The whispering breezes fan the day,And gently blow around;With fragrance passing sweet they play,And break with dulcet sound.Now, my poor heart, be not oppress'd by fear,Those breezes will a better fortune bear.L. Uhland.
The whispering breezes fan the day,
And gently blow around;
With fragrance passing sweet they play,
And break with dulcet sound.
Now, my poor heart, be not oppress'd by fear,
Those breezes will a better fortune bear.
L. Uhland.
But the fifer of Hardt did not return home that night; and as Albert could no longer restrain his desire to prosecute his journey, he saddled his horse at break of day. His good hostess, after no small struggle, allowed her daughter to accompany him. She was afraid lest such an extraordinary event should furnish conversation, perhaps not to the credit of her child, for many an evening's gossip in the spinning occupations of her neighbours, and therefore reluctantly gave her consent. Upon the consideration, however, of the interest her husband must have taken in the welfare of the young knight, having treated him like a son in concealing him in his house, she thought she could not well refuse him this last piece of service. She accordingly permitted her daughter to go as his guide, upon the sole condition, that she was to proceed a quarter of an hour's distance in advance, and wait for him at a certain milestone.
Albert was affected in taking leave of the kind-hearted matron, who, out of respect for him, had decked herself out in her best Sunday's attire. He had placed a gold ducat in the carved chest, as a mark of gratitude for the attention he had received from her; a considerable present in those days, and a large sum out of the travelling purse of Albert von Sturmfeder. It would appear that the fifer of Hardt never knew a word about this deposit whether it was, that his wife did not find the piece of gold, or that she did not like to inform him of it, fearing lest he might return the present to the donor, and thereby affront him. But so much is certain, that the musician's wife was shortly after seen in church dressed in a new gown, to the astonishment and envy of all the women of the neighbourhood, and her daughter Barbelle wore a beautiful bodice of the finest cloth, trimmed with gold, which had never been seen before, at the next feast, kept in commemoration of the dedication of the church. She was always seen to blush, also, whenever any of her companions felt the texture of the new bodice and congratulated her upon the acquisition of it. Such was the effect which a single piece of gold produced in the village of Hardt, in those good old times!
Albert found his conductor sitting on the appointed milestone. She jumped up as soon as he arrived, and walked with a quick pace beside his horse. The girl appeared much more cheerful than the day before. The fresh air of an April morning had given her cheeks a high colour, and her eyes sparkled with kindness. Her costume was well adapted for a long walk, for her short petticoats did not impede her progress. A basket hung on her arm, as if she were going to market. But neither vegetables nor fruit were contained in it, which was generally the case on such occasions; she only carried a large shawl, as a precaution against April showers. The young man thought to himself, as his companion walked by his side, what a housekeeper she would make for some country swain, who should be fortunate enough to possess her for a wife!
She had inherited much of the vivacity of her father's character. For in the same way that he beguiled the time of his companion on their journey over the Alb, by relating stories and pointing out the principal features of the country, did she draw his attention to the most beautiful points of view of the surrounding vallies and mountains; or imparted to him, unsolicited, the popular anecdotes of castles, or other striking objects.
Choosing the most unfrequented paths, she led her guest only through two or three villages, and rested awhile after every two hours' walk. At last, after having made four such stations, a town was seen about a short half-hour's walk from them; the road parted at the spot of their last halt, and a foot-path to the left conducted to a village. At this point of separation, the girl said: "That is Pfullingen which you see yonder, from whence any child will show you the road to Lichtenstein."
"How! are you going to leave me already?" asked Albert, who was so much charmed with the cheerful conversation of his companion, that the thought of parting from her took him by surprise. "Will you not come at least as far as Pfullingen, where you can rest yourself, and have some refreshment? You don't intend to return home immediately?"
The girl endeavoured to look merry and unconcerned; but she could not conceal an expression about her mouth and eye, which betrayed the pain she felt at parting from her guest, whose presence might have been much dearer to her than she was, perhaps, altogether aware of. "I must leave you here, sir," she said, "much as I would willingly go on with you; but my mother will have it so; I have a cousin in that village on the hill, where I will remain to-day, and return to Hardt to-morrow. And now may God and the Holy Virgin protect you, and all the Saints take you under their care! Remember me to my father, should you meet him; and," she added with a smile, as she quickly dried a tear, "give my respects to the lady also whom you love."
"Thanks, many thanks, Barbelle," replied Albert, as he took her hand to wish her goodbye; "I can never repay your faithful care of me; but when you get home, look into the carved chest, where you will find something which will, perhaps, provide you with a new bodice or petticoat for Sunday. And when you put it on for the first time, and your true love kisses you, then think of Albert von Sturmfeder."
The young man gave his horse the spur, and trotted across the green plain towards the town. When he had gone about two hundred paces, he turned around to have one more look at his young guide. There she stood on the same spot where he had left her, watching him as he increased his distance from her, with her hands up to her eyes; but whether to guard them from the rays of the sun, as she followed him with her look, or whether to wipe away the tear which stood on the brink of her eyelid as they parted, Albert could not precisely tell.
He was soon at the gate of the town, and, feeling tired and thirsty, inquired where the best inn was? He was shown a small gloomy-looking house, having the sign of a Golden Stag, and a spear and shield, over the door. A little bare-footed boy led his horse to the stable, whilst he was received at the entrance by a young, good-natured looking woman, who conducted him into the room common to all. This was a large dark apartment, around the walls of which were placed heavy oak tables and benches. The number of well-polished cans and jugs, placed in regular order upon shelves, proved that the Stag was much frequented. As it was, there were already many men seated, drinking wine, although it was only just mid-day. They scrutinized the distinguished-looking knight very closely, as he passed their table to the place of honour which was situated at the top of the room, in a kind of bow window of the shape of a lantern, with six glass sides; but their conversation was in no wise interrupted by the appearance of the stranger, for they went on talking of peace and war, battles and sieges, in the way which independent citizens were wont to do, Anno Domini 1519.
The hostess appeared pleased with the bearing of her new guest. She peered at him with a smiling look as she passed him, and when she brought him a can of old Heppacher wine, and set a silver tankard before him for his use, her mouth, which was somewhat large, expressed friendly intentions. She promised to roast a chicken, and prepare a table for him, if he would wait patiently a little while; in the mean time, she hoped the wine was to his taste. The bow window, in which Albert had taken his seat, was a couple of steps higher than the floor of the room, so that he could easily look down upon and examine the company. Though he was not accustomed to pass much time in inns and drinking rooms, he had a peculiar tact in judging of the characters of men, and from the circumstance of his being more a man of observation than of talk, he now had an opportunity of putting this talent into practice.
The party which was sitting around one of the large oak tables, consisted of ten or twelve men. There did not appear to be much difference in point of circumstances among them, at the first glance; large beards, short hair, round caps, dark jackets, were common to them all; but, upon a closer inspection, three of them were to be particularised from the rest. One, sitting nearest to Albert, was a short, fat, good-humoured looking man; his hair, which fell over his neck, was longer and more carefully combed than his neighbours'; his dark beard appeared also to be the peculiar object of his attention. His cloak of fine black cloth, and a felt hat with a pointed crown and broad brim, which hung on a nail behind him, denoted him to be a man of some consequence, perhaps holding the rank of counsellor. He appeared also to drink a better sort of wine than the rest, for he sipped it with the air of a connoisseur, and when he made a sign that his jug was empty, by putting on the cover, a fashion peculiar to those days, he did it with a certain grace and in more polished manner than the others. He listened to everything that was said with a cunning look, like one who knew more than he would deign to express upon the present occasion. He enjoyed also the privilege of patting the waiting maid on the cheek, or stroking her round plump arm, when she replenished his can.
Another man, who sat at the opposite end of the table, was not less distinguished than his fat neighbour, from the rest of the group; every thing belonging to him was lengthy and gaunt. His face from the forehead to a long pointed chin, measured at least a good span; his fingers, with which he was beating time to a song he hummed to himself, closely resembled the limbs of the spider tribe; and as Albert happened to bend himself, he discovered two long lanky legs, belonging to the same personage, stretched under the table. There was something about the twist of his nose also that expressed self-sufficiency, evidently a prominent feature of his character, for he invariably contradicted the rest of the party, whenever they spoke. His manner altogether was that of one who pretends to unrestrained intimacy with persons of higher rank in life than himself, but who never feels at ease in their society. Albert thought it not likely that he belonged to the town of Pfullingen, for he occasionally inquired of the hostess after his horse, and forming his opinion upon the whole bearing of this extraordinary looking person, he supposed him to be a travelling doctor, who in those days rode about the country, dispatching people professionally.
The third person who attracted Albert's observation was ill-conditioned, and raggedly clothed; but there was something quick and cunning in his appearance, that distinguished him from the good-humour and tranquillity of his companions, particularly the fat man. He wore a large plaister over one of his eyes, whilst the look of the other was bold and sharp. A large walking stick, with an iron spike at the end, lay beside him, and a well-worn leather back to his coat, upon which he probably carried a basket or box, prompted the idea of his being either a messenger, or more likely a travelling pedlar, one who visits fairs and festivals, bringing wonderful news from distant lands, remedies for women against mad animals, and all sorts of coloured ribands and silks for girls.
These three men led the conversation, which only now and then was interrupted by an expression of astonishment from the rest of the worthy burghers, or by the noise of the covers of their wine cans.
One subject, among others, appeared the principal point of discussion between them, and drew the attention of Albert. They spoke of the undertakings of the League in the low land of Würtemberg. The pedlar with the leather back related the storming of Möckmühl by the League, where Götz von Berlichingen had shut himself up with many brave followers, and where that iron-fisted man was made prisoner.
The counsellor smiled knowingly at this piece of news, and took a long draught of wine; Raw-bones did not permit the leather back man to finish his story, but beating time with renewed force with his long fingers, said, with sepulchral voice, "That's a rank lie, friend! it is impossible, d' ye see; because Berlichingen understands the art of war, and is a determined man; I ought to know that; and besides, he alone, with his iron hand, has in many a battle killed two hundred men as dead as mice; do you suppose then that such a man would allow himself to be taken?"
"With your permission," interrupted the fat gentleman, "you are wrong in what you say, because I know that Götz is, in fact, a prisoner, and is now confined in Heilbron. He did not surrender himself, however; neither was his castle of Möckmühl stormed; but when he was marching out of the gate, the League having promised him and his followers a free retreat, they fell on him, took him prisoner, and killed many of his men. That was not fair, and he has been infamously treated."
"I must beg of you, sir," said the thin man, "not to speak of the League in such terms; I am acquainted with many of the officers, for example, Herr Truchses von Waldburg is my most intimate friend."
The fat man looked big, and appeared as if he wished to make a reply, but, upon second thoughts, washed the words which were upon the tip of his tongue, down his throat with a draught of wine. The other burghers, however, broke out in a murmur of astonishment at the mention of such a high acquaintance, and raised their caps out of respect.
"Well, if you are so well acquainted with the movements of the League, as you pretend to be," said the pedlar, with something of a haughty mien, "you will be able to give us the last intelligence respecting the state of Tübingen."
"It whistles out of its last hole," answered the rawbone man; "I was there but a short time ago, and saw most formidable preparations for the siege."
"Eh!--what?" whispered the inquisitive burghers among themselves, and drew nearer, expecting to hear some important news.
The thin man leaned back on his chair, grasped the handle of his sword with his long fingers, stretched out his legs a yard further, and said, with an air of triumph, "Yes, yes, my friends, it looks very bad there; the surrounding places in the neighbourhood have suffered; all the fruit trees have been cut down, the town and castle furiously bombarded, the former having already surrendered. Forty knights, indeed, still defend the castle; but they cannot hold out their tottering walls much longer!"
"What tottering walls do you talk of?" cried the fat man; "whoever has seen the castle of Tübingen, must not talk of tottering walls. Are there not two deep ditches on the side towards the mountains, which no ladder of the League can scale, and walls twelve feet thick, with high towers, whence the falconets keep up no insignificant fire, I can tell you?"
"Battered down, battered down!" cried the thin man, with such a fearful hollow voice, as made the astonished burghers think they heard the falling of the towers of Tübingen about their ears: "the new tower, which Ulerich lately built, was battered down by Fronsberg, as if it had never stood there."
"But everything is not lost with that," answered the pedlar; "the knights make sallies from the castle, and many a one has found his bed in the Neckar. Old Fronsberg had his hat shot from his head, which makes his ears tingle to this day, I'll be bound."
"There you are wrong again," said the thin man, carelessly; "sallies, indeed! the besiegers have light cavalry enough, who fight like devils; they are Greeks; but whether they come from the Ganges or Epirus, I know not, and are called Stratiots, commanded by George Samares, who does not allow a dog of them to sally out of their holes."1
"He also has been made to bite the grass," replied the pedlar, with a scornful side glance: "the dogs, as you call them, did make a sally, in spite of the Greeks, and made their leader prisoner, and----"
"Samares prisoner?" cried the rawbone man, startled out of his tranquillity; "you are not right again, friend!"
"No?" answered the other, quietly; "I heard the bells toll, as he was buried in the church of Saint George."
The burghers looked attentively at the thin stranger, to notice the impression this news would make on him. His thick eyebrows fell so low that his eyes were scarcely visible; he twisted his long thin mustachios, and striking the table with his bony hand, said: "And if they have cut him and his Greeks into a hundred pieces, the besieged can't help themselves! the castle must fall; and when Tübingen is ours, good night to Würtemburg! Ulerich is out of the country, and my noble friends and benefactors will be the masters."
"How do you know that he will not come back again? and then----" said the cautious fat man, and clapped on the cover of his goblet.
"What! come back again?" cried the other: "the beggar! who says he will come back again? Who dares say it?"
"What does it signify to us?" murmured the guests; "we are peaceable citizens; and it is all the same to us who is lord of the land, provided the taxes are lowered. In a public house a man has a right to say what he pleases."
The thin man appeared satisfied that none of the company dared return an angry answer. He eyed each of them with a searching look, when, assuming a kinder manner, he said, "It was only to put you in mind, that we do not want the Duke any longer as our master that I speak as I do; upon my soul, he is rank poison to me; so I'll sing you apaternoster, which a friend wrote upon him, and which pleases me much." The honest burghers, by their looks, did not appear very curious to hear a burlesque song upon their unfortunate Duke. The other, however, having cleared his throat with a good draught, began a few words of a burlesque parody on the Lord's Prayer, in a disagreeable hoarse tone of voice--a vulgar song, apparently familiar to the ears of his audience--for no sooner had he commenced, than the good taste of the burghers manifested itself by a whisper of disapprobation; some shrugging their shoulders, others winking at each other; symptoms sufficiently evident to the thin man, that the burden of his song was not welcome to their ears. He therefore stopt short, looking around for encouragement; but, finding none, he threw himself back in his chair, with a scowl of contempt on his features.
"I know that song well," said the pedlar; "and shame be to him who would offend the ears of honest men with it. With your permission," he added, addressing the company, "I'll give you one I think more to your taste." Encouraged by the rest of the burghers, excepting the thin man, who squinted at him with scorn, he began:
Mourn, Würtemberg! thy fallen state,Thy drooping pride, thy luckless fate!A Quack, whom even dogs despise,Presumes to make thy fortunes rise.
Mourn, Würtemberg! thy fallen state,
Thy drooping pride, thy luckless fate!
A Quack, whom even dogs despise,
Presumes to make thy fortunes rise.
Noisy applause and laughter, mingled with the hisses of the thin man, interrupted the singer. The burghers reached across the table, shook the pedlar by the hand, praised his song, and begged him to proceed. The raw bone man said not a word, but looked furiously at the company. He knew not whether to envy the applause which the songster received, or to feel offended at the subject of his song. The fat man put on an air of greater wisdom than usual, and joined in approbation with the rest. The leather-backed pedlar was going on, encouraged by his audience:
Of Nurenberg he, a knife-grinder by trade;His friend was a weaver, a man of low grade--
Of Nurenberg he, a knife-grinder by trade;
His friend was a weaver, a man of low grade--
when the thin man, upon hearing these words, and not able to contain his indignation, flew into a violent rage, and vociferated: "May the cuckoo stick in your throat, you ragged dog! I know very well who you mean by the weaver,--my best friend, Herr von Fugger. That such a vagabond as you should calumniate him!" expressing his anger by a frightful distortion of his countenance.
But his opponent was in no wise to be daunted, and held his muscular fist before him, saying, "Vagabond yourself, Mr. Calmus, I know who you are; and if you don't keep silence, I'll twist those pot-ladle arms of yours off your half-starved body."
The crest-fallen guest rose immediately, and pronounced his regret to have fallen into such low company; he paid for his wine, and walked out of the room with the strut of a man of quality.
Footnote 1: The appearance of these Greeks at the siege of Tübingen was an extraordinary event; they were called Stratiots, and were commanded by George Samares, from Corona, in Albania. He was buried in the collegiate church of Tübingen. Crusius says, he was famous for wielding the lance.
Hope, faith, and confidence are there,For all that I esteem are near;And yet suspicion finds its way,And makes my hopeless mind its prey.Schiller.
Hope, faith, and confidence are there,
For all that I esteem are near;
And yet suspicion finds its way,
And makes my hopeless mind its prey.
Schiller.
When the offensive man left the room, the guests looked at each other with astonishment; they were in a state of mind similar to that of one who sees a heavy storm arise, and expects it to burst and overwhelm him; when, behold, it produces little more than a flash in the pan. They thanked the man with the leather back for having driven away the odious stranger, and inquired what he knew of him?
"I know him well," he answered; "he is a worthless, idle fellow, a travelling doctor, who sells pills to cure the plague; extracts the worm from dogs, and crops their ears; eases young women of thick necks; and gives the old ones eyewater, which, instead of healing, makes them blind. His proper name is Kahlmaüser, or baldmouse; pretending to be a learned man, he calls himself doctor Calmus. He fastens himself upon the great, and should one of them call him ass, he fawns upon him as his best friend."
"But he cannot be upon good terms with the Duke," remarked the cunning-looking man; "for he abused him in no measured terms."
"Yes, he certainly is not happy with him; and for this reason--the Duke had a beautiful Danish sporting dog, which had run a thorn deep into its foot. It was a great favourite of the Duke, who inquired after an experienced man to cure it; and it so happened that this Kahlmaüser was on the spot, and tendered his services, with a look full of consequence. The wretch was fed every day with the best of food in the castle of Stuttgardt, and the fare was so palatable that he remained more than a quarter of a-year, doctoring the dog's foot. The Duke one day called for both doctor and dog, to know and see what had been done. The quack, it appears, talked a great deal of learned stuff, to which the Duke paid no attention; but, upon examining the wound himself, he found the dog's foot worse than ever. He laid hold of the doctor, tall as he was, led him to the top of the long flight of steps, so contrived that a horse can mount up to the second story, and threw him headlong down. He was half dead when he arrived at the bottom, so you may imagine that since that time, Doctor Calmus does not speak well of the Duke. He is also said to have been a spy between Hutten and Frau Sabina, and only undertook the care of the dog for the purpose of remaining in the castle to carry on intrigues."
"Really! was he in correspondence with Hutten?" said one of the burghers; "if we had but known that, he should not have come off so cheaply, the vagabond doctor; for Hutten's amorous intrigue is the cause of this unhappy war; and it appears that this Kahlmaüser assisted him in it!"
"De mortuis nil nisi bonum,--we ought to spare the dead, say the Latins," replied the fat man; "the poor devil has paid his crime dear enough with his life."
"It served him right," cried the other burgher, angrily; "had I been in the Duke's place I would have done the same; every one must protect his domestic rights."
"Do not you ride sometimes hunting with the bailiff?" asked the fat man, with a peculiar crafty smile: "you surely have the best opportunity to assert your rights; you possess a sword, and could easily find an oak tree to hang a corpse upon."
A loud laugh from the burghers of Pfullingen apprised the stranger in the balcony, that the jealous upholder of domestic rights was not so well able to administer justice in his own house. He coloured up, and murmured some unintelligible words as he put his can to his mouth.
The pedlar, however, who, as a stranger, thought it not courteous to join in the laugh, took his part: "Yes, indeed, the Duke was quite in the right, for he had the power of hanging Hutten upon the spot, without giving him a chance of his life in fair honourable fight. Is he not president of the Westphalian chair, and of the secret tribunal, which gives him the power of dispatching villanous fellows without further ceremony? Had he not the best proof of his treachery before his eyes? Have you ever heard a pretty little song upon that subject? I'll sing a couple of verses, if you like:
"In the forest he turn'd him to Hutten, to know,What't was on his hand that glittered so?""Lord Duke, it is this little ring you see,This ring which my sweet love gave to me.""Hey, Hans, by my troth thou art nobly drest,A chain of gold, too, lies on thy breast.""That, too, my true love gave so free,A pledge that she would remember me."
"In the forest he turn'd him to Hutten, to know,What't was on his hand that glittered so?""Lord Duke, it is this little ring you see,This ring which my sweet love gave to me."
"In the forest he turn'd him to Hutten, to know,
What't was on his hand that glittered so?"
"Lord Duke, it is this little ring you see,
This ring which my sweet love gave to me."
"Hey, Hans, by my troth thou art nobly drest,A chain of gold, too, lies on thy breast.""That, too, my true love gave so free,A pledge that she would remember me."
"Hey, Hans, by my troth thou art nobly drest,
A chain of gold, too, lies on thy breast."
"That, too, my true love gave so free,
A pledge that she would remember me."
"And then it goes on:
"Oh! Hutten, away! nor spare the goad,The Duke's eye rolls with fury wode;Away, whilst there is yet time to fly,The scabbard is voided, his sword is on high."
"Oh! Hutten, away! nor spare the goad,
The Duke's eye rolls with fury wode;
Away, whilst there is yet time to fly,
The scabbard is voided, his sword is on high."
The fat man put on a serious face, and said, "I would not advise you to go on; such songs in public houses, in these times, are dangerous; they cannot serve the Duke's cause at present. The confederates being round about us, some one of them might easily overhear it," he added, as he cast a scrutinizing glance at Albert, "and then Pfullingen might have to pay another hundred ducats contribution."
"God knows, you are in the right," said the pedlar; "it is no longer the case, as it used to be, when one could freely speak his mind, and sing a song over his glass; but now a man must always be on the look out, to see that a partizan of the Duke's does not sit on one side, or a Leaguist on the other; but, in spite of Bavarian or Swabian, I'll sing the last verse:
"There stands an oak in Schönbuch wood,It shoots aloft and it spreads abroad;And centuries hence recorded shall be,That the Duke hang'd Hutten on that very tree."
"There stands an oak in Schönbuch wood,
It shoots aloft and it spreads abroad;
And centuries hence recorded shall be,
That the Duke hang'd Hutten on that very tree."
When he had finished, the conversation among the burghers sunk into a whisper, which made Albert suspect they were making comments upon him. The good-natured hostess also appeared curious to know who she entertained in the balcony. When she had spread a clean table-cloth over the round-table, and placed the repast she had prepared before him, she took her seat on the opposite side, and questioned him, but with respect and deference, whence he came, and whither he was going?
The young man was not inclined to give her positive information as to the real object of his journey. The conversation to which he had listened at the long table, made him cautious in giving an answer to her leading question, for he felt that in times of civil strife, it was not less indiscreet than dangerous to declare, in a place like a public inn, to what party he belonged. Albert's peculiar circumstances at this moment required him to exercise more than ordinary prudence, and he merely said, "that he came from Franconia, and was going further into the country, in the neighbourhood of Zollern." With this general answer to the question, he cut short any other upon the same subject. But being now in the neighbourhood of Lichtenstein, he thought he might be able to learn something of the family from the loquacious landlady of the Golden Stag. Putting a few questions to her respecting the different surrounding castles and their inhabitants, in the hope of gaining his point, she very soon related to him reports which deeply affected his future prospects; for upon the truth or falsehood of them seemed, to his ardent mind, to depend his future happiness or misery.
The hostess, fond of a gossip, in less than a quarter of an hour gave him the history of five or six castles about the country, and among them of Lichtenstein. The young man drew a deep breath at the sound of that name, and pushed away the plate from before him, to devote his whole attention to what she said:
"Well, the owners of Lichtenstein are not poor; on the contrary, they possess fields and woods in plenty, and not an acre of land is mortgaged; rather than do so, the old gentleman would allow his beard to be shaved off, for believe me he prizes it much, and takes a pride in smoothing it down when people speak to him. He is a severe stern man, and what he has once determined upon must be done; as the saying is, should the bow not bend, it must break. He is also one of those who have continued faithful to the Duke, for which the League will make him pay dear."
"How is his----, I mean--you said he had a daughter?"
"No," answered the hostess, whilst her cheerful face became clouded of a sudden, "I certainly said nothing about her, that I am aware of. But he has a daughter, the good old man; and it had been much better for him that he went childless to the grave, rather than depart in sorrow on account of his only child."
Albert could scarcely believe his ears at these words: what reason could the landlady have to throw out this allusion? "What has happened to the young lady?" he asked, whilst he in vain sought to appear indifferent: "you have excited my curiosity; or is it a secret you dare not divulge?"
The woman of the Golden Stag mysteriously looked around on all sides, to see that no one was listening; the burghers were quietly taken up with their own conversation, and paid no attention to them, and there was no one else in the room who could overhear them. "You, I perceive, are a stranger," she said, after her scrutiny; "you are travelling further, and have nothing to do in this neighbourhood, so that I can communicate to you what I would not confide to every one. The lady who lives there on the Lichtenstein rock, is a----, a----yes; what the citizens with us would call, a wicked girl, a----"
"Landlady!" cried Albert.
"Don't speak so loud, worthy sir; the people will notice it. Do you suppose I would venture to say what I do not know to be certain truth? Only think, every night as the clock strikes eleven, she lets her lover into the castle. Is not that wicked enough for a well-bred young lady?"
"Mind what you say! Her lover?"
"Yes, alas! at eleven o'clock in the night, her lover. Is it not a shame, a disgrace! He is a tall man, and comes to the gate enveloped in a grey cloak. She has so well arranged it, that all the servants are out of the way at that hour except the old porter of the gate, who has assisted her in all her wicked tricks from her childhood. When the clock strikes eleven in the village, she always comes herself down into the court, cold as it may be, and brings the keys of the drawbridge, which she beforehand steals from her father's bed; the old sinner, the porter, then opens the lock, lets down the bridge, when the man in the grey cloak hastens to the presence of the young lady."
"And then?" asked Albert, who scarcely had any more breath in his breast, scarcely any more blood in his cheeks,--"and then?"
"Then she brings food, bread and wine: so much is certain, that the nightly lover must have an uncommon appetite, for many nights running he has demolished half a haunch of roebuck, and drank three or four pints of wine; what else they do, I know not; I guess nothing, I say nothing; but I suppose," she added, with an upward look to heaven, "they don't pray."
Albert was angry with himself, after a moment's reflection, for having doubted for an instant the falsehood of this narration, spun from some gossipping head; or, should there be any truth in it, it was impossible that Bertha could act with dishonour to herself. We are told that, though the passion of love in the young men of the good old times was not less ardent than in our days, it bore more the character of idolized respect. It was the custom, in those days, for the lady wooed to think herself not only not upon an equality, but far superior to her suitor.
If we look to the romantic tales and love stories in old chronicles, we shall find many descriptions of enamoured knights allowing themselves to be cut to pieces on the spot, rather than doubt the faith and purity of their mistresses. Judging therefore from this fact, it is not surprising that Albert von Sturmfeder could not bring his mind to think ill of Bertha, and however puzzling these nocturnal visits appeared to him, he clearly perceived it had not been proved that her father was ignorant of the transaction, or that the mysterious man was her lover. He mentioned these doubts to his hostess.
"Really! you suppose that her father is acquainted with it?" said she; "not at all--I know it for a certainty, because old Rosel, the young lady's nurse----"
"Old Rosel said so?" cried Albert, involuntarily: the nurse, being the sister of the fifer of Hardt, was well known to him. If she had really said so, the case was no longer to be doubted, for he knew that she was a pious woman, and devoted to her charge.
"Do you know old Rosel?" she asked, wondering at the warmth with which her guest inquired after that woman.
"I know her? you forget that I come for the first time to-day in your neighbourhood; it was only the name of Rosel which struck me."
Albert parried this question, being desirous the woman should not suspect he was acquainted with the Knight of Lichtenstein or his family.
"Don't they call her so in your country? Rosel means Rosina with us, and the old nurse in Lichtenstein goes by that name. But observe, she is a particular friend of mine, and comes now and then to see me, when I give her a glass of hot sweet wine, which she loves dearly, and out of gratitude tells me all the news. What I have told you comes from her mouth. Old Lichtenstein knows nothing of the nocturnal visits, because he goes to bed regularly at eight o'clock; and his daughter sends her nurse every evening at eight o'clock also to her apartment. It struck the good Rosel, however, a few nights ago, that there must be some mysterious cause for this conduct. She pretended to go to bed,--and only think what happened? Scarcely was everything quiet in the castle, when the young lady, who otherwise never touches a chip of wood, laid heavy logs on the hearth with her own delicate hands, made a fire, cooked and roasted the best way she could, got wine out of the cellar, and bread out of the cupboard, and spread the table in the dining room. She then opened the window and looked out in the cold dark night, when, just as the village clock struck eleven, the drawbridge rattled down on its chains, the nocturnal visitor entered, and went into the dining room with the young lady. Rosel has often listened in vain to hear the conversation between them, but the oak doors are very thick, and she peeped also once through the keyhole, but could only perceive the head of the stranger."
"Well, is he an old man? What does he look like?"
"Old, indeed? what are you thinking about? She does not look like one who would put up with an old lover. Rosel told me he was young and handsome, with a dark beard on his chin and lip, beautiful smooth hair on his head, and looked very kind and gracious."
"May Satan pluck hair for hair out of his beard!" muttered Albert, as he passed his hand over his own chin, which was tolerably smooth. "Woman! are you sure you have really heard all this from old Rosel? Have you not added more than she told you?"
"God forbid that I should calumniate any one! You don't know me, sir knight! Rosel told me every word of it, and she suspects a great deal more, and whispered in my ear things which it does not become a respectable woman to relate to a young man. And only think how very wicked the young lady must be; she has had also another lover, to whom she is unfaithful."
"Another?" asked Albert, to whom the narration appeared to gain more and more the semblance of truth.
"Yes, another; who according to Rosel's account must be a charming nice young man. She was with her young mistress in Tübingen, and there was a Herr von ---- von ----, I believe he was called Sturmfittich; he studied at the University; they became acquainted with each other there; and the old nurse declares such a handsome couple was not to be found in all Swabia. She was over head and ears in love with him, that's true; and was very unhappy when she parted with him in Tübingen; but now her false heart is unfaithful to the poor youth, and Rosel really weeps when she thinks of him; he is handsomer, much handsomer, than her present lover."
The hostess, who had quite forgotten her household duties in her zeal to relate the gossip of the neighbourhood, was now called by the fat man in the drinking room: "Landlady," said he, "how long must I knock here, before I get another can of wine."
"Coming, coming, sir!" she answered, and flew to the bar to satisfy the importunate man, and from thence she went to the cellar, and then to the kitchen, and was all of a sudden so full of business, that her guest in the bow had sufficient time to ponder over all he had just heard. He sat there, his hand supporting his head, looking with fixed eyes into the bottom of his silver tankard; he remained in that position from the afternoon till the evening; night advanced, and still he sat at the round table, dead to all the world about him, giving signs of life only by an occasional deep sigh. The landlady did not know what to make of him. She had placed herself at least a dozen times near him, had tried to speak with him, but he only looked at her with a staring eye, and answered nothing. She at last got very uneasy, for just in the same way had her good husband of blessed memory gazed at her when he died, and left her in possession of the Golden Stag.
She consulted the fat man, and he with the leather back gave his opinion also. The landlady maintained that he must be either over head and ears in love, or that some one must have bewitched him. She strengthened her supposition by a terrible history of a young knight, whom she had seen, and whose whole body became quite stiff from sheer love, which caused his death.
The pedlar was of a different opinion; he thought that some misfortune must have happened to the stranger, a circumstance which often befals those engaged in war, and that, therefore, he was in deep distress. But the fat man, winking, asked, with a countenance full of cunning conjecture, what was the growth and age of the wine the gentleman had been drinking?
"He has had old Heppacher of the year 1480," said the landlady: "it is the best that the Golden Stag furnishes."
"There we have it," said the wise fat man; "I know the Heppacher of the year eighty, and such a young fellow cannot stand it; it has got into his head. Let him alone, with his heavy head upon his hand; I'll bet that before the clock strikes eight he will have slept his wine out, and be as fresh as a fish in water."
The pedlar shook his head and said nothing; but the hostess praised the acknowledged sagacity of the fat man, and thought his supposition the most probable.
It was now nine o'clock; the daily visitors of the drinking room had all left it, and the landlady was also on the point of retiring to rest, as the stranger awoke out of his reverie. He started up, made a few hasty steps about the room, and at last stood before the hostess. His look was clouded and disturbed, and the short time which had elapsed between mid-day and the present moment had so far altered the features of his otherwise kind, open countenance, as to impart to them an expression of deep melancholy.
The kind-hearted woman was grieved at his appearance; and calling to mind the sagacious supposition which the fat man had pronounced as to the cause of his agitation, she proposed cooking a comfortable supper and preparing a bed for him; but her kind offices were altogether unavailing, as he appeared bent upon a rougher pastime for the night.
"When did you say," he inquired with a altering voice, "when did you say the nocturnal guest went to Lichtenstein? and at what hour did he depart?"
"He enters at eleven o'clock, dear sir," she replied; "and at the first cock crow he retires over the drawbridge."
"Order my horse to be saddled immediately, and let me have a guide to Lichtenstein."
"At this hour of night!" cried the landlady, and clasped her hands together in astonishment; "you would not start now: you surely cannot be in earnest."
"Yes, good woman, I am in real earnest; so make haste, for I am in a hurry."
"You have not been so all day long," she replied, "and you now would rush over head and ears into the dark. The fresh air, indeed, may do invalids such as you some good; but don't suppose I'll let your horse out of the stable this night; you might fall off, or a hundred accidents might happen to you, and then it would be said, 'where was the head of the landlady of the Golden Stag, to let people leave her house in such a state, and at such an hour.'"
The young man did not heed her conversation, having relapsed into the same melancholy mood as before; but when she finished, and paused to get an answer, he roused up again, and wondered that she had not yet put his orders into execution.
While she still hesitated to meet his wishes, and saw he was on the point of going himself to look after his steed, she thought that, as her good intentions were unavailable to retain him in her house, it would be more advisable to let him have his own way. "Bring the gentleman's horse out," she called to her servant, "and let Andres get ready immediately, to accompany him part of the way. He is in the right to take some one with him," she said to herself, "who may be of use to him in case of need. How much do you owe me, did you say, sir knight? why, you have had a measure of wine, which makes twelve kreuzers; and the dinner,--as to that it's not worth talking about, for you ate so little; indeed you scarcely looked at my fowl. If you give me two more kreuzers for the feed of your horse, you shall receive the thanks of the poor widow of the Golden Stag."
Having paid his reckoning in the small current money of the times, Albert took his leave of his kind landlady, who though her opinion of him was somewhat changed since he first entered her house, proceeding from an air of mystery about his character which she could not account for, still she could not conceal from herself, when he threw himself into the saddle by the light of a torch, that she had seldom seen a handsomer youth. She therefore impressed upon the lad who accompanied him to be very careful, and keep an especial look out upon the gentleman, "who," she added, "did not appear to be quite right in his head." Having reached the outer gate of Pfullingen, the guide asked his new master where he wished to go? and upon his answer, "to Lichtenstein," took a road to the right, leading to the mountains. Albert rode on in profound silence; he looked not to the right nor to the left, neither at the stars over head nor in the distant horizon; his eye only sought the ground. His mind now was in much the same state as at that moment when a blow from the hand of an enemy laid him senseless on the ground. His thoughts stood still, hope no longer animated him, he had ceased to love and to wish. But at that time, when he sank, exhausted, on nature's cool carpet, his last thoughts were cheered with the endearing recollection of his beloved, and his benumbed lips were still able to pronounce once more her idolized name.
But that light seemed to be extinguished which had hitherto guided his steps. It appeared as if he had but a short distance still to go in the dark, in order to seek his peace of mind in a light different to that he had fondly hoped to find on the Lichtenstein rock. His right hand went occasionally to his sword, as if to assure himself that at least this companion was faithful to him, for he now trusted to it alone, as the important key by which he might open the door that would lead from darkness to light.
The travellers had long since reached the wood; the path became steeper, and the horse with difficulty ascended the hill with his rider, who was, however, unconscious of all surrounding objects. The night air blew cool, and played with the flowing locks of the young man,--he felt not its effects; the moon rose and lighted up the road, which ascended amidst huge masses of rock and tall oaks, under which he passed,--he noticed them not; time flowed on unobserved by him; hour followed hour in rapid succession, unheeded by his troubled mind.
It was past midnight when they arrived at the summit of the highest hill, and having reached the skirts of the wood, they beheld the castle of Lichtenstein before them, situated upon an insulated perpendicular rock, rising as if by magic from the depths of darkness, and separated by a broad chasm from the surrounding country. Its white walls, its indented rocks, glimmered in the moonlight; it seemed as if the castle slumbered in the profound tranquillity of solitude, cut off from the rest of the world.
Albert cast a troubled glance towards it, and sprang from his horse, which he fastened to a tree, and sat down on a stone covered with moss directly opposite the castle. The guide stood waiting for further orders, and asked several times in vain, whether his services were required any longer.
"How long is it to the first crow of cock?" inquired Albert at last.
"Two hours, sir," was the answer of the lad.
He then gave him a handsome reward for his conduct, and made signs to him to depart. The boy hesitated to obey him, as if afraid of leaving the young man in his present state of mind; but, upon his repeating the sign with impatience, he withdrew with a slow step. He looked back once before he regained the wood, and observed his silent master still seated upon the same stone, under an oak, with his hand supporting his head.