the parchment with hasty joy; there were a few words written on it with black shining ink. It appeared to have cost some trouble to the writer, and proved that the young ladies of 1519 were not so ready with their pen, to express their tender feelings, as those of the present day, when every village beauty can write an epistle to her swain as long as her garter. The chronicle whence we have taken this history, has happily preserved every word of the confused traces on the parchment, which Albert's greedy eye now speedily deciphered as follows:
"Remember your oath--fly bytimes. God conduct thee. Your Bertha----to eternity."
These few words expressed a pious, tender feeling, dictated by a loving heart. No wonder then that Albert was for some moments lost in a state of joyous intoxication. He sent a look of gratitude toward the distant blue mountains in the direction of Lichtenstein, and thanked his love for the consolation these lines afforded him, for truly, never had he stood so much in need of comfort, as at this moment. He was now convinced, that a being, the dearest that existed in the world to him, had not forsaken him. His heart resumed its usual cheerfulness, he proffered his hand to the trusty messenger, thanked him cordially, and asked him how he came by the strip of parchment.
"Did not I know," he answered, "that that little scrap of paper contained no evil enchantment, for the young lady smiled most kindly as she pressed it into my rough hand! I came to Blaubeuren last Wednesday, where our army is encamped. There is a magnificent high altar in the convent church there, over which the history of my patron, John the Baptist, is represented. About seven years ago, when I was in great distress of mind, and upon the point of suffering an ignominious death, I made a vow, to perform a pilgrimage to the spot every year about this time. I have never neglected this duty, having been saved from the hangman's hand, by a miracle performed by my saint. When I have finished my prayers, I always go to the abbot to present my offering of a couple of fine geese or a lamb, or any thing else he may prefer. But, sir, you will be tired with my gossip."
"No, no,--go on," said Albert; "come, sit down on that bench, beside me."
"That would not be proper," answered the messenger; "for a common peasant to place himself beside a gentleman, whom the general took such notice of before all the people this morning, would be out of all character: I would rather stand, with your permission." Albert seated himself on the stone bench by the road side, and the countryman, leaning on his axe, went on with his story. "I had little inclination to prosecute my pilgrimage in these unsettled times, but it is said, an unfulfilled oath is displeasing to the Almighty; so I was obliged to perform my vow. This year, when I rose from my prayer, and, as usual, was going to present my offering to the abbot, one of the priests told me, I could not go to his reverence this time, because many nobles and knights were waiting on him; but I insisted on it, for I knew the abbot to be a kind benevolent man, and he would have been displeased, had I gone away without seeing him. Should you ever visit the convent, don't forget to notice a long and narrow staircase leading from the high altar to the dormitory, through a thick wall, which separates it from the church. There it was that the lady met me. She approached me, a delicate-formed female, descending the stairs, covered with a long veil, with breviary and rosary in her hands. I pressed myself close to the wall, to allow her to pass, but she stood still, and said, 'Well, Hans, whither are you going?'"
"But how did the lady know you?" Albert interrupted him.
"My sister is her nurse, and----"
"How, is old Rosel your sister?" said the young man.
"Do you know her also?" said the messenger, "only think! but let me proceed. I was very happy to see her again, for I visited my sister often in Lichtenstein, and I have known the young lady, ever since she was taught to walk with the help of her father's sword belt. I should scarcely have known her again, she is grown so much, but her rosy cheeks have disappeared, like the snow on the first day of May. I don't know how it was, but I was so much struck by her looks, that I could not help asking her if any thing was the matter with her, and whether I could render her any assistance. She thought for a moment, and then said, 'Yes, Hans, if you can be discreet you may indeed render me a very great service!' I promised, and she appointed a meeting after vespers."
"But how is it, that she is in the convent?" Albert asked; "for formerly no female foot dared cross its threshold."
"The abbot is a friend of her father's, and as there are so many people in Blaubeuren at present, she is in greater safety in the convent than in the town, where strange things come to pass. After vespers, therefore, when all was quiet, I stole softly into the cloister, and met her. I cheered her sunken spirits, as well as we peasants know how to do, when she gave me that strip of parchment, and bid me find you out."
"I thank you heartily, good Hans," said Albert; "but is that all she charged you with?"
"No," answered the messenger; "she moreover commissioned me to tell you, by word of mouth, to be upon your guard, for there was a plot laid against you."
"Against me?" said Albert; "you must have misunderstood her. Who, and what can any one have to say about me?"
"Ah, there you ask me more than I can answer," replied the other; "but, if I dare guess, I believe the League has an eye upon you. The lady added also, that her father had spoken about it. I saw Fronsberg nod to you to-day, and honour you like the Emperor's son, to the astonishment of every one present. Believe me, there is something in the wind, when such a man beckons in so friendly a manner to another."
Albert was surprised at the plain remark of the simple countryman. He recollected, however, that Bertha's father, having pryed deeply into the secrets of the leaders of the League, might have heard something, which more immediately concerned him; but, whichever way he turned his thoughts, he could discover no ground upon which Bertha's mysterious warning could be founded. His mind was torn with doubt and conjecture; and he abruptly asked the messenger, how he had found him out so soon?
"Without Fronsberg's aid, it had not been such an easy matter," said he: "I was desired to inquire for you at Dieterick von Kraft's house. But as I was entering the gate of the town, I saw a large crowd of people in the field. I thought half an hour would make no great difference, so I joined the spectators to see the infantry exercise. Really, Fronsberg has done wonders. Well; it struck me I heard your name mentioned. I looked round, and saw three old men talking about you, and pointing to you. I noticed your figure, and followed your steps; but not certain if I was quite right, I put the enigma of Sturm and Licht to you."
"You have acted cleverly," said Albert, smiling; "but come to my house, and get something to eat. When do you go home again?"
Hans considered a moment; at last, he said, with a cunning smile on his mouth, "No offence, sir; but I have pledged myself to the young lady, not to quit you before you have taken your leave of the League."
"And then?" asked Albert.
"And then I go direct to Lichtenstein, to give her good news from you. How she longs to hear the happy tidings! She stands on the rock of the garden every day, and all day long, to see whether old Hans is coming."
"She shall soon have that pleasure," answered Albert; "I will be off to-morrow, if possible; and will write to her in the mean time."
"But be cautious what you do," said Hans; "the strip of parchment must not be longer than the one I brought you, for I must conceal it also under my knee-band. We cannot be too careful in these times; and no one will look for it there."
"Let it be so, then," answered Albert, as he rose from his seat. "And now adieu for the present; come to me at noon at Dieterick von Kraft's house, it is not far from the cathedral, and any one will shew it you. If they ask you where you come from, say you are a countryman of mine from Franconia, because the Ulmers are not well affected towards the Würtembergers."
"Don't be afraid, sir; you will not have any fault to find with me," replied Hans, as he parted from Albert. He looked back at the slim young man, and thought his sister's foster child, had made no bad choice in the object of her love.
"The world and all I'd sacrifice for thee;And do it cheerfully--but only flee."SCHILLER.
"The world and all I'd sacrifice for thee;
And do it cheerfully--but only flee."
SCHILLER.
Albert felt some uneasiness, at first, as to how his new acquaintance might behave in Kraft's house. It was not without reason, that he feared he might betray himself by his dialect or inconsiderate explanations, which would put him in an awkward position; for, though it was his firm resolution to quit the service of the League in a few days, still he did not wish it to be suspected that he was in correspondence with Würtemberg. Neither could he nor would he betray the secret of Bertha having sent a messenger to him, should he be unfortunately discovered. He thought of turning back, looking for the man, and begging him to leave the town as soon as possible; but when he recollected that, he must have long since left the place where they had held their conversation, and that he might in the mean time have arrived at the house, it appeared to him more advisable to hasten home to put Hans on his guard, and warn him against committing an indiscretion.
There was, however, something so peculiar in the sharp eye and the bold cunning countenance of the man, which gave him reason to hope, that Bertha, in the hasty choice she had made of the means of communicating with him, would not have confided her message to uncertain hands.
Albert had scarcely entered Kraft's house, when, at noon, a countryman from Franconia was announced; and the messenger of his love was shewn in. Can this man now before me be the same who left me but a few moments ago, thought Albert, surprised at his appearance, with his back bent nearly double, his arms hanging lifeless by his body, his eyes devoid of all animation? He could scarcely believe his eyes and ears, when he addressed Kraft, who saluted him in pure Franconian dialect, and answered his many questions with the volubility of a native of that country. Albert with difficulty repressed a smile at the strange metamorphosis of his new acquaintance; and was tempted to believe in the supernatural stories he had heard in his childhood, which described kind magicians, or gracious fairies, devoting themselves under all sorts of forms to the service of true lovers, and carrying them safely through the wiles of fate.
The charm was soon dispelled, when Albert and the messenger were left alone in the room; and the Swabian peasant had assured him of his being the same person. But Albert could not conceal his astonishment at the part he had acted so well.
"I hope you will not think less honourably of me," said the countryman; "we are often put to our wits to get on in the world: such arts hurt no one, but assist him who knows how to practise them."
Albert assured him of his confidence, when the messenger urgently pressed him to think of his immediate departure; and not to forget how ardently the lady longed to hear the news of it. He added, that he dared not return home, before he could bring her the positive intelligence of his having quitted Ulm.
Albert said, he would only wait until the army of the League had marched, and then return home.
"Oh! then you will not have to remain much longer," said the messenger, "for, if they do not march to-morrow, they will do so the day after, as the heart of the country is open before them. I know I can trust you, sir, therefore I tell you this."
"Is it true then, that the Swiss have deserted the Duke; and that he will not fight a battle in the field?" asked Albert.
The peasant threw a searching look around the room, carefully opened the door, to assure himself that no one was listening in the neighbourhood, and said,
"Sir, I was present at a scene, which I shall never forget, if I live ninety years. On my way hither, I met large bodies of Swiss on the Alb, going homewards, recalled by their councils and magistrates. But there were still eight thousand men at Blaubeuren, all good Würtembergers, and not a stranger among them."
"And the Duke," Albert interrupted him, "where was he?"
"The Duke treated with the Swiss for the last time at Kirchheim; but they withdrew from him, because he could not pay them. He then came to Blaubeuren, where his infantry was encamped. Yesterday morning it was made known by beat of drum, that all the people should assemble on the field of the convent by nine o'clock. The assembly was numerous; and but one feeling ran through the whole. Look ye, sir, Duke Ulerich is a severe master; and does not understand the manner of winning over the peasantry. Taxes are oppressive--the injury done to our fields by hunting is ruinous and galling--and the court squanders what is taken from us;--but when such a master, though tyrant he be, is in misfortune, it is quite a different thing. The only feeling now among us is, that he is our legitimate Duke; and, though unfortunate, he is a brave man, whom his enemies would drive from his country. A whisper was no sooner circulated that he wished to fight a battle, than each man grasped his sword firmer, shook his spear fiercely, and vociferated loud curses on the League. The Duke then came forward----"
"Did you see him? do you know him?" said Albert, with impatient curiosity, "Oh! tell me, what is his appearance?"
"Do I know him?" replied the messenger, with a peculiar smile, "truly, I saw him at a time when the sight of me was not welcome to him. He is still a young man, about two and thirty years old. His person is stately and powerful, and it is easy to perceive that he is well skilled in the use of arms. His eyes sparkle like fire," he added, "and few there are who can withstand his piercing glance, or penetrate his thoughts. The Duke stepped into the circle which the armed multitude had formed, and the stillness of death reigned among them. He said, with an audible, firm voice, that, seeing himself deserted by his allies, he knew not where to look for help. Betrayed by those upon whose aid he had relied,--he was become the sport of his enemies,--for, without the Swiss, he dare not risk a battle. An hoary-headed old man then came forward, and said: 'Duke, do you give up all hope before you have tried the strength of our arms? Look, sir, every man of us is ready to bleed for you; I have brought my four boys, each with his spear and knife, and so have many thousands besides. Are you tired of your country, that you disdain our assistance?' These simple but patriotic words touched the Duke's heart; he wiped the tears from his eyes, and gave the old man his hand. 'I don't doubt your courage,' said he, with a loud voice, 'but we are too few,--death, not victory, will be our fate. Go to your homes, my good faithful people, and there remain true to me. I must fly my country, and wander about with bitter misery for my portion; but, with God's assistance, I hope soon to return.' So spake the Duke; our people wept, and, grinding their teeth in anger against his enemies, withdrew in sorrow and despondency."
"And the Duke, what became of him?" asked Albert.
"He rode away from Blaubeuren, it is not known whither. The knights occupy his castles, to defend them, until he can procure succour."
The appearance of old John, the servant, interrupted the messenger, and announced that Albert was ordered to attend the council of war, which was to be held at Fronsberg's quarters at two o'clock. The young man was not a little astonished at this summons. What could they want with him at the council of war, of all places? His conscience acquitted him, indeed, of having given rise to any suspicion of his intentions, but he was fearful lest his friend Fronsberg might have proposed his being employed on some service which would compromise his promise to Bertha, and from which it might be difficult for him to excuse himself honourably--these were the thoughts which flew through his mind.
"Take care of yourself, sir," said the messenger, as soon as old John had left the room, "and think of the promise you gave the young lady. Above all, don't forget what she said to you, namely, to be on your guard against a plot. Allow me to remain in your house as your servant; I can look after your horse, and am ready for any other service you may require."
The offer of the faithful man was accepted with thanks by his new master, and Hans entered at once into his service, by assisting him to put on his sword, and arranging his cap properly. He again reminded him of his oath, and warned him of the plot, on the threshold of the door, as Albert left his abode.
Albert proceeded towards the house pointed out to him, meditating upon the incomprehensible summons to the council of war, and the peculiarly striking warning sent to him by Bertha. When he arrived there, a broad winding staircase was pointed out to him, at the top of which, in the first room on the right, he would find the military commanders assembled. But he was not permitted immediate entrance into this sanctuary, for, just as he was on the point of opening the door, a grey-bearded soldier, asking his business, gave him to understand that he would have to wait at least half an hour before he obtained an audience, and, taking the young man by the hand, led him through a narrow passage into a small room, there to exercise his patience awhile.
Whoever has danced attendance, under the excitement of anxious expectation, in an anteroom, may well imagine the torment Albert experienced during that hour of solitary meditation. His heart beat impatiently to learn the result of his present unexpected position, his mind was on the stretch, and when he heard a distant door creak on its hinges, or footsteps in the passage, or when indistinct voices in an adjoining chamber became plainer, he hoped that rescue was at hand. But in vain did the doors creak, the approaching footsteps receded, and the indistinct voices died away into mere whispering sounds. He endeavoured to beguile time by counting the boards in the floor, and the windows of the neighbouring houses, when the clear tones of a clock reminded him of having passed a tedious half hour. He then paced the confined space of the apartment in nervous agitation, until, his patience being nearly exhausted, he heard a door open again, and heavy footsteps coming towards his room. The door opened, and the same old grey-headed soldier entered, and said, "George von Fronsberg sends you his compliments, and a can of wine for vespers. The council may still last some time, but, as it is uncertain how long, you must remain here in the meanwhile." Saying which, he set the wine on the ledge of the window, for there was no table, and left the apartment.
Albert followed the old warrior with a look of amazement, for he thought such treatment unpardonable. He passed more than an hour in this situation, and still nothing had come to pass. He took a draught of wine, which he found was not indifferent, but it was out of the question enjoying his glass in his present painful solitude.
It is a fault common to young people of Albert's years to conceive themselves of more importance than their station in the world really warrants. An experienced man will bear with patience, or, at least, restrain his displeasure, upon feeling himself slighted, whilst the young man is apt to take fire upon the least hint derogatory to what he imagines a point of honour. No wonder, then, that Albert, when he was called to attend the council, after having been kept waiting two long solitary hours, was not in the best of humours. The old soldier, at length, having returned, conducted Albert to the council, leading the way through a narrow passage, with a silence and precaution observed in cases of a prisoner's presence.
When they came to the door, he turned to Albert, and said, in a friendly way, "Do not despise the advice of an old man, sir, and put aside that fierce sullen look of yours; it will be of no service to you in the presence of the stern men in there."
Around a large unwieldly table sat eight elderly men, who formed the council of war of the League. Some of them were known to Albert. George Truchses, Baron of Waldburg, occupied the upper place at the table; on each side of him sat Fronsberg and Sickingen. He was not acquainted with the rest, excepting old Ludwig von Hutten; but the chronicle whence this tale is taken has faithfully transmitted their names to us. There was Christoph Count of Ortenberg, Alban von Closen, Christoph von Frauenberg, and Diepold von Stein, aged men, and of repute in the army.
Albert paused at the door as he entered, but Fronsberg beckoned to him in a kind way to approach. He went up to the table, and faced the assembly with an open bold look peculiar to him. The members also took a survey of him, and appeared pleased with his appearance and manly bearing, for their eyes rested upon him with kindness, whilst some even encouraged him by a friendly nod.
Truchses von Waldburg at length addressed him. "It has been reported to us that you have been brought up at the high school in Tübingen; is it so?"
"Yes, sir knight," answered Albert.
"Are you well acquainted with the neighbourhood of Tübingen?" continued the other.
Albert blushed when this question was put to him. He thought of his love, who was now at Lichtenstein, only a few hours (stunden) distant from the university. But he answered composedly, "I have not hunted much in that neighbourhood; neither have I made many excursions there; but I am generally acquainted with its locality."
"We have determined," said Truchses, "to send a confidential person into that neighbourhood to find out what may be the Duke's intentions upon our approach, and to gain correct information upon the state of the fortifications of the castle of Tübingen, together with the feeling of the people of the surrounding country. Such a person, by prudence and sagacity, may do more harm to the Duke's cause than a hundred horsemen: we have selected you for this service."
"Me!" cried Albert, in horror.
"You, Albert von Sturmfeder: dexterity and experience are no doubt requisite in such undertakings: but you must look to that; whatever is wanting on your part, in the execution of this piece of service, your head will answer for."
The effect which this order produced on the young man was visibly depicted on his features. His face turned pale, his eyes became fixed, his lips firmly pressed together. The warning of Bertha flashed across his mind, and struck him with increased force; but, however favourable this opportunity might be to quit the service of the League, he was too much taken by surprise to be able to decide at that moment.
Truchses fidgeted about in his chair, showing evident symptoms of impatience at the young man's hesitation to give an answer: "Well," he cried, "will it come out soon? what are you thinking about so long?"
"Spare me this commission," said Albert, at length, but not without dread; "I cannot, I dare not undertake it."
The old men looked at each other in astonishment, as if they did not trust their ears. "You dare not, you cannot," Truchses repeated slowly, a deep red at the same time mounting up to his eyes, and colouring his forehead, the forerunner of rising anger.
Albert immediately perceived he had been too hasty in his expression; he recovered himself, and spoke with more composure: "I proffered my services to the League for the glory of honourable fight, not to steal into the enemy's country in the ignominious guise of a spy, to discover by secrecy and treachery what is not to be obtained openly. It is true, I am young and inexperienced; but this much I know, that I am answerable to myself alone for the propriety of my conduct. Who among you, as a father, would advise his son to commence his military career in the dishonourable garb of a spy?"
Truchses contracted his dark eyebrows into a frown, and shot a penetrating glance at the young man, who had ventured to entertain an opinion so different to his own. "What are you thinking about, sir?" he cried, "your opinion has nothing to do here; the question is, not whether your conscience will allow you to execute our orders--it treats of obedience to our commands, which we insist upon, and which youmustsubmit to."
"And I will not," replied the young man, with a resolute voice. He felt his courage increase every moment, in proportion as the insulting tone of Waldburg excited his anger. He even hoped Truchses might persist in his offensive manner; for it would strengthen him still more in his resolve, and fully justify his determination to quit their service.
"Yes, yes!" laughed Waldburg, in sarcastic rage, "to ride about alone in the enemy's country is certainly a dangerous undertaking. Ha, ha! These are your fine-spoken gentlemen, proffering head and arm, with high-sounding words and lofty looks; but, when it comes to the point, if any service is required of them which is attended with danger, their hearts fail them. But one generation resembles the other; the apple does not fall far from its stem; and where there is nothing to be gained, the Emperor has lost his rights."
"If those words be meant as a reflection on my father," answered Albert, irritated, "there are witnesses sitting here, who can vouch that he lives in their memory as a brave man. You think to have achieved sufficient renown to warrant your taking the liberty of undervaluing the merits of others."
"Shall such a downy chin prescribe to me what I shall say?" interrupted Waldburg. "But an end to this trash. I want to know, youngster, whether or not you will saddle your horse to-morrow, and follow our orders?"
"Truchses von Waldburg," answered Albert, with more composure than he thought himself master of, "your arrogant language only convinces me how little you know the way to address a gentleman, who has tendered his services to the League with honourable motives, and who is the son of a brave father. You have addressed me in the name of the League, as president of this council, and have insulted me, as if I were its greatest enemy. I have, therefore, no other answer to give, than, in following your orders, to saddle my horse; but I now most decidedly declare, assuredly no longer in your service. My honour forbids my remaining under your colours; I therefore pronounce myself henceforth free and unshackled from you for ever;--farewell."
The young man spoke with vigour and firmness, and turned around to depart.
"Albert," called Fronsberg, springing from his seat, "son of my friend!--"
"Not so rash, young man," cried the rest, and cast looks of disapprobation at Waldburg; but Albert walked out of the apartment without looking back; the iron latch of the door rang sharply as it fell; heavy oaken pannels lay between him and the recall of the better-intentioned members of the council, and separated Albert von Sturmfeder for ever from the Swabian League.
Oh, when, enveloped in a night of grief,Thy wounded heart can nowhere find relief;When the sun plunges in the western sea,Ah, let the star of love not set to thee.P. Cony.
Oh, when, enveloped in a night of grief,
Thy wounded heart can nowhere find relief;
When the sun plunges in the western sea,
Ah, let the star of love not set to thee.
P. Cony.
Albert felt much relieved when he got to his room, and reflected on what had just happened. He rejoiced that the weight which had oppressed his mind ever since he promised to quit the service of the League, was now removed, in a way which could not have been moreà propos, and which he conceived to be every way honourable to his feelings. He determined, therefore, without delay, to leave Ulm, letting Truchses take all the blame of this step to himself.
How rapidly had everything changed in the last four days! how different were his feelings when he first entered the town, from those which were about to drive him from its walls! At that time, when the thunder of cannon, mingling with the deep tolling of the church bells, celebrated the entrance of the League's troops, and the animating sound of trumpets saluted his ear, seeming to give applause to the part he had taken in the coming straggle; how his heart then beat for the opportunity of proving himself worthy of his love! And when he was first presented to Fronsberg, how elevated and encouraging was the thought of emulating the reputation of his father, and reaping praise under the eye of that great commander! But now, all those bright hopes were blasted. He had learned the intentions of the League. Excited by motives of sordid interest and cupidity, their only object was plunder. He blushed to draw his sword in such a cause:--the brilliancy with which his youthful imagination had coloured his future prospects was gone for ever. And then again, how painful the thought of being opposed to Bertha's father, the faithful friend of the unfortunate Duke, perchance to encounter him in the struggle. It would break his love's heart, which beat so true for him. "No!" said he, looking up to heaven, in gratitude, "all has been ordained for my good. Upon any other who had stood in my situation this day, destruction might have fallen, but I have been saved!" In thankfulness for the mercies apparently vouchsafed to him, he cast away the gloomy forebodings with which his mind had been haunted; his natural cheerfulness returned, and he sang a song as merrily as in his former happy mood.
Herr von Kraft beheld him with astonishment, as he entered the room. "Well, that is curious," said he; "I hastened home to console my guest in his distress, and find him merrier than ever: how do these two things rhyme together?"
"Have you never heard, Herr Dieterich," replied Albert, who thought it advisable to conceal his joy, "have you never heard that one can laugh in anger and sing in pain?"
"I have certainly heard it, but never witnessed it till this moment," answered Kraft.
"Well, and so you have heard of my vexatious affair with the grand council?" asked Albert. "I suppose it has run through all the streets already?"
"Oh no!" answered the secretary to the council; "no one knows any thing of it; for it would not do to trumpet forth your intended secret embassy to Würtemberg. No, thank God! I have my private sources, and learn many things the very hour they are done or spoken. But, don't be offended, if I say that I think you have acted a foolish part."
"Really," answered Albert; "and in what way?"
"Could there have been a better opportunity offered you to distinguish yourself? To whom would the commanders of the League have been under greater obligations than to him who----"
"Out with it at once," interrupted Albert--"than to him, you mean, who would steal into the enemy's country as a spy, worm out their secrets, and then, like other villains, betray them. I only regret that the name and honour of my father had not secured for me a higher and brighter destination."
"Those are scruples which I would not have thought to find in you. Really, if I were as well acquainted as you are with that neighbourhood, they should not have asked me a second time."
"You, perhaps, in this country, possess different principles upon this point from us in Franconia," replied Albert, not without disdain: "Truchses von Waldburg should have thought of that, and appointed an Ulmer to the service."
"You remind me now of another subject; the general of the forces! How could you think of making him your enemy? He will never forgive what has taken place, you may depend upon that."
"That is the least I care about," answered Albert; "but one thing annoys me, which is, that I cannot meet that insolent arrogant fellow at the end of my sword, and prove to him, who has already vilified my father's name upon other occasions, that the arm which he has this day thrust from him, is not quite so despicable as he supposes."
"For God's sake," said Kraft, "don't speak so loud; it might come to his ears. Above all, you must be very cautious what you say, if you intend still to serve in the army under him."
"I intend soon to free Truchses of my hateful person. With God's will, I have seen the sun set for the last time in Ulm!"
"And is it really true what I also heard, but which I cannot believe," asked Kraft, with astonishment, "that Albert von Sturmfeder would quit our good cause on account of this trifle?"
"To wound a man's honour is by no means a trifle," replied Albert, gravely; "at least, according to my mind. But having carefully reconsidered what you call your good cause, I find I should have to draw my sword neither in an honourable nor a just one, but only to satisfy the cupidity of a few unwashed townsfolk."
The unfavourable impression which the last words, in particular, seemed to make on the secretary, did not escape Albert; he went on to say, therefore, in a milder tone, taking his hand at the same time, with a friendly squeeze: "Do not take what I have said amiss, my kind host; God knows, I did not intend to offend you; but from your own mouth I have learnt the object of the different parties in this army. You may, therefore, attribute my actions partly to your own explanations; for you had already taken the bandage off my eyes."
"You are not quite so wrong, after all, good sir; strange things will come to pass when once these gentlemen begin to divide that fine country among themselves. But I have thought, if they go to a certain spot, you might also claim your mite. It is said,--you must not be offended with me,--that your house is somewhat dilapidated; therefore it appeared to me----"
"Nothing more upon that subject," said Albert, hastily, touched by the kind hint of his well-meaning friend. "The house of my ancestors is indeed in ruins, the doors hang on their broken hinges, grass grows upon the drawbridge, and owls inhabit the watch-tower. In fifty years hence a tower or a bit of a wall may still be standing, to remind the wanderer, that once upon a time a knighted race dwelt there. But should the decayed wall fall upon me, and bury the last of my family under its ruin, no one shall ever say of me--He drew his father's sword in an unjust cause."
"Every one to his thinking," answered Dieterick; "all this sounds very fine, but I, for my part, would stretch a point for the sake of re-establishing my house, and making it habitable. But whether you change your determination or not, I hope, at all events, you will remain with me a few days longer."
"I am grateful for your kindness," answered Albert; "but, you see, under existing circumstances, I have nothing more to do in this town. I propose leaving it by daybreak tomorrow."
"Well, then, one may send a remembrance to a friend by you, I suppose?" said the secretary, with a most crafty smile: "of course you ride the direct road to Lichtenstein?"
The young man blushed up to the forehead. Since Bertha's departure she had not been the subject of conversation between him and his host, and therefore his sly question took him so much the more by surprise. "I perceive," said he, "that you do not understand me yet. You believe I have only turned my back on the League for the purpose of joining the enemy? How can you think so ill of me?"
"Ah! away with you," replied the wary scribe; "no one else but my charming cousin has influenced your conduct. You would have shut an eye to every thing the League did, had old Lichtenstein been on our side; but now that you know he belongs to the other party, you think yourself justified in joining it also."
Albert might defend himself as well as he could; the secretary was too firmly rooted in his opinion to allow himself to be talked out of it. Moreover, he thought this step very natural, and saw nothing in it dishonourable or blamable. With a hearty remembrance to his cousin in Lichtenstein, he left the room of his guest. But on the threshold of the door he turned round again, and said, "I had almost forgotten to mention, that I met George von Fronsberg in the street, who begs you will go and see him this evening at his house."
Albert had already determined not to depart without taking leave of Fronsberg, but he felt nervous at appearing before a man whose intentions towards him were kind, but whose plans he had thwarted. He buckled on his sword, thinking upon this painful meeting, and was arranging his cloak, when his attention was drawn to an unusual noise on the stairs. Heavy steps of a party of men approached his door; he thought he heard the clatter of swords and halberts on the stone floor of the ante-room. He stepped quickly towards the door to ascertain the cause of this visit; but before he reached it, it opened, and by the light of a few candles he perceived many armed men about to enter. The same old soldier who had received him when he went to the council of war, stepped forward.
"Albert von Sturmfeder!" said he to the young man, who retreated a step in astonishment, "by order of the grand council of war I make you my prisoner."
"Me--prisoner?" said Albert, with consternation. "Why? what am I guilty of?"
"That 'a not my affair," answered the old man, surlily, "but probably you will not be left long in ignorance. Be so good to deliver up your sword to me, and follow me to the town hall."
"How? give up my sword?" replied the young man in the rage of insulted pride. "Who are you that dares to demand my weapon? The council must send men of a different stamp for that purpose before I submit; I know too well what your profession is."
"For God's sake give up your sword," cried his friend, the secretary, who forced himself through the crowd to his side, "obey the order--resistance were vain. You have to do with Truchses," he whispered: "he is a fearful enemy; do not force him to extremities."
The old soldier, interrupting the secretary, said, "It is perhaps the first time, sir, you have been arrested; therefore I forgive the hasty language you have made use of against a man who has slept in the same tent with your father. You may, however, retain your sword: I well know its hilt and scabbard, and I have witnessed many a deed of glory achieved with its blade. It is praiseworthy of you to be jealous of its falling into other hands. But you must come with me to the town hall, for it were folly in you to bid defiance to power."
The young man, to whom every thing appeared a dream, submitted quietly to his fate. He whispered to his friend the secretary to go to Fronsberg, and inform him of his arrest, and concealing his person as much as possible under his cloak, to avoid the unpleasant gaze of the crowd in the streets, followed the old leader, surrounded by his party.