The Duke, so sad, can find no rest,And dark reflections fill his breast;"How far, alas! from me removed,How much is sunk, the land I loved."G. Schwab.
The Duke, so sad, can find no rest,
And dark reflections fill his breast;
"How far, alas! from me removed,
How much is sunk, the land I loved."
G. Schwab.
Good Friday and Easter Sunday passed away, and Albert von Sturmfeder still remained at Lichtenstein. The knight of the castle had invited him to continue his visit until the war should take some decided turn, which would afford him an opportunity to render the Duke important service. We may well suppose how willingly the young man accepted the invitation.
To be under the same roof with his beloved, always near her, occasionally to pass a few moments with her alone, and to be loved of her father, were privileges his fondest dreams had never anticipated. One circumstance only clouded these delights, and that was, a certain gloomy anxiety of expression which at times hung about the brow of Bertha's father. It appeared that he was not satisfied with the news which he received from the Duke and the theatre of war. Messengers came to the castle at different times of day, but they arrived and departed without the knight imparting to his guest the contents of their despatches. Sometimes Albert thought he even saw the fifer of Hardt in the dusk of the evening gliding across the bridge. Hoping to get some information from him, he once hurried down to meet him; but by the time he reached the bridge, no trace of him was to be found.
Feeling somewhat hurt by being left in total ignorance of the state of affairs, which he conceived he had a right to be informed of, after the decided part he had taken, he could not help saying to Bertha, "I have tendered my services unreservedly to the Duke's friends, in spite of their cause not being very prosperous. The man in the cavern and the knight of Lichtenstein have both shewn me much friendship and confidence, but only up to a certain point. Why should I not know what is going on at Tübingen? Why should I not be made acquainted with the Duke's operations? Am I only kept here as a forlorn hope? Why do they disdain my advice?"
Bertha endeavoured to console him, and succeeded at times by mild persuasion to drive such thoughts from his mind; but there were moments when they returned with double force, and particularly when he saw her father absorbed in the consideration of the state of affairs.
At length, on the evening of Easter day, he could contain himself no longer, and put a direct question to the old knight, asking him if their affairs were in danger, what was the state of the Duke's plans, and whether his services would not be called into action soon? But his patron, taking him kindly by the hand, answered, "I have long remarked, that your heart is ready to burst with impatience in consequence of your being denied a share in our labours and cares; but only have a little more patience; perhaps one day longer may decide many important subjects. What is the use of tormenting you with the uncertain intelligence which our messengers have lately brought? Your ardent young mind is not fitted to unmask intrigue, or to counteract artifice. When the crisis approaches upon which we can base our plans with safety, believe me you shall be a welcome member in council and action. All you need know at present is, that our circumstances are neither good nor bad, but that we shall soon be obliged to act with increased decision."
Albert gave the old man due credit for his reserve, but still he was anything but satisfied with his answer. He could not even learn the name of the exile, of whom Bertha had inquired the night preceding, when he came to the castle as usual, if he would allow her to make him known to their guest, but the only answer he gave was, "The proper moment is not yet arrived."
There was still another circumstance which offended Albert'samour propre. He had often made known to the knight of Lichtenstein the intense interest he took in the welfare of the exile, and what heartfelt pleasure it would give him to cultivate his further acquaintance; nevertheless, he had never once been invited to join the nocturnal visit of the mysterious guest. He was too proud to press the subject; he waited night after night in the expectation of being called in to speak to the man, but he waited in vain. He resolved therefore to see the stranger some night without an invitation, and for this purpose he sought a fitting opportunity. His room, which he was obliged to enter every night regularly at eight o'clock, overlooked the valley below, and was situated immediately opposite to the side on which the bridge was placed. It was therefore out of the question to see him coming from this position. The large room on the second floor, which was not far from his own, was locked every night, and consequently debarred him from satisfying his curiosity from thence. On the landing place, to which the doors of the different rooms led, there were indeed two windows looking towards the bridge, but as they were grated and stood high, the view from them was confined to the distant country, and there was no possibility of obtaining a sight of the desired spot. Nothing was left for him, therefore, than to conceal himself somewhere in order to gratify his curiosity. On the first floor the plan was impossible, because the many people living there would subject him to discovery. But when he examined the gateway and the stables, which were hewn out of the solid rock, he discovered a niche near the drawbridge, concealed behind the wings of the gate, which were only shut when an enemy was before the castle. This was the spot which appeared best suited to secure him from discovery, and which afforded room enough to enable him to observe what was going on. On the left of the niche the drawbridge joined on to the gate, the stairs which led up to the dwelling rooms were on the right, in front was the entrance passage, which every one must pass who came into the castle. Albert determined to slip into this position on the coming night.
At eight o'clock a page brought him his night lamp, and led him, as usual, to his apartment. The lord of the castle and his daughter kindly wished him good night. He entered his room, and dismissing his servant, who generally assisted him to undress, threw himself on his bed in his clothes. He listened attentively to each hour of the clock as it struck in the village, and whose sounds were wafted towards him by the night-breeze. He often closed his eyes, and at times fell into that state when it requires painful exertion to combat the power of sleep. His present object was sufficiently important to keep him on the alert, and prevent him losing the opportunity of satisfying his curiosity. Ten o'clock had long struck; all was as still as death in the castle. He jumped up, took off his heavy boots and spurs, threw his cloak over him, and cautiously opened the door of his room. He held his breath, fearing to make the least noise; the hinges of the door creaked--he stopped to listen whether any one had heard the treacherous sound. Every thing remained quiet; the moon threw a dim light on the landing place, and Albert thought himself fortunate she had not betrayed him a second time. He glided softly towards the winding stairs, and stopped again to listen if all was quiet; he heard nothing but the whistling of the wind, and the rustling of the oak trees on the further side of the bridge. He stepped carefully down the stairs. The least noise sounds louder in the depth and quiet of night than at other times; attention is awakened at the slightest movement, which would not be noticed in the day time. If his foot stepped upon a grain of sand, its grating sound went up the winding stairs, and startled him into the supposition that the whole house was on the alert. Having arrived at the first floor, he listened again, and heard nothing but the faint cracking of the dying embers on the hearth of the kitchen. At last he got to his destination, an expedition upon which he had expended a whole quarter of an hour's time, which otherwise was an affair but of a moment. He placed himself in the niche, and drew the wing of the gate closer to him, so that it fully covered his position. A fissure in the door was large enough to enable him to see distinctly every thing that passed. Nothing appeared to move in the castle, though he thought he heard light footsteps above him, which he supposed might be those of Bertha.
After waiting a tedious long quarter of an hour, the village clock struck eleven. This being the appointed time of the nocturnal visit, Albert directed all his attention to hear the stranger's approach. A few minutes after he heard the dog bark, when at the same time a deep voice from the other side of the ditch hailed, and said, "Lichtenstein!"
"Who comes there?" was answered from the castle.
"The man is there," replied the other voice, which sounded familiar to his ear as being the one he had heard in the cavern.
The watchman, an old man, came forth from a casemate hewn out of the rock, and opened the lock of the drawbridge with a large curiously wrought key. Whilst he was thus employed the dog came bounding down the stairs, whining and wagging his tail, and jumped upon the old man, as if to assist him in letting fall the bridge for his master to enter. Bertha shortly after descended with a lantern, and assisted him with her light, for it appeared he had some difficulty in opening the lock.
"Make haste, Balthaser," she whispered to the old watchman, "he has been waiting some time, it is cold outside, and the wind blows keen."
"I have now only to unfasten the chain, worthy lady," he answered; "you shall soon see how well my bridge falls. I have oiled the hinges, as you ordered me, so that they do not creek any more, and disturb Mrs. Rosel out of her slumbers."
The chains rattled in their ascent, the bridge sunk gradually into its place, and the banished man, enveloped in his coarse cloak, came across. Though his bearing was deeply engraven on Albert's mind, yet his strikingly bold features, his commanding eye, his open forehead, and the agile movements of his limbs, filled the young man anew with admiration.
The nocturnal guest assisted Balthaser, the doorkeeper, to draw up the bridge, with a power which appeared almost superhuman. When the old man had withdrawn to his sleeping place, Albert overheard the following conversation between the visitor and Bertha.
"Is there any news from Tübingen? Has Maxx Stumpf returned? I read bad news in your countenance."
"No, sir, he has not yet returned," she replied; "my father expected him this very night."
"Oh, that the devil would give him heels! I must remain here till he comes, if it be for a whole day. Ha! a cold night, lady," said the exile; "the screech owls will be frozen in the cavern, for I left them crying in most pitiable tones."
"Yes, it is indeed cold," she answered; "I would not go down there, upon any account; and how dreadful must it be to hear those cries; I shudder to think of it."
"If young Albert accompanied you, you would have no objections to go," answered the other smiling, and chucking the blushing girl under the chin; "is it not so? You would not hesitate to follow him there, much as you appear to dread it now."
"Ah! sir," she replied, "how can you talk in that way? Do you know, I'll not come down again to let you in if you take such liberties."
"Well, but I merely spoke in jest," said the knight, and gently pinched her glowing cheek; "you know how little opportunity I have in my dwelling to enjoy a joke. What will you give me to say a good word to your father, to induce him to make the youth your husband? You are aware the old gentleman does every thing I ask him; and if I recommend a son-in-law to him, he would accept him at all hazards."
Bertha opened wide her beautiful eyes, and cast a grateful look at him. "Dear sir," she answered, "I will not forbid your saying a kind word for Albert, particularly as my father is well inclined towards him."
"But I shall expect some reward for my trouble. Everything has its price; so what will you give?"
Bertha cast her eyes to the ground. "A heartfelt thank-ye," she replied; "but come, sir, my father has been waiting for us a long time."
She was in the act of leading on, when the knight, taking her by the hand, detained her. Albert's heart beat so hard as almost to be heard; he broke out into a violent heat, and then became ice-cold; he laid hold of the handle of the door, and was on the point of sallying forth to forbid the promise of a fixed price being given upon any pretext.
"Why are you in such haste?" he heard the man of the cavern say. "Well, for one kiss only, and I will persuade your father to send for the priest on the spot, to perform the holy ceremony." He bent his head towards the offended, blushing girl. Albert saw every thing swimming before his eyes, and was again on the point of bursting from his place of concealment, but the determined reply of his lady love checked him from taking the rash step. She beheld the man with a forbidding look. "It is impossible your Grace can be in earnest," she said; "otherwise you now see me for the last time."
"If you knew how much this scornful air becomes you," he answered, with unaltered kindness, "you would never cease to be in anger. At any rate I admire your fidelity; for when the heart is deeply engaged with one object, none other need hope for such a favour. But on your marriage day I will demand the favour, with the permission of your bridegroom, and then we'll see who is right."
"That you may do," said Bertha, smiling, whilst she withdrew her hand from his, and led the way with the light in her hand; "but you had better prepare yourself for a refusal, for he is not fond of trifling on this point."
"He is uncommonly jealous," replied the knight, as they proceeded up stairs. "I could tell you something upon that subject, which took place between him and me; but I promised silence----"
The sound of their voices died away gradually, and at last became indistinct to Albert's ear. He breathed freely again. He listened and remained in his position until he satisfied himself thoroughly that no one was on the stairs or in the passages, and, taking advantage of the opportunity, slipped up into his own room much quicker than he had descended from it. The last words of Bertha and the exile still resounded in his ears. He blushed to think of his unfounded jealousy, which had again tormented him this night. Bertha had, unknown to herself, given him evident proofs of the purity of her heart and faithful attachment to him; and it was only when he laid his head on his pillow and fell to sleep, that his mind was eased of the pain of having unjustly suspected her.
When he left his room the next morning at seven o'clock, the hour which the family generally assembled at breakfast, Bertha met him on the landing place with the appearance of having been weeping. She took him on one side, and whispered, "Tread softly, Albert; the knight of the cavern is still with us; he has been asleep about an hour; we must not disturb him."
"The exile!" asked Albert in astonishment, "does he dare remain here during the day? what has happened? is he unwell?"
"No!" answered Bertha, whilst a fresh tear hung on her eyelid, "no! he expects a messenger from Tübingen about this time, and is determined to await him. We begged and prayed him to depart before daybreak, but he would not listen to our warning, so firm is his resolution to remain at all hazards."
"But could not the messenger have gone to him in the cavern?" said Albert; "he runs too great a risk unnecessarily."
"Ah! you don't know him; it is his bane when he once gets a thing into his head to be obstinately immoveable; and then he is so distrustful of others, even of his best friends. It was quite impossible for us to persuade him to leave the castle this morning, because he might have thought, perhaps, we wished to get rid of him for our own safety. His principal reason for remaining is, I believe, to consult with my father, when the messenger arrives."
During this conversation they remained stationary on the landing place, but Bertha now opened the door of her father's apartment as gently as possible, and they entered together.
This room, or what would be called in a modern establishment the gentlemen's room, was distinguished from the saloon on the second floor from being somewhat smaller. It had a view of the surrounding country on three sides, through small round windows, now pierced by the sun's morning rays. The ceiling and walls were wainscoted with dark brown wood, fancifully inlaid with other coloured woods. A few portraits of the ancestors of Lichtenstein graced the side of the wall opposite to the windows, and the tables and furniture shewed that the present occupier of the castle was a friend of old customs and times, and that his property would descend to his daughter in the same unaltered state it had been left by his great-grandfather.
The old knight was seated at a large table in the middle of the room when they entered. Supporting his long-bearded chin in his hand, he sat gloomy and motionless, with his eyes fixed on a large goblet which stood before him. It was not quite evident to Albert whether he had been sitting up all night over his glass, or whether he was taking a draught at this early hour of the morning to recruit his strength and spirits.
He saluted the young man as he approached the table by a slight inclination of the head, whilst a scarcely visible smile played about his mouth. He pointed to a goblet on the table and a stool by his side. Bertha understanding the hint, filled it with wine, and presented it to her lover, with that grace which marked every thing she did. Albert seated himself beside the old man, and drank.
The latter drew his chair near to him, and said in a low tone of voice, "I fear our affairs are in a bad way!"
"Have you had any intelligence?" asked Albert, in the same low tone.
"A peasant told me this morning, that Tübingen had treated with the League last evening."
"Good heavens!" said Albert, involuntarily.
"Keep quiet, and do not wake him! he will learn it soon enough," replied the old man, pointing to the other side of the room.
The young man looked that way. At one of the side windows, looking towards the deep ravine, sat the exile asleep; his arm, resting on the ledge of the window, supported his careworn brow. His grey cloak had partly fallen off his shoulder, and discovered a worn-out leather jerkin, in which his powerful frame was encased. His curly hair hung down over his temples in disorder, and a few tufts of his smooth beard were visible from under his hand. The large dog lay at his feet, his head resting on his master's foot, looking up at him with faithful eyes and watching every motion of his features.
"He sleeps," said the old man, and repressed a starting tear. "He breathes light; oh! that his dreams may be comforting. The reality of life to him is melancholy indeed! Who can help wishing he may remain unconscious of it awhile?"
"His is a hard fate!" replied Albert, casting his eye at the sleeping man. "Driven from house and home--an outcast--a price offered to any villain who chooses to level his gun at him--under the earth by day, and by night wandering about like a thief! Truly, it is hard; and all this because he is faithful to his lord!"
"That man has suffered much in his lifetime," said Lichtenstein, with a serious look. "I have known him from the days of his childhood, and I can vouch for his having always wished to do what is right and just. The means indeed he applied to attain his object were at times not fitted to further his purpose; on other occasions his intentions were misunderstood, and he too often allowed himself to be carried away by the violence of passion--but where lives the man of which this might not be said? Truly, he has wofully repented himself." He stopt short, fearing he had said more than he ought before Albert, who asked in vain to hear something further of his character. The old man sank into silence and deep thought.
The sun having risen over the mountains and dispersed the mist which hung about the vallies, invited Albert to the window to enjoy the splendid view. A lovely valley, surrounded by wooded heights, with three smiling villages scattered over its surface, and a rapid stream running through it, lay at the foot of the rock of Lichtenstein. It was like beholding the earth from a point in the heavens. Leaving the valley and looking to the wooded heights, his eye rested with delight upon picturesque groups of rocks and the mountain of the Alb, behind which rises the castle of Achalm, and forms the boundary of the immediate surrounding country. Beyond the walls of Achalm, the distant hills were visible to the right and left. The rock of Lichtenstein, reaching, as it were, into the clouds, commands an extensive view of Würtemberg, free and unbroken, into the far lowland. The morning sun throwing its oblique rays across the landscape, Albert was transported with the beauty of its scenery.
The fertile fields spread before him, surrounded by the wooded hills, he compared to variegated carpets, edged, as it were, with borders of dark green and brown, deriving their different shades and colours from the tints thrown over them by the dawning day. And then turning to the country between Lichtenstein and the distant Asperg, he exclaimed, "What charms for the lover of the picturesque! No continuous uninterrupted plain to weary the beholder, the eye ranges from hill to mountain in pleasing variety, and rests on the luxuriant valley, with its meandering stream gently rippling along in its course."
Albert stood wrapt in delight. He strained his eyes more and more to see and distinguish each castle and village in the far distance. Bertha stood beside him, and though she had enjoyed the same view from her childhood, she now shared his pleasure; she pointed out every place, and named all the different towers to him. "Where is there another spot in all Germany which can be compared to this!" said Albert; "I have seen vast plains, and mounted heights which command perhaps a more extended view, but such a rich combination of the picturesque and the sublime it would be difficult to find elsewhere. Look at the rich corn fields, the woods of fruit trees, and a little lower down there, where the hill assumes a blueish tinge, that garden of vines! I have never yet envied a prince; but to stand here, and look over those hills, and say this is mine, would be the height of my ambition!"
A deep sigh close to them, started the young couple from their observations. They turned round, and perceived the exile standing at the window a few paces from them. He appeared to view the country with a wild look, which made Albert uncertain whether the conversation he had just had with Bertha, or the thought of his own forlorn state, had troubled his mind.
He saluted the young man, and offered him his hand, and turning to the lord of the castle, asked him, "If a messenger had arrived?" "Schweinsberg is not yet returned," he answered.
The exile retired again to the window in silence. Bertha filled him a goblet of wine. "Be of good courage," she said, "and don't look in so disconsolate a manner over the country. Drink this wine, it is good old Würtemberger, and grows under that blue mountain."
"We cannot remain long melancholy," he answered, and turned to Albert with a forced smile, "when the sun shines so cheerfully over Würtemberg, and Heaven's mildness beams in the eye of one of her fairest maidens? Is it not so, young man? what is the sight of these hills and vallies, compared to the gleam of such eyes and the fidelity of true hearts? take your glass, and let us drink to them! Nothing is irrevocably lost so long as we possess such treasures: here's to 'Good Würtemberg for ever!'"
"Good Würtemberg for ever," replied Albert, and touched glasses. The exile was going to say something more, when the old watchman entered with a face full of importance. "There are two pedlars before the castle, and demand admittance," he announced.
"It's them! it's them!" cried the exile and old Lichtenstein in the same breath, and added, "shew them up."
The servant withdrew. An anxious moment followed the announcement. No one said a word. The knight of Lichtenstein looked as if he could pierce the door with the eye of impatience. The exile endeavoured to conceal his anxiety, but the rapid changes on his expressive features indicated clearly that his whole being was in a state of excitement. At length footsteps were heard on the stairs approaching the apartment. The exile, strong as he was, trembled so much that he was obliged to hold by the table, his body was bent forward, his eye was fixed on the door, as if he would read his fate on the countenance of the messengers--the door opened and they entered.
Deserted as thou art, by all forsaken,Thy fortunes ruin'd and thy power gone,Thou still shalt find fidelity unshaken,Although you find it in myself alone.Thy humble vassal, 'till the hour of death,I'll hail my sovereign with my latest breath.L. Uhland.
Deserted as thou art, by all forsaken,
Thy fortunes ruin'd and thy power gone,
Thou still shalt find fidelity unshaken,
Although you find it in myself alone.
Thy humble vassal, 'till the hour of death,
I'll hail my sovereign with my latest breath.
L. Uhland.
Albert's expectation was also raised to the highest pitch. His eye examined the two men as they entered, and he at once recognised the fifer of Hardt as one, and the pedlar he had met at the Golden Stag of Pfullingen as the other. The latter disburthened himself of a pack which he carried on his back, tore a plaister from his eye, erected himself from a bent position, which he had assumed for the purpose of disguise, and stood before the assembled group, the short-set, strong-built man, with open bold features, which the exile had already described in the cavern.
"Maxx Stumpf!" cried the exile in a trembling tone of voice, "what means that gloomy countenance? You bring us good news, don't you? they will open the gates to us, and with us hold out to the last man?"
Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg looked about him in confusion. "Prepare for the worst, sir!" he said, "the intelligence I bring you is not good."
"How?" answered the other, whilst the blush of rage flew into his cheeks, and the veins of his forehead began to swell, "how, do you mean they hesitate, they waver? It is impossible! be not precipitate in what you say, recollect it is of the nobles of the land of whom you speak."
"And still I will say it," Schweinsberg answered, making a step forward. "In the face of the Emperor and the Empire, I will say they are traitors."
"Thou liest!" cried the exile with a terrible voice. "Traitors, did you say? Thou liest! Dost thou dare to rob forty knights of their honour? Ha! own it, that you lie."
"Would to God I were a knight without honour--a dog that betrays his master! But the whole forty have broken their oaths--you have lost your country. My Lord Duke, Tübingen is gone!"
The man, whom these words more immediately concerned, sank in a chair at the window: he covered his face with his hands, his agitated breast appeared to seek in vain for breath, his whole frame trembled.
The eyes of all were directed to him, expressive of commiseration and pain, particularly Albert's, who now for the first time learnt the name of "the man"--it was him, Duke Ulerich of Würtemberg! Recollections of the first moment he had met him, of his first visit to the cavern, of the conversation they had had, and the way which his whole bearing had surprised him and bound him to his cause, crossed his mind inonerapid flight. It was quite incomprehensible to him, that he had not long ago made the discovery.
No one dared to break the silence for some time. The heavy breathing of the Duke only was heard, and his faithful dog, who appeared to partake of his master's misery, added his pitiable whining to the distressing scene. Old Lichtenstein at length giving a sign to the knight of Schweinsberg, they both approached the Duke, and touched his cloak, in order to rouse him, but he remained immoveable and silent. Bertha had stood aloof, with tears in her eyes. She now drew near with hesitating step, put her hand on his shoulder, and, beholding him with a look of tender compassion, at last took courage to say, "My Lord Duke! it is still good Würtemberg for ever!"
A deep sigh escaping from his breast, was the only notice he took of the kind girl's solicitude. Albert then approached him. The expression which the exile had made use of, when they first met, flashed across his mind, and he ventured to address the same words now to his afflicted friend. "Man without a name," said he, "why so downhearted? Si fractus illabatur orbis, impavidum ferient ruinæ!"1
These words acted like a charm upon Ulerich. Whether he had adopted them as his motto, or whether it was that combination of greatness of soul, and obstinate contempt of misfortune, which formed his character, and acquired for him the name of the "Undaunted," he was reanimated, as if by an electric spark, when he heard them repeated, and from that moment rose worthy of his name.
"Those are the true words, my young friend," he said at length with a firm voice, proudly raising his head, his eyes sparkling with their usual animation, "those are the words. I thank you for bringing them to my mind. Stand forward, Maxx Stumpf, knight of Schweinsberg, relate the result of your mission. But first of all, give me another glass, Bertha!"
"It was last Thursday, when I left you," began the knight: "Hans disguised me in this garb, and instructed me how to comport myself. I went to the Golden Stag at Pfullingen, just to try if any one would recognise me in it, but the hostess brought me a can of wine with all the indifference she would have done to a perfect stranger she had never seen before. And a city counsellor, with whom I had exchanged angry words not a week before in the same room, drank with me, supposing I had followed the vocation of pedlar from my childhood. That young man," pointing to Albert, "was also in the room."
The Duke appeared to recover his spirits, and was more cheerful. He asked Albert whether he had noticed the knight in his garb of pedlar, and whether he looked the character?
He replied, smiling, "I think he played his part to perfection."
"From Pfullingen I went the same evening to Reutlingen. I entered the public room of an inn, where I met a tribe of Leaguists, consisting of citizens, from all parts, who were exulting with the Reutlingeners, for having torn down the stag horns, the emblems of your house, from their city gates. Though they abused you and sang burlesque songs at your expense, still they appeared to fear your name. On Good Friday I proceeded towards Tübingen. My heart beat high when I descended through the wood near the castle, and saw the beautiful valley of the Neckar before me, with the fortified towers and steeples of that place peering above the hill."
The Duke compressed his lips, turned away, and looked at the distant country. Schweinsberg paused, sympathising in his master's pain, who beckoned to him, however, to proceed.
"Descending into the plain, I wandered onward towards Tübingen. The town had been already occupied by the League some days, the castle still held out, and only a few troops remained in the camp, which was pitched on the hill overlooking the valley of Ammer. I determined to slip into the town, for the purpose of finding out how affairs stood in the castle. You know the little inn in the upper town, not far from the church of St. George? I went there, and called for wine. On my way I learned that the knights of the League often assembled in the same house, and therefore I considered it the best place to attain my object."
"You risked a good deal," interrupted the knight of Lichtenstein: "it was very possible some one might have wished to buy some of your wares, and then the pedlar in disguise would have been discovered."
"You forget it was a holiday," replied the other, "so that I had a good excuse not to open my pack, and recommend my goods for sale, according to the custom of pedlars. But I had sufficient proof of the security of my disguise, for I sold a box of healing plaster to George von Fronsberg, God knows, I would gladly have come to blows with him, and given him an opportunity on the spot to make use of it. They were still at high mass in the church, and no one in the inn; but I learned from the master of the house, that the knights in the castle had agreed to a truce till Easter Monday. When church service was over, many knights and other men came, as I expected, into the room where I was, for their morning's potation. I seated myself in a corner on the bench near the stove, the proper place for people of my condition in the presence of their superiors."
"Who did you see there?" inquired the Duke.
"I knew some of them by sight, and guessed who others were from their conversation. There was Fronsberg, Alban von Closen, the Huttens, Sickingen, and many others. Truchses von Waldburg came in shortly after. When I saw him enter, I drew my cap deep over my face, for he cannot have forgotten the whirl I gave him from his horse some fifteen years ago by a thrust of my lance."
"Did you see Hans von Breitenstein among the rest?" asked Albert.
"Breitenstein?--not that I know; ah! yes, that's his name who will eat a leg of mutton at a sitting. Well, they began to talk of the siege and the truce, and some of them whispered to each other, but as I have very good ears, I heard just what of all things was most essential to know. Truchses related that he shot an arrow into the castle, with a note attached to it, addressed to Ludwig von Stadion. It appears that he must often have practised the same device, for the knights were not astonished, when he added, that he had received an answer the same day by similar means."
The Duke's countenance became clouded. "Ludwig von Stadion!" he cried in agony; "I would have staked castles upon his fidelity! I loved him so, that I satisfied all his desires, and he is the first to betray me!"
"The answer said, that he, Stadion, with many others, being tired of the contest, were more than half inclined to surrender; George von Hewen, however, threatened to denounce them as traitors."
"I have not merited such friendship from Hewen," said Ulerich. "I was once offended with him, for having complained that I had not acted according to his wishes. But how easily are we deceived in the characters of men! Had any one asked me which of these two I had most faith in, I would have named Stadion as my trusty friend, and George von Hewen the doubtful one."
Schweinsberg continued. "The answer also said, that your Grace would probably attempt to relieve the castle; but if that were impossible, you would repair to it in person by some secret way. The Leaguists spoke much upon that subject. They all, however, agreed that it was essential to bring the garrison to terms without delay, before you brought relief, or got into the castle; for if you succeeded in the latter case, they feared the siege might last much longer. After hearing all this, I did not think it advisable to proceed immediately to the castle by the secret path, known only to a few, and shew myself to the garrison, because if Stadion had already gained the upper hand, I should have been lost. I resolved, therefore, to remain the day in the town; and if before Saturday morning I heard nothing to alarm me respecting the spirit of the garrison, then to proceed to my destination, and send your Grace immediate intelligence. I wandered about the town and the camp unmolested until noon, seeking as much as possible always to be near some of the superior officers to assure myself of my disguise."
"That was on the Friday, the holiday?" Lichtenstein asked.
"Yes; on holy Friday. At three o'clock in the afternoon, George von Fronsberg, with many other of the principal officers, rode to the city gate of the castle; and hailed the besieged, inquiring whether they were building a fortification. I was standing among them; and saw Stadion come on the wall, and answer, 'No, that were against the terms of the truce; but I see,' he added, 'you are erecting a fort in the field.' George von Fronsberg cried, 'If it is so, it is without my orders. Who are you?' He in the castle answered, 'I am Ludwig von Stadion;' upon which the Leaguists smiled, and stroked their beards. Having satisfied the besieged, by overturning a few baskets filled with earth, which had been placed in the entrenchments to screen their works, that he had no knowledge of its having been done, Fronsberg then called to Stadion, and invited him, with other of his party, to come down and drink together."
"Did they go?" cried the Duke, impatiently, "and forget their honour?"
"There is an open space on the castle hill beyond the ditch, whence the spectator, having a distant view of the country, can survey the valley of the Neckar, the Steinlach on the height above, the Alb in the distance, with many castles and villages, which complete the scenery. On this spot they placed a table and benches; and the commanders of the League sat down to drink. The gate of Upper Tübingen was then opened, the bridge fell over the ditch; when Ludwig von Stadion, with six others, came forth, bringing with them your Grace's silver covered jugs, golden goblets, and best wine; and having saluted your enemies with a shake of the hand, seated themselves to talk over the state of affairs over a cool tankard."
"May the devil bless them all!" interrupted the old knight of Lichtenstein, and threw his wine away; but the Duke smiled, and nodded to Maxx Stumpf to proceed.
"They caroused together till after dusk; and staggered about with heated heads. I kept near them, so that not one of their traitorous words escaped my ears. When they broke up, Trachses took Stadion by the band, 'Brother,' said he, 'you have good wine in your cellar; let us in soon, that we may help you to drink it out.' The other laughed, shook him by the hand, and said, 'Time will teach us what to do.' When I saw how affairs stood, I determined, with God's help, at the risk of my life, to get into the castle: I therefore left them, and went to the spot where the secret subterranean way commences. Having succeeded in entering it unnoticed, and reached the middle, I found the portcullis down, with a sentry placed there. He levelled his gun at me, when he heard me coming in the dark, and demanded the parole. I gave, as you desired me, 'Atempto,' the watch-word of your brave ancestor, Eberhard with the beard. The fellow opened his eyes wide, drew up the portcullis, and let me pass. With rapid steps I reached a vault, where I was obliged to remain a few moments to take a breath of fresh air, for the narrow passage is close and damp."
"Faithful Maxx! clear your throat with a draught of wine," said Ulerich; the knight followed his advice, and continued his story with renewed vigour.
"I heard the sound of many voices in the vault, apparently in contention, and following its direction, I saw a number of the garrison sitting round a large cask drinking. There were some of Stadion's party, with Hewen, and many of his friends. The light of a lamp illumined their position, and the large goblets which were placed before them. It was an imposing scene, and put me in mind of a sitting of the secret tribunal. Having concealed myself behind a cask, I listened to their conversation. George von Hewen spoke stirring words, and represented to them the crime of their infidelity; he said there was no reason why they should surrender; that they were well provided with provisions for a long siege; that your Grace was assembling an army for their relief; and that the besiegers were worse off than themselves."
"Ha! brave Hewen! and what gave they for answer?" said the Duke.
"They only laughed and drank. 'It will be long before he can get an army together. Where will he find money, unless he plunders?' said one of the party. Hewen continued: 'But if the Duke cannot succeed so soon as he expected, we are nevertheless bound by our oath to hold to the last, or else be held as traitors to our lord and master.' They laughed and drank again, saying, 'Who dares come forward and call us traitors?' I then called out from behind my cask, 'I will! You are traitors--false to your oaths, to the Duke, and your country!' They were terrified and thunder-struck; Stadion let fall his goblet; when, stepping forward, having first taken off my disguise, I stood before them, and drew your letter from under my jerkin: here is a writing from your Duke, said I; he commands you at your peril to surrender; he is coming himself to conquer or die under the walls."
"Oh, Tübingen!" said the Duke, with a sigh, "fool that I was to leave you in such hands. I would give two of my left fingers for your sake! what did I say, two fingers? I would willingly lose my right hand could I purchase you with the sacrifice, and with my left lead the way to the heart of my enemies. And what was the answer to my words--did they not give any?"
"The false ones eyed me with sullen looks, and appeared not to know what to do. Hewen, however, repeated his warning to them. Stadion at last said, You come too late. Twenty-eight knights have determined to withdraw from the contest, and leave the Duke to settle his affairs alone with the League. If he returns to the country with an army they will faithfully stand by him, but they cannot continue to carry on the war any longer in a state of uncertainty as to the result, seeing that their opposition to the League has only subjected their houses and estates to damage and heavy contributions. I then requested to be led to the hall of the knights, where I would try to discover whether there were not still left honourable men sufficient to defend the castle. I reckoned upon the fidelity of the two Berlichingens, and many others, whose names are familiar to your Grace, as having sworn allegiance to your colours. But Hewen shook his head, and said I was mistaken in most of them."
"But Stammheim, Thierberg, Westerstetten, in whose faith I would have staked my existence--did you see them?" asked the Duke.
"Oh, yes! they were in the cellar with Stadion, and assisted to drink your wine. They would not allow me to go up into the castle. Even Hewen, with Freiberg and Heideck, who were with him, dissuaded me from it, because, they said, the two parties were already much inflamed against each other, Stadion having the majority of knights, and of the soldiers also, on his side. 'If I went up,' they added, 'and it should come to blows in the court of the castle, and in the hall of the knights, there would be nothing left for them, as the weakest party, than to fight for life and death. Willingly as they would shed their last drop of blood for you, they would rather fall before the enemy in the field of battle than be cut to pieces by their own countrymen and brothers in arms. Being foiled in every thing, I asked them, as a last petition, to protect your son, the young Prince Christoph, and your darling daughter, and preserve the castle to them, when they surrendered. Some of them consented, others remained silent, and shrugged up their shoulders. Exasperated, I denounced them as traitors, and giving them my curses as a Christian knight, challenged any five of them to fight with me for life and death when the war should be ended. Upon which I left them, and returned the same way out of the castle that I entered it."
"Würtemberg's honour is gone! could I have thought it possible!" cried Lichtenstein. "Forty-two knights, two hundred soldiers, thus to betray a fortified castle! Our good name is defamed,--futurity will brand with scorn our nobility, who deserted their Duke's banners. The saying 'faithful and honourable as a Würtemberger' is become a term of reproach."
"We could, indeed, once boast of the truth of the saying, 'faithful as a Würtemberger,'" said Duke Ulerich, whilst a tear fell on his beard. "When my ancestor Eberhard once upon a time rode towards Worms, and sat at table with the electors, counts and lords, each prided himself upon the pre-eminence of his own country. One boasted of his wine,--another spoke of his fruits,--a third of his game,--whilst a fourth talked of the metals which his mountains produced,--but, when it came to Eberhard with the Beard to speak, he said, 'I know nothing of your treasures, but this I know, that if I seek shelter in a humble peasant's cot, in the most secluded spot, tired and oppressed with fatigue, I am sure to find a faithful Würtemberger at hand, upon whose lap I can lay my head in safety and sleep in peace.' They all wondered in astonishment, and said, 'Count Eberhard is right, and long live the faithful Würtemberger!' But in these times behold, when the Duke traverses a wood, they lie in wait to kill him; and, if he places his faith in his nobles for the defence of his castles, scarcely does he turn his back but they treat with the enemy. May the cuckoo take such faith! But go on, Maxx, I am the man to drink the dregs of the cup without the fear of seeing the bottom of it."
"Well, it's soon said. I remained in Tübingen until I had convinced myself of its surrender. Yesterday, being Easter Monday, they came to terms; they drew up the articles in writing, and proclaimed throughout the streets by a herald, that, at five o'clock in the evening, the garrison would march out. Prince Christoph, your young son, retains the castle and administration of Tübingen, but in the service and under the guardianship of the League; and as for the rest of the country, it is said, that it will be divided among the knights. I have experienced many misfortunes in life,--I killed a friend at a tilting bout,--I have lost a dear child, and had my house burnt,--but, as true as God and his saints are gracious to me, I never felt so much pain as at that moment when I saw the banner of the League hoisted in lieu of your Grace's, and their red cross cover Würtemberg's stag horns, and bugle."
So spake Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg. The sun had risen, during his narration, high above the mountains, having dispelled the mists, leaving only a slight vapour on the heights of the Asperg. It hung upon the horizon like a thin veil, and heightened the beauty of the scenery in its immediate neighbourhood. Drest in the soft verdure of spring, combined with the darker foliage of the woods, ornamented with cheerful villages and stately castles, Würtemberg lay spread before the eye of the beholder, in all the glory of the opening day. The unhappy Prince surveyed the scene with dejected looks. Nature had blessed him with a constancy of courage, and a heart which even grief and misery were unable to subdue; he possessed such control over his feelings that few were able to discern his inward suffering; and when calamity overtook him, then it was that the energies of his vigorous mind were most fertile in resources, and prompted him to immediate action.
In this truly heart-rending moment, when his last hope fell with the loss of his sole remaining castle, he concealed from his friends around him the painful conflict with which he was struggling. His feeling might be compared to the repentant son standing by the death-bed of a beloved mother, whose solicitude and anxiety for his welfare through life he had slighted, whose tender care of him in infancy he had forgotten, and the sacrifices she had imposed on herself to satisfy all his selfish wishes, even to the straitening of her own circumstances to meet the demands of his riotous living, he had treated with ingratitude, deeming them nothing more than his due. But now that her endearing eye no longer beholds him,--now that the ear is closed which was wont to listen to his wishes and complaints,--now that those hands no longer feel his last pressure,--then it is that repentance assails his heart,--then it is that his guilty conscience upbraids him with the bitter reproach of ingratitude and neglect of God's commandment,--to love, honour, and cherish father and mother.
Such was the anguish of self-condemnation which at this moment oppressed the breast of Ulerich of Würtemberg as he viewed his country, now to all appearance lost to him for ever. His noble nature, which he had too often abused in the blandishments of a brilliant court, and whose finer feelings had been deadened by the poisonous flattery of false friends, now upbraided him; not so much for being the author of his own personal misfortunes as for entailing on his country the distress attendant upon the occupation of it by his enemies.
Having stood for some time at the window, his mind harassed with these thoughts, he turned to his friends, who noticed in pleasing astonishment the calm expression of his countenance. They had dreaded his first burst of rage and violence, which they expected he would vent upon the treacherous conduct of his nobility. Instead of which, though he could not conceal the intensity of suffering he was struggling with, he was composed and resigned, and his features exhibited a mildness and resignation which they had scarcely ever seen before.
"Maxx," said he, "how have they acted towards the people of the country?"
"Like robbers," he answered: "they wantonly desolate the vineyards, cut down the fruit trees, and burn them at the guard houses; Sickingen's cavalry ride through the corn fields and tread down what they cannot consume; they ill treat the women, and extort money from the men. The people every where begin to murmur; and should the present drought continue, followed by a failing harvest, a time when the poor people will be called upon to pay the heavy expenses of the war which the league's administration will exact, misery and poverty will then be at its height."
"Oh, what villains!" cried the Duke, "they who boasted, with high sounding words, that they came to free Würtemberg of her tyrant, and to liberate her people from oppression now commit abominations even worse than Turks. But I vow that if God will assist me, and his holy saints be merciful to my soul, I will return to the wasted vallies of the Neckar and its vineless banks, with the scythe of vengeance, cut down their ranks like sheaves of corn, and, as a revengeful vine dresser, tread and crush them under foot. I will avenge myself of all the calamities they have brought on me and my country, so help me God!"
"Amen!" responded the knight of Lichtenstein. "But before you venture to the rescue of your country, you must first withdraw from it, for a season. No time is to be lost, if you would escape unmolested."
The Duke considered awhile, and then answered, "You are right, I will go to Mömpelgard, where I shall be able to make arrangements, and, I trust, collect men sufficient to venture to make a blow. Come here, thou faithful dog, thou wilt follow me into the misery of banishment. Thou knowest not what it is to break an oath or forfeit thy faith."
"Here stands another, who also knows nothing of treachery," said Schweinsberg, and approached the Duke. "I will accompany you to Mömpelgard, if you do not disdain my services."
The knight of Lichtenstein, animated by the same generous feeling, next said:. "Take me also with you, Duke! my feeble arm indeed is not worth much in the field, but my voice in council may still be heard."
Bertha's eyes lighted up more brilliantly than ever, as she beheld her lover, whose cheeks glowed with the ardour of youth, and whose looks bespoke the fire of his noble spirit.
"My Lord Duke," said he, "I proffered hand and arm in your service, when we met in the cavern, when I knew not who you were, and you did not refuse them. I aspire not to have a voice in council--but as you value a heart which beats faithful to you, an eye that will watch over you when you sleep, or an arm that will stand between you and your enemies, take me with you, and let me follow your fortune."
The noble feelings which had at first attached the young man to the "man without a name," now animated his breast, and the consideration of the Duke's misfortune, which he bore with such dignified magnanimity, added to the encouraging glance of his beloved, fed the flame of enthusiasm and devotion to the Duke's cause, and irresistibly threw him at his feet.
The old knight of Lichtenstein looked at his young guest with the joyous pride of a father; the Duke beheld him with emotion, and taking his hand, raised him from his knee and kissed his forehead.
"Where such hearts beat for us," said he, "we have still fortresses and walls to shelter us, and cannot bewail our poverty. You possess my love and esteem, Albert von Sturmfeder; you shall accompany me; I accept your faithful service with joy. Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg, I shall require your aid in more important business than to protect my body; I have a commission for you to execute in Hohentwiel and Switzerland. I cannot accept your company, good and faithful Lichtenstein. I honour you as a father, for your kindness to me has been such. You opened your door to me every night. I will repay it. When I return to my country, with God's help and will, your voice shall be the first in council."
The Duke's eye fell upon the fifer of Hardt, who stood aloof in humble retirement. "Come here, thou faithful man!" he called to him, and gave him his right hand, "you once were guilty of a great crime, but you have repented of it sincerely, and by faithful service regained my confidence."
"To attempt another's life is not so soon expiated," said the peasant, with downcast looks: "I am still in your grace's debt, but I will requite it when the time comes."
"Go to your home--such is my will--follow your occupations as heretofore. Perhaps you may be able to collect some faithful hearts in our cause by the time we return to our country. And you, lady! how can I reward your kindnesses? You deprived yourself many a night of rest, to open the door for me and shelter me against treachery! Do not blush so, as if you had some great sin to confess, this being the moment to act. Venerable father," said he, turning to the knight of Lichtenstein, "I appear before you as the intercessor of a couple of loving hearts. You will not disdain the son-in-law whom I propose to you?"
"I do not understand you, gracious Lord," said the knight, looking with astonishment at his daughter.
The Duke took Albert's hand, and led him to the old man. "This young man loves your daughter, and she is not indifferent to him,--what think you of making them a happy couple? But what means that frown of displeasure? Is he not high born, a gallant antagonist, the strength of whose arm I have already experienced, and now become my support in the hour of need?"
Bertha cast her eyes down, her face was suffused with blushes, she trembled for the reply of her father, who looked sternly at the young man. "Albert," said he, "I have had a high opinion of you since the first moment I saw you; it had been, perhaps, not so favourable, had I been aware of the object which brought you to my house."
The youth was about to make an answer, but the Duke interrupted him. "You forget that it was I who sent him to you with my seal and letter--he came not of his own accord. But what are you thinking of so long? I will adopt him as my son, and reward him with a property which will make you proud to call him your son-in-law."
"Do not trouble yourself further upon this point, my Lord Duke," said Albert, indignantly, when he noticed the indecision of the knight of Lichtenstein. "It shall never be said of me, that the heir of the Sturmfeders begged for a wife, and obtruded his importunity to gain the consent of a father against his free will. My name is too dear to me to resort to such means." He was about to leave the room in displeasure, but the old knight held him by the hand: "Hot-headed youth," he cried, "restrain your impetuosity? there, take her, she is yours, but--you must not think of leading her home, so long as an enemy's banner floats over the towers of Stuttgardt. Be faithful to the Duke, help him to return to his country, and if you continue true to his cause, the day that you enter the gates of the capital, when Würtemberg shall see her ensigns floating again over the pinnacles of her castles, my daughter from that moment shall be yours, and you shall then become my cherished son-in-law."
"And on that day," spoke the Duke, "the bride will blush more beautifully than ever, when the merry bells peal from the towers, and the marriage procession moves to the church. I will then approach the bridegroom, and demand the reward to which I claim a right. But now, my good friend, give her the bridal kiss, which is probably not the first, embrace her once more, and then you belong to me, until that happy day when we enter Stuttgardt. Let's drink, my friends, to the health of the happy couple."
A smile mingled with the tears of Bertha, which gleamed in her beautiful eyes. She filled the goblet to the brim, and having tasted the wine, a custom in those days done by the cup-bearers at courts, presented it first to the Duke, with a look so full of gratitude and lovely grace, that he thought Albert the happiest man in the world, and that many a one would not have hesitated to risk his life in order to gain a gem of her worth.
The men took each their goblet, waiting for a toast, which the Duke should give after his fashion. But Ulerich von Würtemberg, casting a long farewell look at his country, which he was about to quit, felt a tear start in his eye, which forced him to tear himself away from the painful view. "I now turn my back," said he, "upon objects which are dear to me, but, please God! I'll see them again in better days. Do not bewail my fate, but be of good cheer: as long as the Duke and his trusty friends are united, our good cause is not lost. 'Here's to good Würtemberg for ever!'"
Footnote 1: If a crushed world should fall in upon him, the ruins would strike him undismayed.