This hollow path must be his way,It doth to Küssnacht lead,So here I will his coming stay,And here I'll do the deed.Schiller.
This hollow path must be his way,
It doth to Küssnacht lead,
So here I will his coming stay,
And here I'll do the deed.
Schiller.
Much has been said and written in all ages upon the folly of jealousy, but since the days of Uriah the world has nevertheless not grown wiser upon the subject.
The news which Albert von Sturmfeder had heard from the hostess of the Golden Stag respecting the nocturnal visits of the stranger to the castle of Lichtenstein, had created a feeling in his breast to which it had hitherto been a perfect stranger, and he did not possess sufficient coolness of blood, to exercise his judgment with calmness and moderation, upon a subject of such vital importance to his future prospects. Though he was of an age in which an open generous disposition places implicit reliance in the honour of others, yet taken by surprise, as his unsuspicious heart now was, in its dearest affections, the consequences were likely to become fatal to his happiness. The anguish attendant upon plighted faith broken, burnt within him; he could scarcely control the feeling of wounded pride, at being made the dupe of misplaced confidence; that calm judgment which teaches us to discriminate between right and wrong forsook his mind, and the truth was veiled from his sight in an atmosphere of gloomy foreboding. The fiendish associates, contempt, rage, and revenge, which, with many others, compose the steps of the ladder of feeling between love and hatred, now assailed him, and rendered even jealousy a secondary passion in his breast.
Brooding over these tormenting sensations, he sat upon the moss-covered stone, insensible to the chill of the night air, and his only thought was, to meet the nocturnal visitor, and demand an explanation.
When the clock struck two in a village beyond the wood, he observed lights moving in the windows of the castle. His heart beat in full expectation; he grasped the hilt of his sword. A few moments after the lights were visible behind the trellis of the gate, and dogs began to bark. Albert sprang upon his feet, and threw his cloak aside. He heard a deep voice very distinctly say, "Good night." The creaking drawbridge was lowered over the abyss which separates the rock of Lichtenstein from the country; the gate opened, when a man, his hat falling deep over his face, and enveloped in a dark cloak, came over the bridge, directly towards the spot where Albert was standing.
When he had arrived at a few paces from him, the young man called out in a threatening tone, "Draw, traitor, and defend your life!" and advanced on him. The man in the cloak stepped back, drawing his sword; in a moment the two blades met.
"You shall not have me alive," cried the other; "at least I'll sell my life dear!" and with these words the stranger attacked him vigorously, proving himself by the rapid and heavy blows which he dealt to be an experienced swordsman, and no despicable opponent. This was not the first time Albert had crossed blades in anger; for at the university of Tübingen he had fought many an honourable duel with success; but now he had found his match. His adversary pushed him hard, and his attack was maintained with so masterly a hand, that Albert was compelled to confine himself solely to his own defence, when, in a last attempt to settle the affair by one powerful thrust, his arm was suddenly seized by a strong hand from behind, and in the same moment his sword was wrested from his grasp. A loud voice, from the person who now held him fast in both his arms, cried, "Run him through, sir; such assassins don't deserve a moment's time to say their paternoster."
"You do it, Hans," said the stranger; "I am not the one to take the life of a defenceless man; run him through with his own sword, and be quick about it."
"Let me rather do it myself, sir," said Albert, with a firm voice; "you have robbed me of my love,--what further need have I of life?"
"What is that I hear?" said the stranger, and approached nearer.
"What voice is that?" said the other stranger, who still kept a firm hold of Albert; "I ought to know its sound." He turned the young man in his arms, and, as if struck by lightning, he let go his hold. "What on earth do I see! we might have made a pretty business of it!--but what unlucky star has brought you to this spot, sir? How could my people think of letting you depart without my knowledge?"
It was the fifer of Hardt who addressed Albert, and now offered him his hand. He was not, however, much inclined to return the friendly salute of a man who but a moment before was going to perform the part of executioner. Burning with fury, he looked at the man in the cloak, and then at the fifer: "Do you mean to say," said he, addressing himself to the latter, "that I ought to have allowed myself to remain a prisoner in your house, for the purpose of not witnessing your traitorous designs? Miserable impostor! And you, sir," turning to the other, "as you value your honour, defend yourself singly, and not fall two upon one. If you wish to know my name, I am Albert von Sturmfeder, come here for the express purpose of measuring swords with you, to uphold my previous claim to the Lady of Lichtenstein, which pretension, perhaps, may not be unknown to you. I demand my sword back again, having been wrenched from my hand by an act of treacherous cowardice, and let each make good his pretensions in honourable fight. With my life alone will I cease to assert my right."
"Albert von Sturmfeder!" replied his opponent in surprise, but in a friendly manner. "It appears you must be labouring under some mistake. Believe me, that, instead of being your enemy I am much interested in you, and have long wished to see you. Accept my friendship, upon the word of honour of a man; and do not imagine I visit the castle with the sinister views you attribute to me."
He stretched out his hand from under his cloak, and offered it to the astonished youth, who hesitated, however, to take it. The skill with which he wielded his sword, and the heavy blows he dealt out, strengthened Albert in his opinion, that his opponent was accustomed to the use of his weapon; and that he was a man of honourable and generous character, seemed satisfactorily proved in the frank and unreserved manner he proffered his hand when he became acquainted with his name. Under these circumstances therefore he could scarcely forbear trusting to his word. Still his mind could not in an instant shake off doubts of being deceived under the specious dealings of the stranger, which made him undecided to accept, without further reserve, the proffered friendship of a man whom but the moment before he had looked upon as his bitterest enemy.
"Who is it that offers me his hand?" demanded Albert; "I have given you my name, it is but just you tell me yours."
The stranger threw his cloak back, and raising his hat, discovered to Albert, by the light of the moon, a noble countenance, with a brilliant sparkling eye, bearing the expression of commanding dignity. "Ask not my name," said he, whilst a ray of sorrow played about his mouth; "that I am a man of honour, is sufficient for you to know. I once, indeed, bore a name which was upon a level with the most honourable in the world; I once wore the golden spurs, and carried the waving plume of feathers in my helmet, and, at the sound of my bugle, could assemble hundreds of my people around me--but now all is lost. One thing alone remains to me," he added, with indescribable dignity, taking the hand of the young man with a firm grasp, "I am a man, and carry a sword,--
'Si fractus illabatur orbisImpavidam ferient ruinæ.'"
'Si fractus illabatur orbis
Impavidam ferient ruinæ.'"
With these words he drew his hat again over his face, and throwing his cloak over his person, withdrew, and was soon lost in the wood.
Albert von Sturmfeder stood in dumb astonishment, resting on his sword. The commanding look of the stranger, his winning benevolent features, his brave and generous conduct, filled his soul with admiration and respect. Revenge, which had agitated his breast before he crossed swords with him, no longer ruffled it, but gave way to the contemplation of the virtues which his opponent had displayed in his unexpected rencontre with one, whose life he might have taken in the just defence of his own person. But what conduced above all to raise this man higher in Albert's estimation, was the frank and honest manner in which he had disavowed any clandestine acquaintance with Bertha, having confirmed it by a gallant defence of his honour, which he seemed as capable of asserting as he did of wielding his weapon. Such was the result of this adventure upon the mind of Albert, that he felt it relieved of a mountain's weight of trouble and anxiety, with which, but a few moments back, it had been oppressed. The malicious reports of the hostess of the Golden Stag, which he had too readily given credit to, now stung him with shame and remorse. He would willingly have risked every thing at that moment to have gained admittance to the castle, and thrown himself at the feet of his beloved, to implore her forgiveness for having given place to a doubt of her faithful attachment.
When we consider the weight and respect which physical qualities carried with them in those times,--how bravery, even in an enemy, was prized and admired,--and that the word of a gallant man was held as sacred as an oath on the altar;--and, if we further recollect how imposing is the effect of a pleasing outward appearance upon a young, generous mind, it is not to be wondered that the change in Albert's feelings was as decided as it was rapid.
"Who is that man?" he asked the fifer, who still stood by him.
"You heard from his own lips that he has no name, and neither do I know what to call him."
"You don't know who he is," replied Albert, "and still you were present when we fought? Away with you; you deceive me."
"Indeed not, sir," answered the fifer: "it is true, God knows! that in these times he has no name. But, if you must know what he is, I can tell you. He has been driven from his castle by the League, and now wanders in banishment: he was once a powerful knight in Swabia."
"Poor man! for this reason he conceals his person? Well might he, indeed, have taken me for an assassin. I recollect his having said he would sell his life dearly."
"Don't be offended, worthy sir," said the countryman, "that I also took you for one of those who are lurking about to take his life; I came therefore to his assistance, and, had I not heard your voice, who knows how much longer you would have breathed? But what brought you hither at this hour of the night? and what mishap threw you into the path of the banished man? Truly, you may think yourself fortunate that he did not cut you in two, for there are few who can stand before his sword. Some one, I suspect, has been playing this cruel game with you."
Albert related to his former guide the news he had heard in the Golden Stag of Pfullingen. He pointed out particularly the evidence of the nurse, the fifer's sister, which gave it an air of so much probability.
"I thought it would come to that," replied the fifer: "Love has played many worse tricks, and I don't know what it might not have done to me in such a case, when I was young. No one is in fault but old Rosel, the gossip! What business had she to make the hostess of the Golden Stag her confidant, who cannot keep a secret for a moment?"
"But there must be some truth in the affair," said Albert, whose former suspicions were again awakened; "for Rosel could never have said it without some foundation."
"Yes, there is indeed much truth in the report. Everything is as true as she has related. The servants are sent to bed, and the old spy also. At eleven o'clock the man appears at the castle,--the drawbridge is let down,--the doors open,--the young lady receives him and leads him into the saloon----"
"Well, don't you see?" cried Albert, impatiently, "if all be as you say, how could that man swear that he had nothing to do with----"
"That he had nothing of any kind to do with the lady, you would say?" answered the fifer, "without hesitation he can swear to that; but there is one essential difference in the story, which that old goose Rosel certainly never knew; namely, that the knight of Lichtenstein always receives his guest in the saloon, and, as soon as his daughter has placed before him the refreshments which she has prepared, she withdraws. The old gentleman remains with the banished man till the first crow of the cock, when, after having well satisfied his hunger and thirst, and warmed his weary limbs at the fire, he leaves the castle in the same way that he entered it."
"Oh, fool that I was not to have thought of all this before! The truth was close at hand, and I pushed it from me! But cursed be the curiosity and slanderous spirit of those women, who always fancy they can divine something extraordinary in the most trifling circumstance, and whose greatest charm consists in conjecturing improbabilities. But tell me," said Albert, after a moment's thought, "it strikes me very odd, that this banished man should visit the castle every night exactly as the clock strikes eleven--in what inhospitable neighbourhood does he reside, which obliges him to seek subsistence here at that unseasonable hour? Now, mind, I am not to be trifled with!"
The eye of the fifer rested upon Albert with an expression almost amounting to disdain: "Such gentlemen as you," he answered, "certainly know little of the pain of banishment; you never experienced the horror of being obliged to conceal yourself from the hand of the assassin, shivering in damp caves, living in inhospitable caverns, among the society of owls, deprived of a warm meal and a cheering glass! But come with me, if you have an inclination,--the day does not break yet, and you cannot go to Lichtenstein by night,--and I will lead you to the habitation of the banished knight. You will not ask me again why he visits the castle at midnight."
The appearance of the stranger had excited Albert's curiosity to such a degree, that he willingly accepted the offer of the fifer of Hardt, more particularly as he then would have the best opportunity of finding out the truth or falsehood of his assertions. His guide took the bridle of his horse, and led him down a narrow pathway in the wood. Albert followed, after he had taken a farewell look at the windows of Lichtenstein. They moved on in silence, which the young man made no attempt to break, his thoughts being wholly taken up with the person whom he was about to visit, and the strange occurrence which had just taken place. He recollected to have heard somewhere or other that many staunch partisans of the Duke had been driven from their possessions by the fury of the League, and he thought that it must have been in the inn at Pfullingen, where mention had been made of a knight of the name of Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg, whom the confederates were in search of. The bravery and extraordinary strength of this man was the common talk of all Swabia and Franconia; and when Albert recalled to his mind the powerful figure, the commanding countenance of his late heroic opponent, he thought it could not possibly be any other than this knight, one of Duke Ulerich's most faithful followers. The idea of having had an affair with such a man, and to have measured swords with him in fair fight, was particularly flattering to theamour propreof the young man, although the result had been left undecided.
So thought Albert von Sturmfeder on that night. And after a lapse of many years, when his noble antagonist had been long reinstated in his rights, and by sound of bugle could as formerly assemble his followers in hundreds, he reckoned it among his best feat of arms to have stood his ground before the brave and powerful stranger.
They were now arrived at a small open meadow in the wood, which terminated in a thick hedge of thorns and briars. The fifer having secured the horse to a tree off the path, made a gap through the entangled branches, and gave a sign to Albert to follow. It was not without difficulty and some danger that he obeyed his leader's directions, who in many places was obliged to assist him with his hand, as they proceeded down a narrow footpath into a deep ravine. When they had descended about eighty feet they came to even ground again, where the young man expected to find the dwelling of the banished man; but he was disappointed. His companion then went to a tree of great circumference, and which was hollow from age, and brought forth two large torches of pine wood, and striking fire by means of a steel and flint, and a small bit of sulphur, ignited them.
Albert observed, by the brilliant light of the torches, that they stood before a large opening which nature had formed in the wall of the rock. This must be, he thought, the entrance to the habitation of the stranger, who, as the fifer had expressed himself, had his lodgings among owls. The man of Hardt took one of the torches, and giving the other to his companion, said, "The path is dark, and here and there difficult to trace." With this warning he went on in front, leading through the dark entrance.
Albert, whose imagination was on the stretch, had expected to be introduced to a low cavern, short and narrow, like the dwelling of wild beasts, such as he had seen about the forests of his own country; but what was his astonishment, when he entered an immense natural cavern, resembling the lofty halls of a subterranean palace! He had heard in his boyhood, from a man-servant whose great-grandfather had been prisoner in Palestine, a story, which had been handed down from generation to generation in his family, of a boy who had been enticed by the arts of a wicked magician into a palace under ground, which surpassed everything in magnificence he had ever seen above it, and displayed to his view whatever the bold imagination of the east could fancy of splendour. Golden pillars surmounted by crystal capitals, arched cupolas studded with emeralds and sapphires, walls of diamonds dazzling the eye by their numerous refracting rays, were united in this subterranean habitation of the genii. This story, which had made a deep impression on his youthful imagination, now came to his recollection, and appeared to be realised in what he saw before him. He stopped every moment in fresh surprise, and holding the torch high up, viewed in amazement and wonder the lofty and majestic vaulted arches which continued the whole length of the cavern, sparkling and glittering like thousands of crystals and diamonds. But his astonishment was still more excited when his leader, turning to the left, conducted him into a spacious grotto, which fancy might figure to itself the magnificent saloon of the subterranean palace.
The fifer could not help remarking the powerful impression which this wonder of nature made on the mind of the young man. He took his torch from him, and mounting a high jutting rock, illumined more effectually the greatest part of the grotto.
Brilliant white rocks composed its walls. The bold arched cupola, formed of innumerable stalactites, from the ends of which hung millions of small drops of water, reflected the light in all the colours of the rainbow. The surrounding rocks were thrown together in such happy confusion, as to give the imagination full scope to fancy it could discover in their grotesque shapes, here a chapel, having its high altarpiece ornamented with flowing drapery; there its corresponding pulpit of rich gothic architecture. An organ even was not wanting to complete the idea of a subterranean church, and the changing shadows thrown on the walls by the light of the torches, resembled the solemn figures of martyrs and holy men placed in niches.
The guide came down again from his position on the rock, after having, as he thought, sufficiently satisfied the curiosity of his companion. "This is called the Nebelhöhle, or the Misty Hollow," said he; "it is little known in the country, excepting to huntsmen and shepherds, and few venture to enter it, as all kinds of fearful stories are abroad of ghosts inhabiting its chambers. I would not advise any one who is not minutely acquainted with its locality to venture down, for there are deep cavities and subterranean waters, whence no one would see the light again, if once entangled amidst their intricacies. There are also secret passages and compartments known only to five individuals now alive."
"But the banished knight," asked Albert, "where is he?"
"Take the torch, and follow me," replied the other, and led the way though a side passage. They had proceeded about twenty paces, when Albert thought he heard the deep tones resembling those of an organ. He drew the attention of his leader to it.
"That is some one singing," the fifer answered, "the voice sounds particularly beautiful and full in these caverns. When two or three men join their voices together, it resembles the full chorus of monks chanting theOra." The music became still plainer; and as they approached the spot, the expressive feeling of a beautiful melody was distinctly heard. They were obliged to bend themselves under the corner of a rock, as they proceeded, when the voice of the songster sounded from above, and broke in repeated echo on the indentations of the wall of rock, until it was lost in the mingled noises of dripping water from the moist stones, and the murmur of a subterranean waterfall.
"That is the place," said the guide; "above there, in the side of the rock, is the habitation of the unhappy man. Hearken to his voice! We'll wait and listen till he has finished, for he never was accustomed to be interrupted, even when he lived above ground." It was with great difficulty that they could catch the following words on account of the great echo and the murmur of falling and rushing water.
The tow'r from whence my childhood gazedUpon the subject fields so fair,Now bears a stranger's banner, raisedWhere erst my father's fann'd the air.To ruin sink my father's halls,The portion of my ancestry;O'erthrown and unavenged, the wallsIn earth's deep bosom buried lie.O'er fields, where once in happier tideMy jocund bugle horn I blew,The savage foemen fiercely ride:A noble quarry they pursue.I am their game, the quarry chased;The slot-hound follows where he flies,Athirst the stag's warm blood to taste,Whose antlers1are the hunter's prize.The murderers have bent their bow,They ransack forest, hill, and plain;Whilst clad in rags I nightly goA beggar on my own domain.Where once I rode in lordly state,Whilst greeting vassals bow'd the head;I fear to tap the cotter's gate,And beg in pity's name for bread.From my own doors ye thrust me out;Yet will I knock while knock I can:All is not lost, if heart be stout:I bear a sword, I am a man.I quail not: tho' my heart should break,I will endure unto the end;And thus my foes of me shall speak,"This was a man, and ne'er would bend."
The tow'r from whence my childhood gazedUpon the subject fields so fair,Now bears a stranger's banner, raisedWhere erst my father's fann'd the air.
The tow'r from whence my childhood gazed
Upon the subject fields so fair,
Now bears a stranger's banner, raised
Where erst my father's fann'd the air.
To ruin sink my father's halls,The portion of my ancestry;O'erthrown and unavenged, the wallsIn earth's deep bosom buried lie.
To ruin sink my father's halls,
The portion of my ancestry;
O'erthrown and unavenged, the walls
In earth's deep bosom buried lie.
O'er fields, where once in happier tideMy jocund bugle horn I blew,The savage foemen fiercely ride:A noble quarry they pursue.
O'er fields, where once in happier tide
My jocund bugle horn I blew,
The savage foemen fiercely ride:
A noble quarry they pursue.
I am their game, the quarry chased;The slot-hound follows where he flies,Athirst the stag's warm blood to taste,Whose antlers1are the hunter's prize.
I am their game, the quarry chased;
The slot-hound follows where he flies,
Athirst the stag's warm blood to taste,
Whose antlers1are the hunter's prize.
The murderers have bent their bow,They ransack forest, hill, and plain;Whilst clad in rags I nightly goA beggar on my own domain.
The murderers have bent their bow,
They ransack forest, hill, and plain;
Whilst clad in rags I nightly go
A beggar on my own domain.
Where once I rode in lordly state,Whilst greeting vassals bow'd the head;I fear to tap the cotter's gate,And beg in pity's name for bread.
Where once I rode in lordly state,
Whilst greeting vassals bow'd the head;
I fear to tap the cotter's gate,
And beg in pity's name for bread.
From my own doors ye thrust me out;Yet will I knock while knock I can:All is not lost, if heart be stout:I bear a sword, I am a man.
From my own doors ye thrust me out;
Yet will I knock while knock I can:
All is not lost, if heart be stout:
I bear a sword, I am a man.
I quail not: tho' my heart should break,I will endure unto the end;And thus my foes of me shall speak,"This was a man, and ne'er would bend."
I quail not: tho' my heart should break,
I will endure unto the end;
And thus my foes of me shall speak,
"This was a man, and ne'er would bend."
A deep sigh, which followed the conclusion of the song, gave the hearers reason to suppose, that the burden of it had not afforded the unfortunate exile much consolation. A large tear had rolled down the tanned cheek of the man of Hardt as they stood listening; and Albert perceived the inward struggle which this good peasant seemed to contend with in order to compose his mind, and appear before the inhabitant of the cavern with a cheerful countenance. He requested the young man to hold his torch awhile; and clambered up the smooth, slippery rock which led to the grotto whence the sounds they had just heard had issued. Albert supposed he had gone to acquaint the stranger of his arrival, but his guide returned with a strong rope in his hand. He descended half way down the rock again, threw one end of the rope to him, and desiring him to tie the torches on to it, he pulled them up, and placed them in a secure corner in the rock. He then assisted his young master to mount to the spot where he was standing, which he would not have been well able to accomplish alone. Once up there, they were only a few paces from the inhospitable abode of the exile.
We have attempted to describe this remarkable cavern according to its natural formation. Some further observations may be interesting to the reader. The entrance is about 150 feet in circumference; two paths, which form two natural excavations, one of 100 feet long, the other 82, lead from thence, and, taking different directions, meet again in the interior at the distance of about 200 feet. The place where they join forms a grotto, whence, on the right towards the north, higher up in the rock, is another smaller one, the spot to which we have led the reader, to the dwelling of the exile. The whole length of the cavern, from the entrance to the innermost point, is about 577 feet.
We have attempted to describe this remarkable cavern according to its natural formation. Some further observations may be interesting to the reader. The entrance is about 150 feet in circumference; two paths, which form two natural excavations, one of 100 feet long, the other 82, lead from thence, and, taking different directions, meet again in the interior at the distance of about 200 feet. The place where they join forms a grotto, whence, on the right towards the north, higher up in the rock, is another smaller one, the spot to which we have led the reader, to the dwelling of the exile. The whole length of the cavern, from the entrance to the innermost point, is about 577 feet.
Footnote 1: Referring, probably, to the arms of Würtemberg.]
The rugged rocks fantastic forms assume,Seen in the darkling of the midnight gloom;And the wild evergreens so dimly bright,Seem to reflect a kind of lurid light;This sight so strange may well our knight amaze,He stops, upon the witchery to gaze.Wieland.
The rugged rocks fantastic forms assume,
Seen in the darkling of the midnight gloom;
And the wild evergreens so dimly bright,
Seem to reflect a kind of lurid light;
This sight so strange may well our knight amaze,
He stops, upon the witchery to gaze.
Wieland.
The spot to which they had arrived in this large cavern, possessed one great advantage, that of being perfectly dry. The ground was covered with rushes and straw; a lamp hung on the side of the rock, which threw sufficient light on the breadth, and a great part of the length, of the grotto. Opposite the entrance sat the stranger upon a large bear skin, and near him stood his sword and a bugle horn; an old hat, and a grey cloak lay on the ground. A jacket of dark brown leather, and trowsers of coarse blue cloth, covered his person; an unseemly costume, but which did not the less set off the powerful shape of his body, and the noble features of his countenance. He was about thirty-four years old, and his face might be called still handsome and pleasing, although the first bloom of youth was worn off by hardship and fatigue, and his beard having grown wild upon his chin, imparted to his look an air of severity. Albert made these fleeting remarks as he stopped at the entrance of the grotto.
"Welcome to my palace, Albert von Sturmfeder," said its inhabitant, whilst he rose from his bear skin, and offering him his hand, begged him to take a seat beside him on a deer skin: "you are heartily welcome," he repeated. "It was no bad thought of our friend the musician, to introduce you into these lower regions, and bring me such agreeable society. Hans, thou faithful soul! thou hast been our major domo and chancellor up to this moment, from henceforth we nominate thee our head-master of the cellar and purveyor-general. Look behind that pillar, and thou'lt find the remains of a bottle of good old wine. Take my beech-wood hunting-cup, the only utensil left us, and fill it up to the brim, to the honour of our worthy guest."
Albert beheld the exiled man in astonishment; though he might have expected to find the energies of his mind unsubdued by the storms of life, still he was prepared to see him brooding over his misfortunes in sullen melancholy, driven by hard fate to seek shelter in these inhospitable regions. What, therefore, was his surprise to find him, on the contrary, cheerful and unconcerned, joking about his situation, just as if he had been merely overtaken by a storm in hunting, and had sought shelter from its violence in the grotto! It was a storm, indeed, more terrible than the fury of the elements which had driven him from the castle of his ancestors, for he was the prey that had taken shelter here from the shots of his murderous huntsmen.
"You look at me and my abode with astonishment, my worthy guest," said the knight: "you, perhaps, expected to hear me bewailing my hard fate--but of what use would that be? As no one can retrieve my misfortune in this moment, I think it the wisest plan to put a bold face upon what I cannot alter. But tell me, am not I as well lodged here as many princes in their palaces? Have you noticed the halls and saloons of this my palace? do not the walls shine like silver, and the vaulted ceilings sparkle as if they were set in pearls and diamonds? and the pillars, do they not glitter with emeralds, rubies, and all sorts of precious stones? But here comes Hans, my purveyor, with the wine. Say, my trusty subject, does that cup contain the whole of our cellar?"
"Your habitation can boast of water, as clear as crystal," answered the fifer, who well understood the cheerful mood of his companion; "the remainder of the wine in the cellar will fill more than three cups, and--as we have another guest to-day--we may indulge a little. Luckily, I brought a jug full of good old Uhlbacker from the castle to-night."
"You have done well," said the exiled knight, whilst a ray of joy flashed from his brilliant eye; "you must not think, Albert von Sturmfeder, that I am a wine-bibber; but good wine is a noble thing, and I love to see the full glass circulate in friendly society. Put the jug down here, worthy master of the cellar, we'll enjoy ourselves, as in the best days of our prosperity. Here's to you, and the former splendour of the house of Sturmfeder!"
Albert thanked the knight, and drank. "I wish I could return the honour, in drinking to your name," he said; "but, as you have already hesitated to give it me, I will not ask it now, sir knight. But here's to you, and may you return victorious to the castles of your fathers, and may your family live and nourish there for ever--huzza!" He pronounced the last word with a loud voice, and just as he set his cup down, he was astonished to hear it repeated by many sounds, which appeared to be voices, coming from the whole length of the grotto: "What is that?" he said, "are not we alone?"
"Those are my vassals,--spirits," answered the knight, smiling; "or, if you prefer it, the echo, which responds to your kind wish. I have often heard," he added, in a more serious tone, "in the days of my prosperity, the success of my house cheered by hundreds of voices; but I have never been more pleased, or more affected, than to have it drank to, by my only guest, and re-echoed among the rocks of these lower regions. Fill the cup, Hans, and drink, and if you can give us a good toast, let's have it."
The fifer of Hardt filled the cup, and glanced a significant look at Albert: "Here's to you, sir, and something which will please you more,--the Lady of Lichtenstein!"
"Hollo, right so, right so! drink, sir, drink!" cried the exile, and laughed so heartily, that the cavern appeared to tremble under it. "Drink out every drop! long may she live, and bloom for you! Well done, Hans! only look how the blood mounts up in the cheeks of our guest; how his eyes sparkle, as if he actually kissed her beautiful lips. You need not be bashful! I also have loved and wooed, and know the state of a light merry heart of four-and-twenty, on such an occasion!"
"Poor man!" said Albert, touched by a sigh of deep feeling which accompanied these last words.--"Have you loved and wooed also? and perhaps been obliged to leave a beloved wife and children to lament and bewail your present misfortunes!" As he said this he felt his cloak pulled from behind, when turning around, the countryman winked to him, as a sign, that it was a subject of all others the most painful to the knight to hear. Albert immediately saw the effect it produced on his features; and regretted having been the cause of giving him pain.
With a look of wild despair, and evidently trying to combat his feeling, he merely said, "Frost in September destroys the beautiful flower which blossoms in May, and we scarcely know how to account for it. My children are left in the hands of rough but faithful nurses, who will, with God's help, take care good of them till their father returns home again." He was so much affected when he spoke these words, that it required no small effort to enable him to resume his good humour. "Hans is witness," he said, after a pause, "how often I have wished to see you, Albert von Sturmfeder; he told me of your being wounded, on that occasion when you were surprised by a party of the League, who probably took you for one of us outcasts; but happily gave you an opportunity to escape."
"Yes, I had a narrow escape," answered Albert. "I almost believe they took me for the Duke, for they were on the look out for him at that time. I would willingly have suffered much greater loss, to be the instrument of saving him."
"Well, that is saying a good deal; are you aware, that the cut which was made at you might have cost you your life?"
"He who takes the field," replied Albert, "must settle all his accounts with the world beforehand. I would certainly prefer falling before the enemy in the field of battle, surrounded by friends and comrades, that I might receive from their hands the last offices of regard and love. But still, to parry the murderer's hand from the Duke, I would have sacrificed my life, at any time, had it been necessary."
The exile regarded the young man with emotion, and pressed his hand. "You appear to take great interest in the Duke," he said; "I should hardly have supposed it; because they say, your heart is with the League."
"As I know you are a partisan of the Duke," answered Albert; "I trust you will excuse me if I speak my mind freely. Well, then, I must tell you, I think the Duke has acted, in many respects, not becoming his high station; for example, he ought not to have meddled in the affair of Hutten in the manner he did, whatever might have been his reasons; and then, the treatment of his wife was excited by violence and an overbearing spirit; and you must admit, that it was rage and revenge, and not a just ground for attack, which moved him to take forcible possession of Reutlingen."
He paused, expecting to hear a remark from the knight, upon what he had just said; but as he remained silent, Albert continued: "Upon these reports I formed the idea of the Duke's character when I joined the ranks of the confederates, among whom he was vilified in still stronger terms; but, on the other hand, he had a warm advocate in the Lady of Lichtenstein, who was better acquainted with his virtues than his enemies, and who you may perhaps have already heard was the principal cause of my quitting their service. I will not, therefore, say more upon the subject further than she opened my eyes to the true state of existing circumstances. In consequence of her information, I gave myself some trouble to penetrate the ulterior views of the League, and found they were directed, not only to the dispossessing him of his dominions and banishing him his country, but, in order to gratify the real object of their views, they grasped at the partition of his sovereignty among themselves. With the impression of the injustice of their intentions strong in my mind, I viewed the Duke's cause in a light totally different to what I had hitherto done. His character was raised still higher in my estimation, when I also learnt, that though urged by the patriotism and love of his people to venture a battle in defence of his rights, he would not risk the blood of his faithful Würtembergers in such a hazardous game. And though possessing the power of extorting money from his subjects to subsidize the Swiss, he rather preferred exile for the good of his country. These are my reasons for befriending the ill-used Prince."
The knight, whose eyes had been fixed on the ground, now raised them upon Albert, and he seemed overpowered with the kind expressions which he had used towards the Duke. "Truly," he said, "your feelings are pure and generous, my young friend! I know the Duke as well as I do myself, and I may venture to say with you, that he rises superior to his misfortunes, and merits a far better name than report gives of him. Ah! if he had a hundred hearts such as yours, not a rag of the League's ensigns would ever float over the castles of Würtemberg;--could I but persuade you to join his cause! Far be it from me, however, to invite you to share his misery; it is enough that your sword, and an arm such as yours, do not belong to his enemies. May your days be happier than his! may heaven reward your good opinion of an unfortunate man!"
The spirit which breathed throughout the words of the exile, struck many a corresponding chord in the heart of Albert. He was flattered and encouraged to hear his own actions thus acknowledged.
The similarity which appeared to exist between the fate of his unknown friend and the impoverished fortunes of his own house, together with the prompting of the noble desire to espouse the weakest but honest cause in the pending struggle, in preference to taking the side of victorious injustice, were so many irresistible inducements to the manly mind of Albert to stand by the exile in his present deep distress.
Inspired by this feeling, he took his hand, and said, "Let no one henceforth talk to me of the imprudence,--let it not be called folly,-- of sharing the misfortunes of the persecuted! May others partake of the division of the Duke's fine country, and carouse in the spoils of the unhappy man's property,--I feel courage enough to suffer with him in his sufferings; and, when he draws his sword to re-conquer his lost possessions, I will be the first by his side. Take my hand, sir knight, as my pledge: let what may happen, I am the Duke's friend from henceforth, for ever."
A tear of gratitude started in the eye of the exile as he returned the shake of his hand. "You risk much, but you lose nothing by becoming Ulerich's friend. The country, beyond these inhospitable regions, is now in the possession of tyrants and robbers; but here below faithful hearts still beat true to Würtemberg. Forget for a moment that I am a poor knight and an exiled man, and figure me to yourself the Prince of the country, as I am lord of this cavern, with his knight and citizen standing before him. Ah! as long as these three estates hold firm together, be they concealed ever so deep in the lap of the earth, Würtemberg still exists. Fill the cup, Hans, and join your rough hand to ours; we'll seal the alliance in a bumper!"
Hans replenished the jug and filled the cup, "Drink, noble sirs, drink," said he; "you cannot pledge yourselves in a more noble wine than in this Uhlbacher."
The knight having emptied the cup by a long draught, ordered it to be filled again, and presented it to Albert. "Does not this wine," asked Albert, "grow about the castle whence Würtemberg's royal blood sprang? I think the heights about it are called Uhlbacher?"
"You are right," answered the exile; "the hill is generally called the Rothenberg, at the foot of which the vine grows; the castle stands upon its summit, built by Würtemberg's ancestors. Oh! the beautiful vallies of the Neckar, the luxuriant hills of fruit and wine! Gone, gone for ever!" He uttered these words with a voice which bespoke a heart almost broken by suffering and grief; he could scarcely conceal the anguish of his soul, which his inflexible mind had hitherto veiled under the mask of a forced hilarity.
The countryman knelt beside him, took his hand, and to rouse him from a state of painful wandering, in which he was lost for some moments, said, "Be of good cheer, sir; you will return to your country again happier than you left it."
"You will behold the vallies of your home again," said Albert. "When the Duke regains his lost rights, and reoccupies the castles of his ancestors, the vallies of the Neckar, and its richly clothed hills of vineyards, will echo with the rejoicings of his people, and you also will be able to join in the jubilee. Banish gloomy thoughts from your mind,nunc vino pellite curas; drink, and let us hope for better times. I pledge you in this Würtemberg wine,--'to the Duke's happy return with his faithful followers!'"
These words seemed to reanimate the sunken spirits of the knight, and like a ray of sunshine shed a smile over his features. "Yes!" he cried, "sweet is the word which sends comfort to the broken-hearted; it is like a drop of cold water to refresh the weary wanderer in the desert. Forget my weakness, my friend; pardon it in a man who otherwise never gives place to grief.
"But if you had ever looked down from the summit of the Rothenberg, shaded by its green woods, into the heart of Würtemberg, and beheld the gentle stream of the Neckar winding its course along its richly cultivated banks; with its fields of high standing corn waving in the breeze; the red roofs of its villages peeping out from a forest of fruit trees, with their industrious inhabitants, consisting of strong men and beautiful women, busily employed in their gardens or dressing their vines on the heights; had you surveyed all this, and with my eyes, and then been compelled to take refuge from the bloodthirsty hands of ruffians in these inhospitable regions, surrounded by the benumbing chill of these walls, outlawed, condemned, banished.--Oh! the thought is terrible! too overwhelming for man's heart to bear!"
Albert, fearful lest the recollection of his past days, and the keen sense of his present situation, might a second time have too powerful an effect upon the mind of the exile, sought by changing the subject of conversation, to divert his mind and calm his thoughts.
"As I suppose you have been often with the Duke," he said, "pray tell me, now that I am his declared friend, what is his disposition? what is his appearance? is it true, as is reported, that he is of a very changeable and capricious temper?"
"No more upon that subject at present, if you please," answered the exile; "you will soon have an opportunity to judge for yourself when you see him. We have already spoken enough upon these matters, but you have said nothing about your own affairs; not a word about the object of your travels, nor of the beautiful lady of Lichtenstein? You are silent and look confused when that delicate subject is mentioned. Do not suppose I wish to be curious when I ask that question; no, it is solely because I think I can be of use to you."
"From what has passed between us this night," replied Albert, "I have nothing to conceal from you; secrecy is no longer necessary. It strikes me, that you must have long known I love Bertha, and that she likewise is faithful to me?"
The exile answered, smiling, "O yes, there was no mistaking the symptoms of her feelings, for when you were mentioned her confused look bespoke the secret of her heart, and the blush which accompanied it was an evident witness of the truth of it. When she named you it was with a peculiar tone of voice, as if the strings of her heart sounded in full accord to that key-note."
"This observation of yours will encourage me to go to Lichtenstein without further delay. It was my original intention, after I had quitted the service of the League, to go direct to my home; but as the Alb is about half way between Franconia and this place, and the desire I had to see my love once more was uppermost in my thoughts, I determined to endeavour to accomplish it. This man Hans conducted me over the Alb; you know the cause which delayed me eight days on my journey. To-morrow, at day-break, I purpose announcing myself at the castle, and I trust I shall now appear before the old knight in a more welcome light than I should otherwise have done, had I not performed my promise to the League of remaining neutral fourteen days, and now joined his colours."
"You may be assured of his welcome," said the knight, "particularly if you go as the friend of the Duke, for he is his faithful and most devoted adherent. But, may be, he would not trust your word, unsupported by some introduction, being, so it is said, rather incredulous, and shy of strangers. You know upon what terms I am with him. He is the kind-hearted Samaritan to me; and when I creep out of my hole at night, he nourishes my body with warm food, and my heart with still warmer consolation for the future. A couple of lines from me will be better received by him than a passport from the Emperor. Take this ring, which he and many others know and respect, and wear it in remembrance of the time we have passed together; it will announce you as a friend of Würtemberg's good cause." With these words, he took a broad gold ring from his finger. A large red stone was set in the middle, upon which was engraved, in the armorial helmet, the three stag horns,1with the bugle, which Albert recognised as the arms of Würtemberg. Around the ring were the letters, U.D.O.W.A.T. in relievo, the meaning of which he could not comprehend.
"Udowat? what does that name signify?" he asked. "Is it a parole for the followers of the Duke?"
"No, my young friend," said the exile. "The Duke has worn this ring long on his finger; he valued it much; but as I have many other souvenirs from him, I can best spare it, and could not place it in worthier hands. The letters mean, Ulerich, Duke of Würtemberg and Teck."
"I shall value it as long as I live," replied Albert, "as a relic of the unfortunate Prince whose name it bears, and as a pleasing remembrance of you, sir knight, and the night we passed together in this cavern."
"When you come to the drawbridge of Lichtenstein," continued the knight, "deliver a note which I will write, and this ring, to the first servant you see, and desire them to be conveyed to the lord of the castle, when he will certainly receive you as the Duke's own son. But for the lady, you must use your own passport, for my charm does not extend to her: a tender squeeze of the hand, or the mysterious language of the eyes, or perhaps still better, a sweet kiss on her rosy lips, will serve the purpose. But in order to appear before her as she would wish to see you, you need some rest, for if you pass the whole night without sleep, your eyes will be heavy. Therefore follow my example, stretch yourself on the deer skin, and make a pillow of your cloak. And you, worthy major domo, grand chamberlain and purveyor, Hans, faithful companion in misfortune, give this Paladin another glass for his nightcap, it will soften his deer-skin, and enchant this rocky grotto into a bed-room. And then may the god of dreams visit him with his choicest gifts!"
The men drank a good night to each other, and laid themselves to rest, Hans taking up his position as a faithful dog, at the entrance of the rocky chamber. Morpheus soon came with light steps to the aid of the young man, and as he was dropping off to sleep he heard, in a half doze, the exile saying his evening prayer, and, with pious confidence in the Disposer of events, imploring him to shower down his almighty protection on him and his unhappy country.
Footnote 1: Three stag horns, the two upper ones having four ends and the lower one three, were the ancient arms of Würtemberg.