Think on the many gallant deedsOnevaliant hand has done,And follow where your country needs,Where a hero's grave is won.Here, here they flee! pursue the way they go:The light of heaven shows our flying foe.L. Uhland.
Think on the many gallant deeds
Onevaliant hand has done,
And follow where your country needs,
Where a hero's grave is won.
Here, here they flee! pursue the way they go:
The light of heaven shows our flying foe.
L. Uhland.
The Duke and his followers passed the night after the day of the decisive battle in a narrow deep ravine of a wood, which, being surrounded by high rocks and thick underwood, offered a safe retreat for the moment, and is called, to this day, "Ulerich's cavern," by the people of the country. It was the fifer of Hardt who appeared again as a saviour in their flight, and led them to this place, known only to the peasantry and shepherds of the neighbourhood. The Duke determined to repose in this secluded spot, and, as soon as the following day broke, to continue his flight towards Switzerland. He would have preferred continuing his route under cover of the night, as being more favourable to elude the vigilance of his enemies. The fate of the disastrous day having given them full possession of the country again, it seemed next to impossible to escape through their numerous patroles, which would now scour the country to intercept his retreat. Delay was therefore dangerous; but the horses being unable to proceed after the heat and fatigue of the battle, he was compelled by necessity to run the risk of taking a short rest.
The party seated themselves around a small fire. Sleep soon came to the Duke's aid, and for awhile made him forget that he had again lost his dukedom. The knight of Lichtenstein also slept. Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg, resting his arms on his knees, concealed his face in both hands, and it was uncertain whether he dosed, or whether he was sorrowing over the fate of his unhappy master, which the day's battle had so cruelly decided. Albert von Sturmfeder, though almost overpowered with fatigue, resisted the power of sleep, and, being the youngest of the party, volunteered to keep watch. Beside him sat his faithful friend, the fifer of Hardt, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the fire, and appeared to concentrate his thoughts in the words of a song, whose melancholy strain he hummed to himself with a soft suppressed voice. When the fire blazed up occasionally a little brisker, he cast a sorrowful look at the Duke, to see if he still slept, and then recommenced the same lamentable dirge.
"You are singing a very melancholy strain, Hans!" said Albert, whose attention was excited by the peculiar tones of the song: "it sounds like a death song or mourning dirge; I can't listen to it without shuddering."
"Death may knock at every man's door at any moment," replied the fifer, looking still more gloomily at the fire; "I like to occupy my mind upon such subjects, for it often strikes me, I would prefer going out of this world with similar thoughts in my mind."
"But how is it you think more upon death at this moment than at other times, Hans? You were always a merry fellow at harvest time; and your guitar never failed being heard at a wake. You certainly never sang a death-song on such occasions."
"My happiness is gone," he answered, and pointed to the Duke; "all my anxieties and troubles have been in vain. His star is set, and I----I am his shadow; therefore nothing is left for me. If I had not a wife and child, I would willingly die this very night."
"You were, indeed, his faithful shadow," said the young man, moved at these words: "I have always admired your fidelity. Listen, Hans! it will perhaps be some time before we see each other again; and having now time and opportunity to converse together, tell me, if it be not too much to ask, what has bound you so close and exclusively to the fortunes of the Duke?"
The man was silent a few minutes, and trimmed the burning embers of the fire. A troubled look beamed in his eyes, leaving Albert in doubt whether he had not touched upon a subject which was painful to his friend, whose countenance he thought was tinged with a passing blush. "That question," he at length replied, "refers to a certain occurrence, which I never willingly speak about. But you are right, sir, in your conjecture, and it appears to me also that we shall not meet again for some time; therefore I will satisfy your curiosity. Have you ever heard of the insurrection called, 'Poor Conrad'?"
"O, yes!" replied Albert, "the report spread far beyond Franconia. Was it not an insurrection of the peasantry? It was said, they wanted even to take the Duke's life!" I----
"You are perfectly right, the affair of Conrad was a bad thing. About seven years ago many men among us peasantry were dissatisfied with our landlords; great distress prevailed throughout the country, in consequence of the failure of the crops. The rich had squandered all their money; the poor had long since no more left, but still we were obliged to pay heavy taxes without end, in order to satisfy the exorbitant demands of the Duke's court, where every luxury was carried on in the midst of an impoverished country."
"Did your representatives accede to these extravagant demands?" inquired the young man.
"They did not always venture to say no; for, the Duke's purse having an enormous large hole in it, they had no other means of repairing it than by the sweat of our brow. Many, therefore, struck work, because, said they, 'the corn which we sow, does not grow for our bread, and the wine we make, does not flow into our casks.' They then thought, as nothing more could be taken from them than their lives, that they would live merrily and without care, and calling themselves counts of 'no home,' spoke of their many castles on the 'hungry mountain,' of their wealthy possessions in 'the land of famine' and on the banks of the 'river of beggary.' This was the origin of the insurrection named 'The League of Poor Conrad.'"
The fifer of Hardt laid his head in his hand in deep thought, and was silent.
"But you promised to relate to me your adventures with the Duke," said Albert.
"I had nearly forgotten that," he answered: "well," he continued, "persecution was at length brought to such a pass, that even the weights and measures were decreased in size and quantity, so that the Duke and his courtiers might be the gainers at our expense. We paid the same for a less quantity. The consequence of this species of tyranny gave rise to a circumstance which, commencing at first in mere joke, became a source of bitter hatred and revenge. Many could not bear the thought of this act of flagrant injustice, by which every one else had full weight and measure, whilst we alone, the peasantry, were the sufferers. Poor Conrad carried the weights into the valley of the Rems, and made a proof by water."
"A proof by water,--what's that?" asked the young man.
"Ha!" laughed Hans, "that is an easy way of proving a thing. A stone of a pound weight was paraded to the sound of drum and fife to the banks of the Kerns, and they said, 'if it swims, the Duke is right; if it sinks, the peasant is right.' The stone sank, and Poor Conrad armed himself. All the peasants then rose in the vallies of the Rems and Neckar, and throughout all the country up to Tübingen far over the Alb, and demanded the old laws. The members of the diet were assembled and harangued them, but all to no purpose, they would not disperse."
"But you--what part did you take? You; don't say a word about yourself," said Albert.
"That's said in a very few words," replied Hans: "I was one of the most violent among them. Never being much inclined to work, and having been inhumanly punished for transgressing the game laws, I joined Poor Conrad, and soon became as desperate as Gaispeter and Bregenzer. The Duke, seeing that the insurrection was becoming dangerous, came himself to Schorndorf. We had been called to that place for the purpose of swearing allegiance. Many hundreds appeared, but all armed. Ulerich addressed us himself; but we would not hear him. The marshal of the empire then stood up, and raising his gold staff said, 'He who holds to Duke Ulerich von Würtemberg, let him come over to his side!' Gaispeter also stepping upon a large stone, cried, 'He who holds to Poor Conrad of Hungry Hill, come over here!' The Duke stood alone among his servants, deserted by his people: we, the opposite party, remained with the beggar."
"Oh, what a shameful transaction," cried Albert, moved by a feeling of the injustice which caused it, "but more particularly so in those who allowed it to go to such lengths! I'll be bound Ambrosius Bolland, the chancellor, was mostly to blame in it."
"You are not far wrong," replied the fifer; "but hear me. When the Duke saw that all was lost, he threw himself on his horse. We crowded about him, but no one was bold enough to touch his person, for we were staggered by his commanding look. 'What is it you want, you scum of the earth?' he cried, and giving his horse the spur, made him bound in the air, by which three men were knocked down. This awakened our fury; the people laid hold of the horse's reins, they thrusted at him with their spears, and I so far forgot myself as to seize him by the mantle, crying, 'Shoot the villain dead!'"
"Was that you, Hans?" cried Albert, and eyed him with a look of horror.
"That was I," he uttered slowly and in a subdued tone, evidently suffering from the recollection of the deed. "But the Duke escaped from us, and assembled a force which we were not able to contend with, and we surrendered unconditionally. Twelve leaders of the insurrection were conducted to Schorndorf, tried and condemned; I was one of them. When I was in prison, with leisure to think of the wrong I had done, and contemplate the approach of death, I shuddered at myself, and was ashamed of being associated with such miserable fellows as the other eleven were."
"But how were you saved?" asked Albert.
"In the way I have already related to you in Ulm; by a miracle. We twelve were conducted to the market-place, for the purpose of being beheaded. The Duke was seated in front of the town-hall, and ordered us to be brought before him again. My eleven companions threw themselves on their knees, causing the noise of their chains to resound through the air, crying for mercy in pitiable tones. He fixed his eyes upon them for some time, and then, observing that I alone remained silent, said, 'Why do not you beg for pardon also?' 'My Lord,' I answered, 'I know what I deserve: may God hare mercy on my soul!' Without saying a word, he looked at us some time longer, and then made a sign to the executioner. We were brought up to the scaffold according to our ages; and I being the youngest, was the last. I remember little more of that terrible moment; but I shall never forget the frightful sound of the axe when it severed the heads from the bodies of the culprits."
"For God's sake, say no more on the subject!" Albert requested; "but pass on to the rest of the story."
"Nine heads were stuck upon the points of spears, when the Duke cried, 'Ten shall bleed, but two shall be pardoned. Let dice be brought: he who throws the lowest number in three throws, loses his head.' The dice-box was given to me first, but I said, 'I have forfeited my life, and I will not gamble for it.' The Duke said, 'Well; I'll throw for you.' The box was then handed to the other two. They shook the dice with cold trembling hand, and threw. One counted nine, and the other fourteen; the Duke then seized the box, and shook it. He looked at me hard in the face, but I did not tremble. He threw, and covered the dice with his hand. 'Beg for mercy,' said he, 'there is still time.' 'I pray you to pardon the rash act,' I answered, 'but I beg not for mercy, because I don't deserve it.' He raised his hand; and behold, he counted eighteen! The effect it produced on me was indescribable; I thought the Duke sat in God's stead in judgment. I fell upon my knees, and vowed to live and die in his service. The tenth man was beheaded, and two of us saved."
Albert had listened to the tale of the fifer of Hardt with increasing interest, and when he finished it, and noticed his bold expressive eyes filled with tears, he could not resist taking him by the hand, saying, "Truly, you have been guilty of a heavy crime against the Lord of your country, but you have also expiated it dearly by being brought so near to death. The terror of immediate death, whilst the sword of vengeance is hanging over a guilty head, must indeed be tenfold more appalling when the culprit is obliged to witness the execution of so many acquaintances, awaiting the slow approach of his own last moment along with them; but you have faithfully atoned to your prince for laying your hand upon his person, by a life of fidelity, sacrifices, and risks of all kinds in his cause. And how often have you liberated him from danger, perhaps saved his life! Truly you have richly redeemed your debt."
The poor man, when he had finished his story, relapsed into gloomy thought, with his eyes fixed on the fire; and had it not been, that an occasional sad smile passed over his countenance when Albert spoke to him, he had all the appearance of being totally unconscious of what was going on around him. "Do you mean," said he, "that I could ever sufficiently repent, and redeem the crime of which I have been guilty? No; such debts are not so easily liquidated, and a redeemed life must be devoted to the service of him who has saved it. To wander among mountains, getting intelligence from an enemy's camp, and finding out places of concealment, are but trifling services, sir, and cannot satisfy the mind under such circumstances. I feel convinced that I must die for him one of these days; and then I pray you take care of my wife and child."
A tear fell on his beard; but, as if ashamed of his weakness, he hastily wiped it away, and continued: "Could but the sacrifice of my life ward off the impending danger which surrounds him--could my death erase that unfortunate oath of allegiance, which he has imposed on the country, and replace him in the hearts of his people; I would willingly die in that hour!"
The Duke awoke. He raised himself up, and surveyed the surrounding rocks and trees, with his companions seated around the faint glimmering of burning embers, with astonishment, as if he had been transported by magic to this wild spot. Covering his face with his hands, and then gazing about him again, to convince himself whether the appearance of these objects were reality or not, he first glanced at one and then at another with painful feelings. "I have this day lost my country again," said he, "but that event has not given me so much trouble as I feel at this moment, for I dreamt I re-possessed it, and saw it in higher bloom than ever. Alas, it was but a dream!"
"You must not be ungrateful, sir," said Maxx Stumpf von Schweinsberg, raising himself from his bent position: "be not unthankful for nature's kindness. Think how much more miserable you would have been, if in sleep, which should give you renewed strength to bear the burden of your misfortunes, you had still felt the weight of them. When you laid down to rest, you were overcome by the fatal result of the day, but now your features assume a kindlier and milder appearance; have we not, then, cause to be thankful for your soothing dream?"
"I would I had never seen the day again!" replied Ulerich. "Oh, that I could have been lost in the pleasures of that same dream for centuries, and then have come to life again,--it was so beautiful, so consoling!"
He laid his head on his hand, and appeared oppressed with grief. The conversation roused the knight of Lichtenstein. He was acquainted with the character of Ulerich, and knew the necessity of not allowing him to give way to his feelings, and, particularly at this critical moment, not to let him brood over the terrible loss he had sustained; he therefore drew nearer to him, and said:
"Well, sir, perhaps you will tell us what you dreamt of? It may, perchance, afford your friends some consolation also; for you must know, I have faith in dreams, especially when they occupy our minds in hours of importance, and are fraught with destiny; I believe they are sent from above to raise our hopes, and arm us with fortitude."
The Duke remained silent some time longer, apparently pondering over the last words of his old friend. He then began, "My brother-in-law, William of Bavaria, has burnt the castle of my ancestors this day, as a proof of his friendship. The Würtembergers have been established there from time immemorial, and the country which we possess takes its name from the same castle. He seems to have fired it with the torch of death, and with its flames to have wished to exterminate the arms, the remembrance, nay, even the very name of Würtemberg, from the face of the earth. He has partially succeeded; for my only son, young Christoph, is in a distant land; my brother, George, has no child; and I--I have been beaten and driven out; they have repossessed my country, and where can I look to the hope of returning to it again?"
Ulerich was again silent. His mind appeared occupied with a subject too great for utterance. A peaceful serenity lay on the features of the unfortunate Prince, and an unusual expression beamed in his eyes as he directed them upwards to heaven. His companions looked at him in awful expectation of hearing some important communication resulting from his dream.
"Listen further," he continued: "I gazed on the charming valley of the Neckar. The river flowed on in its accustomed gentle winding blue stream. The valley and hills appeared lovely, and more luxuriant than ever. The woods on the heights and the meadows assumed the aspect of one continued garden, spreading their rich green vineyards from hill to hill, and in the valley below full-bearing fruit trees without number completed the blooming scene. I stood enchanted and riveted to the view; the sun shone with greater splendour than usual, the blue vault of heaven was lighted up more brilliantly than I had ever witnessed it, and all nature seemed dressed in brighter colours than mortal eye had ever beheld. When I raised my intoxicated eye, and gazed upon the valley of the Neckar, I beheld a castle pleasantly situated on the summit of a hill which rose from the banks of the river, with the rays of the morning sun playing upon its walls. The sight of this peaceful habitation rejoiced my heart, for there were no ditches or high defences, no towers or battlements, no portcullis nor drawbridge, to remind the beholder of the contentions of men, and of the uncertain history of mortals.
"And as I was wrapped in astonishment and delight in the contemplation of the peaceful aspect of the valley and the unguarded castle, I turned round, and beheld the walls of my castle no longer to exist. Here, at least, my dream did not deceive me, for yesterday I saw the battlements fall, and the watch-tower sink, over which my banner had formerly floated. No stone of Würtemberg was more to be seen, but in its place stood a temple, ornamented with pillars and cupola, such as is to be found in Rome and Greece. Meditating how all this change could have come to pass, I observed some men in foreign costume, not far from me, inspecting the country.
"One of these men, in particular, drew my attention. He led a beautiful youth by the hand, and pointed out to him the valley which lay at their feet, the surrounding mountains, the river, the towns and villages in the neighbourhood, and in the distance. Upon a closer inspection, I observed the man had the features of my brother George, and it struck me that he must belong to the race of my ancestors, and be a true Würtemberger. He descended with the boy from the hill into the valley below, followed by the other man at a respectful distance. I stopped the last man, and asked him who the other person was that had described the country to the lad; 'That was the King,' said he, and followed the rest."
The Duke was silent, and looked inquisitively at the knights, as if to hear their opinion. No one answered for some time, at length the knight of Lichtenstein said, "I am now sixty-five years old, and have seen and heard much in the world; many things come to pass which astonish the human mind, but in which a pious man may distinguish the finger of God. Believe me, that dreams also are of his sending, as nothing happens upon earth without some reason. As there were seers and prophets in ancient times, why should not the Lord send one to his saints in our days, to open the dark gates of futurity to the mind of an unfortunate man through the channel of a dream, and give him an insight into coming happier days? Despond not, therefore, my lord! The enemy has burnt your castle--in one day you have lost a dukedom; but your name will nevertheless not become extinct, and your remembrance will not be washed out from Würtemberg's history."
"A King----" said the Duke, thoughtfully, "I dare not presume, now that I am an outcast, to think of a King springing from my race. Is it not possible that Satan may tempt us with such dreams, for the purpose of deceiving us afterwards more cruelly?"
"But why have doubts of futurity?" said Schweinsberg, smiling. "Could any one of your noble ancestors have thought their family would have become Dukes of the country, and their beautiful land have borne the name of Würtemberg? Let your dream console you, which has been given as a hint of the destiny awaiting your family. Believe that your name is destined to nourish in distant, very distant times, in the land of your forefathers, and that in remote ages the Princes of Würtemberg will bear the features of your generation."
"Well, then, I will hope so," replied Ulerich von Würtemberg; "I will continue to hope, that the country will still hold to us, dark as our present lot may appear. May our grand-children never experience such hard times as we have, and may it ever be said they are--fearless."
"And faithful!" added the fifer of Hardt, with emphasis, as he rose from his seat. "But it is high time, my Lord Duke, to set out. The dawn of morn is not far distant; we must pass the Neckar at all hazards before daylight."
They all rose, and buckled on their arms. The horses being brought forward, they mounted, and the fifer of Hardt went on before to lead the way out of the place of concealment. The escape of the Duke was attended with considerable danger, for the enemy sought all possible means to take him prisoner. To gain the road by which he might elude the vigilance of his enemies, it was absolutely necessary to repass the Neckar; and to accomplish this in safety was no easy matter. Heavy rains had swollen the river to such a degree, that it appeared next to impossible to pass it on horseback by swimming. The bridges, for the most part, were occupied by the troops of the League. But Hans had taken the precaution to ascertain by the aid of faithful friends, that the bridge of Köngen was still open, having been given to understand that the enemy had thought it needless to guard it, as, being so near Esslingen and their own camp, they never dreamt the Duke would venture to come that way. This path, therefore, Ulerich chose as the safest, though it still appeared attended with great danger, and the party set out towards the Neckar in deep silence, and with caution.
When they reached the fields beyond the wood, the dawn of morning tinged the horizon; and having gained a better road, they rode on at a brisk pace, and soon got a sight of the glimmering of the Neckar, not far from the high vaulted bridge which they were to pass. At this moment Albert, happening to look round, perceived a considerable number of horsemen coming towards them. He immediately made it known to his companions, who, counting above twenty-five horses, felt assured they could be no other than a party of cavalry of the League; the Duke's men having been dispersed, it was not likely any stragglers were in this neighbourhood.
These men, however, appeared not to remark the Duke's small retinue. To gain the bridge with the least possible delay, before they were hailed and questioned by this party, was of the utmost importance. The fifer of Hardt hastened on before, the Duke and his faithful knights followed in full trot, and as they increased their distance from the Leaguists, each felt lighter at heart, for they all were less anxious about their own lives than to secure the escape of Ulerich.
Having reached the bridge, and arrived on the middle of it, which was highly arched, twelve men sprang forward from behind the walls, armed with spears, swords, and guns, arresting the Duke's further progress. Perceiving he was discovered, he made a sign to his followers to retreat. Lichtenstein and Schweinsberg, being the two last, turned their horses, to retrace their steps, but to their dismay found themselves hemmed in by the cavalry they had first seen, who had galloped up in their rear, and at this instant occupied the entrance to the bridge.
It was still too dark to be able to distinguish the enemy with precision, who were, however, not backward in making themselves known. "Surrender yourself, Duke of Würtemberg," cried a voice, which appeared familiar to the knights; "you have no chance of escape."
"Who are you, to whom Würtemberg should surrender?" answered the Duke, with a furious voice, whilst he drew his sword; "you are no knight, for you don't sit on horseback."
"I am Doctor Calmus," replied the other, "and am ready to return the many kind acts I have received from you. I am a knight, for you yourself created me a donkey knight, and in return I will now dub you the knight without horse. Dismount, I say, in the name of the most illustrious League."
"Give me room, Hans," whispered the Duke, with a suppressed voice to the fifer, who stood between him and the doctor, with his axe raised to his shoulder in attitude of defence, "just stand on one side. Close in, my friends: we'll fall on them suddenly, and perhaps may succeed in cutting through." Albert was the only one who heard this order, for the other two knights were ten paces at least in their rear, already engaged with the Leaguist cavalry, who were unable to force their way past the gallant men to get at the Duke. Albert, therefore, closed with the Duke, with the intention of making a rush with him through the ranks of his opponents; but the doctor, perceiving it, called out to his people, "At him, my men! that's him in the green cloak; take him, dead or alive!" pushing forward at the same time to the attack. He carried a spear of unusual length, and made a thrust at Ulerich, which might have been fatal, for it was still dark, and the Duke did not remark it immediately; but the quick-sighted Hans parried the thrust of the renowned Doctor Calmus, which was on the point of piercing the breast of his master, and with one blow of his axe felled him to the ground, where he lay sprawling among his companions. They were staggered at the deadly blow of the countryman, who, wielding his axe high in the air, drove them back a few paces. Albert took advantage of this moment to possess himself of the Duke's cloak, which he threw over his own shoulders, and whispered to him to give his horse the spur, and force him over the breastwork of the bridge. Ulerich cast a look at the high swollen waters of the Neckar, and then up to heaven, in doubtful despair. Escape appeared hopeless. The fearful leap was his only choice between life or death, or falling into the hands of his enemies. A circumstance, however, arrested his attention for a moment before he decided upon it.
The enemy, with outstretched spears, advanced on the Duke. The fifer still kept his ground, though wounded and bleeding in many places, beating them down with his axe. His eyes flashed fire, his bold features carried the expression of joyful animation, and the smile about his mouth did not indicate despair; no, his noble soul feared not the approach of death, he rather looked to it in proud anticipation, as the reward for all the troubles and dangers he had taken upon himself. As he cut one of his opponents to the ground with his right hand, the halberd of another pierced his breast, that true breast, which even in death proved a faithful shield to his unhappy prince, for whom a more gallant heart never beat: he staggered, and sank to the ground. Casting his dying eye upon his master, "My lord Duke, we are quits," were his last words, which he uttered with a smile upon his countenance, and fell lifeless at his feet.
The Leaguists passing over his body, pressed hard upon the Duke, with the cry of exultation when Albert threw himself in the midst, his sword dealing destruction among his enemies. He was the last and only remaining defence of Duke Ulerich of Würtemberg; had he been overpowered, imprisonment or death to his friend and benefactor were unavoidable. The Duke, therefore, turned to the only means of escape; a desperate one indeed. He cast a painful look at the corpse of that man who had sealed his fidelity with his death, and turning his powerful war-horse on one side, gave him the spur that made him spring in the air, and with one desperate leap he cleared the breastwork of the bridge, carrying his princely rider down into the waters of the Neckar.
Albert ceased to defend himself. His eye was fixed solely on the Duke. The horse and rider plunged deep into the river; but the powerful beast, combating the eddies and current, soon appeared on its surface, carrying his master down the stream with the apparent ease and safety of a boat. All this was the affair of a few moments. Some of the Leaguists were for following him along the banks of the river, to seize the bold knight when he landed; but one of them nearest Albert cried, "Let him swim, he is not the right one; here is the prize, in the green cloak,--seize him." Albert, looking up to heaven in grateful thanksgiving for the escape of the Duke, and dropping his sword, surrendered to the Leaguists. They surrounded him, and willingly allowed him to dismount, to pay the last painful offices to the corpse of that man who had been their fearful opponent. Albert took his hand, with which he still kept a firm grasp of his blood-stained axe; it was icy cold. He felt his heart, to discover if there was still life in it; the deadly thrust of the spear had but too faithfully done its office. That eye once so bold was now lifeless, that mouth which bespoke an unbending cheerful mind was closed, the features rigid; but still the smile, that last dying salute with which he greeted his master, played upon his lips. Albert's tears fell on his faithful friend, as he pressed for the last time the cold hand of the fifer of Hardt; he closed his eyes, and, throwing himself upon his horse, followed his enemies to their camp.
Happy the soldier, all his perils o'er,In peace returning to his native place,When those who love him meet him at the door,And gaze with rapture on the wish'd-for face.Schiller.
Happy the soldier, all his perils o'er,
In peace returning to his native place,
When those who love him meet him at the door,
And gaze with rapture on the wish'd-for face.
Schiller.
After a march of three hours, the troop of the Leaguists' soldiers, with their prisoner in the midst, approached their camp. Though they did not venture to talk aloud, it was easy to perceive, by their countenances, how great was their exultation at their supposed triumph and prize, and it did not escape the acute observation of Albert that the whisper among them referred to the reward they were likely to gain for the person of the Duke. A feeling of satisfaction filled the breast of the young man, in the hope that his unhappy Prince might gain time to escape his enemies by the diversion the bold sacrifice he had made of himself in his favour. But the thought which now gave him the greatest uneasiness was the distress his beloved wife would experience, when she became acquainted with the result of the battle. Though he had informed her, through the medium of faithful messengers, of his having escaped unhurt in the bloody conflict, she was still ignorant of the unfortunate turn in the Duke's fate; still less could she know his own. He could well imagine her state of mind, when, among the prisoners brought into Stuttgardt, neither her father nor husband were found of the number. The thought was agonising to his mind, rendered doubly so amidst the taunts of those who now led him as a prisoner to the presence of his enemies. These, and a thousand other painful feelings, chilled his joy in having been the saviour of his friend.
Could he hope to be liberated a second time by the League, as he had been in Ulm? Taken with arms in his hand,--known as the most zealous friend of the Duke,--his only prospect was a long imprisonment, and harsh treatment. The arrival at the advanced posts of the camp interrupted these gloomy thoughts. One of the troop which guarded him was sent on before to acquaint the commanders of the League of their prisoner, and to receive their orders respecting the place where he was to be brought. This was a painful quarter of an hour for Albert. He wished of all things, if possible, to speak to Fronsberg, hoping that this noble friend of his father might still retain a kindly feeling towards him, and, at least, judge him more favourably than Truchses von Waldburg and many others, who he well knew to be inimical towards him.
The man returned with orders to conduct the prisoner as quietly as possible, and without ceremony, to the large tent in which the officers generally held their council of war. For this purpose they turned off by a side path, and the soldiers begged Albert to close the vizor of his helmet, that he might pass unknown, till he arrived before the council. He willingly complied with this request, for nothing was more painful to his feelings than to be exposed to the gaze of the curious or exulting multitude. Numerous serving men were assembled here, whose different costumes and badges of distinction led Albert to suppose a large assemblage of nobles and knights were congregated in the tent.
The news that a troop of infantry had taken a man of distinction prisoner, appeared to have preceded his arrival, for when Albert threw himself from his saddle, the people crowded around him, and, with looks of curiosity, tried to get a sight of his features through the apertures of his vizor. A page of honour with difficulty made his way through the multitude, having been sent, "in the name of the commanders of the League," to open a road by which the prisoner could reach the tent. Three of the men who had taken him were ordered to follow; their joy was unbounded, and they thought of nothing less than receiving immediately the gold florins which had been offered as the price for the person of the Duke of Würtemberg.
The inner curtain of the tent being drawn up, Albert walked in boldly and with a firm, step, looking round upon the men who were to decide upon his fate. Many known faces were among the number, who eyed him with inquisitive penetrating looks. The scowling glance and inimical front of Truchses von Waldburg were still fresh in his memory, and the scornful exulting expression of the features of this man did not augur him any good. Sickingen, Alban von Closen, Hutten, all sat before him as at that time when he bid the League an eternal farewell. But when he beheld that noble figure, those dignified features of Fronsberg, which were deeply engraven on his grateful heart, he felt self convicted in his own estimation. It was not contempt or triumphant joy which sat upon his features,--no, it was an expression of sorrowing thoughtfulness, with which an honourable man receives a valiant conquered enemy.
Albert now stood before these men, when Truchses von Waldburg began:--"The Swabian League has at last the honour of seeing the illustrious Duke of Würtemberg before them. The invitation which you sent to us was certainly much too courteous, but----"
"You are mistaken," answered Albert, raising the vizor of his helmet at the same time. The members of the League started when they beheld the fine countenance of the young knight, as if they had seen Minerva's shield and Medusa's head.
"Ha! traitors! base villains! dogs!" cried Truchses to the three soldiers; "what cub do you bring here in the place of the Duke? The very sight of him excites my bile! Tell me quickly what has become of him--speak!"
The soldiers turned pale. "Is he not the right one?" they asked. "That was him with the green cloak."
Truchses trembled with rage, his eyes darted fire, he would have executed the soldiers upon the spot, and talked of hanging them; but the rest of the knights compelled him to curb his violence; and Hutten, pale with anger also, but more composed than the other, asked, "Where is Doctor Calmus? let him come forward, to give an account of himself, for he volunteered to arrest the Duke."
"Ah, sir!" replied one of the soldiers, "his account is already settled; he lies dead on the bridge of Köngen."
"Killed?" cried Sickingen, "and the Duke fled! relate the circumstance, villains!"
We placed ourselves in ambush near the bridge, as the doctor ordered us. It was still dark, when we heard the tread of horses approach the bridge, and at the same time perceived the signal which our cavalry on the other side of it had agreed to make as soon as the Duke's party issued from the wood. "Now is the time," cried the doctor; "we instantly got up and occupied the exit from the bridge. As far as we could distinguish, four horsemen and a peasant formed the party. The two hindermost turned back and engaged our cavalry, whilst the other two, and the peasant, attacked us.
"We stretched out our lances, the doctor calling to them to surrender; but they paid no attention to the summons, and fell on us with determined fury. The man in the green mantle was pointed out as the prize, and we should soon have had him had it not been for the peasant,--if it was not, indeed, the very devil himself,--who with his axe felled the doctor and two of our comrades in a trice. One of our party revenged our leader's life by running the peasant through the body with his halbert, which encouraged us to renew our attack on the man in the green mantle. His companion sprang his horse over the bridge into the Neckar, and swam down the river. Having subdued the man who was our principal object, we let the other go, and brought the prisoner with us."
"That was Ulerich, and no other," cried Alban von Klosen. "Ha! to jump over the bridge into the river! no other man in the whole world would have dared to do so."
"We must follow him," Truchses exclaimed; "the whole of the cavalry must start immediately and hunt the banks of the river,--I myself will go----"
"Oh! sir," replied one of the soldiers, "you are too late; we left the bridge three hours ago, so that he will have got a long start, and, as no one knows the country better than he does, there is no chance of finding him."
"Fellow! do you mean to prescribe to me what to do?" cried Truchses in fury: "You allowed him to escape, and you shall be answerable for it. Call the guard--I'll have you hung at once!"
"Pray be just," said Fronsberg. "It was not the poor fellows' fault; they would have been too happy to have earned the money which was set on the Duke's head. The doctor was the cause of his escape, and you have already heard he is not alive to answer for it."
"It was you, therefore, who represented the person of the Duke," said Truchses, turning to Albert, who had calmly looked on during this scene. "You are always coming in my way, with your milk face. The devil employs you everywhere, when you are least wanted. This is not the first time that you have crossed my plans."
"No," replied Albert, "for when you fell upon the Duke, as you supposed, at Neuffen, it was I who crossed your path there also; and it was I whom your men cut down that night."
The knights were astonished to hear this, and looked inquisitively at Truchses. He reddened, but whether from anger or shame it was not known, and said, "What are you chattering about Neuffen? I know nothing about that affair. I only regret that when they cut you down you had ever risen again to appear before me this day a second time. But as it is, I rejoice to have you in my clutches. You have proved yourself the bitterest enemy of the League; you have acted in the service of the exiled Duke both openly and secretly, thereby sharing his offence against us and the whole empire. Beside these crimes, you have been taken this day with arms in your hands. You are therefore guilty of high treason against the most illustrious League of Swabia and Franconia."
"Your charges are highly ridiculous," replied the young man, in a tone of defiance: "you made me swear to remain neuter between the two parties for fourteen days, to which I faithfully adhered, so true as God is my witness. You have no right to require an account of my conduct since that time, for I was no longer bound to you: and as to what you say of my being taken with arms in my hand, I would ask you, noble knights, who among you would not defend his life to the last when he was attacked by six or eight men? I demand then, as my right, the treatment becoming the rank of knighthood; and therefore I am ready to swear to a six weeks' neutrality. You cannot require more of me."
"Would you prescribe laws to us?" said Truchses. "You have learned a good lesson, indeed, from the Duke. I think I hear him speaking; but not one step shall you take to your friends before you own where that old fox, your father-in-law, is, and the road the Duke has taken."
"The knight of Lichtenstein was taken prisoner by your cavalry," he replied; "but the road which the Duke has taken, I know not; and I am ready to give my word of honour upon it."
"To be treated as a knight, indeed!" said Truchses, with a sarcastic laugh; "there you deceive yourself altogether. You must first prove where you won the golden spur! No; such criminals as you, are, according to our laws, thrown into the lowest dungeons; and so I will commence with you."
"I think that unnecessary," interrupted Fronsberg. "I will answer for Albert von Sturmfeder that he has a right to the golden spurs; besides which, he saved the life of a noble belonging to the League. You cannot forget the evidence of Dieterich von Kraft, how, through the intercession of this knight, he was saved from an ignominious death, and was even set at liberty. He has a right, therefore, to the same treatment by us."
"I know you have always spoken a word for him, your darling child," rejoined Truchses; "but this once it is of no avail. He must be sent to the tower of Esslingen this very moment."
"I will stand bail for him," said Fronsberg. "I possess the right of a voice in council with the rest. Let it pass to the vote what is to be done with the prisoner. In the mean while, let him be conducted to my tent."
Albert cast a look of heartfelt gratitude at his kind noble friend, for having a second time saved him from a threatened danger. Truchses muttered an order to the guards to follow the orders of Fronsberg, who led their prisoner through the narrow paths of the camp to the tent of the commander of the infantry.
Shortly after he had arrived at his destination, the man to whom he was so highly indebted stood before him, but Albert could not find words to express his sense of gratitude and respect. Fronsberg smiled at his embarrassment, and embraced him. "No thanks, no excuses," said he. "Did I not already anticipate all this when we took leave of each other in Ulm? But you would not believe me, and were determined to bury yourself among the ruins of the castle of your ancestors. I do not blame you; for believe me the campaigns and storms of many wars have not yet hardened my heart so much as to make me forget the power of love."
"My friend, my father!" exclaimed Albert, blushing with joy.
"Yes, I am truly your father,--the friend of your father. I have often thought of you with pride, even when you stood opposed to me in the enemy's ranks. Your name, young as you are, will always be mentioned with respect; for fidelity and courage in an enemy are always highly esteemed by a man of honour. Most of us rejoice that the Duke has escaped, for what could we have done with him? Truchses might perhaps have committed a rash step, which we all might have had cause to repent."
"And what is my fate to be?" asked Albert. "Am I to remain long in prison? Where is the knight of Lichtenstein? Oh, my poor wife! may I not see her?"
Fronsberg smiled mysteriously. "That will be difficult to manage," said he. "You will be sent to a fortress under safe escort, and given over to a guard, who will have orders to watch you strictly, and from whose charge you will not escape so easily. But, be of good cheer; the knight of Lichtenstein will accompany you, and both of you must swear to a year's neutrality and imprisonment."
Fronsberg was now interrupted by three men, who stormed his tent;--it was Breitenstein and Dieterich von Kraft, leading the knight of Lichtenstein between them.
"Do I see you again, my brave lad?" cried Breitenstein, as he took Albert's hand. "You have played me a pretty trick; your old uncle made me promise, upon my soul, to make something out of you, which would do honour to the League, but you deserted to the enemy, cutting and slashing at us, and nearly gained the victory yesterday by your hot-brained, desperate attack on our artillery!"
"Every one to his taste," replied Fronsberg; "he did honour to his friends, even in the enemy's ranks."
The knight of Lichtenstein embraced his son. "He is in safety," he whispered to him. Their eyes beamed with joy, in having both been instrumental in saving their unhappy Prince. The old knight discovered the green mantle which still hung on the shoulders of his son, and said, in astonishment, a tear of joy starting to his eye, "Ah, now I understand how everything has come to pass; they mistook you for the Duke. What would have become of him but for your courage and presence of mind in the critical moment? Your bravery and foresight have achieved more than any of us, and, though we are prisoners, we are still conquerors! Come to my heart, thou most noble son!"
"And Maxx von Stumpf Schweinsberg!" asked Albert, "what has become of him? is he a prisoner also?"
"He cut his way through the enemy,--for who could withstand his arm? My old bones are powerless, I am of no more use; but he has joined the Duke, and will be of more assistance to him than fifty horsemen. But I did not see the fifer,--tell me, how did he come out of the fray?"
"As a hero," replied Albert, agitated by a feeling of deep regret at the recollection of him; "he was run through the body by a lance, and his corpse lies on the bridge."
"Dead!" cried Lichtenstein, and his voice trembled. "His was indeed a faithful soul,--may it rest in peace! His actions were noble, and he died true to his master, as all should do."
Fronsberg now approached them, and interrupted their conversation. "You appear much cast down," said he; "but be of good cheer and consolation, noble sir! the fortune of war is changeable, and your Duke will, in all probability, once more return to his native country. Who knows if it is not better that we should send him to foreign parts again for a short time? Put by your helmet and armour; your fight at breakfast time will not have spoiled your appetite for mid-day's meal. Seat yourself beside us. About noon I expect the guardian, who is to have charge of you in your confinement; until then, let's be cheerful."
"That's a proposition we can readily satisfy," cried Breitenstein. "Dinner is ready, gentlemen: you and I have not dined together, Albert, since that day in the townhall of Ulm. Come, and we'll make up for lost time."
Hans von Breitenstein seated himself with Albert next to him; the others followed his example; the servants brought the dinner, and wine made the knight of Lichtenstein and his son forget, for a time, their unfortunate situation of being in the enemy's camp, and the uncertainty of their fate, which, according to Fronsberg's assurance, was to be an imprisonment of long duration. Towards the end of the repast Fronsberg was called away, but he soon returned, and said, with a serious countenance, "Willingly as I would wish to enjoy your society some time longer, my friends, I am sorry to compel you to break up. The guard is without into whose charge I must deliver you, and I would advise you to lose no time, if you would arrive at the fortress of your confinement before dark."
"I trust our guard is one of our own rank,--a knight?" asked Lichtenstein, whilst his face assumed a gloomy, indignant frown. "I hope proper attention will be paid to our rights, and that we shall have an escort fitting our station."
"No knight will accompany you," said Fronsberg, "but a fitting escort, of which you shall convince yourself." With these words he raised the curtain of his tent, discovering to the astonished father and son the lovely features of Bertha. She flew into the arms of her enraptured husband. Her venerable father, speechless from joy and surprise, kissed his child on her forehead, and pressed the hand of the honest Fronsberg in token of heartfelt gratitude.
"That is your guardian," said the latter; "and the castle of Lichtenstein the place of your confinement. I can see already, in your eyes," addressing himself to Bertha, "that you will not be too severe with the young man, and that the old man will not have to complain. But let me advise you, my pretty daughter, to have a watchful eye to your prisoners; don't let them out of the castle, for fear of their rejoining the cause of certain people. Your pretty head will answer for their actions!"
"But, dear sir," replied Bertha, whilst she drew her beloved closer to her, and smiled playfully at the stern commander, "recollect he is my head,--so how can I command him?"
"That is just the reason why you should take care not to lose it again. Bind him fast with the knot of love,--let him not escape, for he easily changes his colours; of which we have had proofs sufficient."
"I only wore one colour, my fatherly friend!" replied the young man, looking at his beautiful wife, and pointing to the scarf which he wore, "only one, and to this I remained faithful."
"Well, then! remain true to it for the future," said Fronsberg, and gave him his hand to depart. "Farewell! your horses are before the tent: may you arrive happily at your destination, and think sometimes, in friendship, of old Fronsberg."
Bertha took leave of this worthy man with tears of grateful thanks in her eyes; the men also were overcome when they took his hand, for they were well aware that, without his kind interference, their fate might have been of a very different stamp. George von Fronsberg followed the happy party with his eye until they turned the corner of the long lane of tents. "He is in good hands," said he, as he turned to Breitenstein. "Truly the blessing of his father rests upon him. Not a better or more beautiful wife, and more honourable son, will be found in all Swabia."
"Yes, yes!" replied Hans von Breitenstein, "but he has not to thank his own wits or foresight for it. He who seeks to better his fortune, let him conduct a wife home. I am fifty years old, and still on the look-out for a partner; and you, also, Dieterich von Kraft, are you not upon the same scent?"
"Not at all,--quite the contrary,--I am already provided," he replied, as if awoke out of a dream; "when one sees such a couple, we know what is next to be done. I am going to put myself, this very hour, into my sedan, on my journey to Ulm, there to conduct my cousin Marie to my home. Farewell, my friends!"