Tales from the German. Volume II.

by C. F. van der Velde

CHAPTER XVIII.

Wrapped in his cloak, Oswald was yet sweetly and soundly sleeping upon the floor, before the only bed in the house, in which his fair companion was slumbering. A knock was heard at the door, and the Bohemian cried, 'bestir yourself, sir. The morning breaks, and we must away!' The youth sprang upon his feet and awoke the maiden with a kiss. Soon ready to set out, they took a grateful leave of their worthy hosts and stepped to the door. Every object was obscured by a thick morning mist; and the sun, like a large red ball of fearful size, was just rising in the east.

'Let us wait a little, until the sun has dissipated the mist,' said the Bohemian, 'lest the lady should hurt her feet among the rocks.'

They stood a short time, waiting and shivering in the morning wind. Oswald had thrown his cloak over Faith, and held her closely clasped to keep her warm. The mist moved before them like a waving ocean, and apparently resolved itself into numerous dark clouds, which settled down upon the earth, and seemed to root themselves there. Meanwhile the sun had mounted higher, the waving of the ocean of mist increased, and suddenly there came a powerful gust of wind which rent and pressed down the immense cloud-curtain, when a scene as singular as it was magnificent, lay before Oswald's astonished eyes. The dark clouds that had appeared to sink down upon the earth, had changed to huge masses of gray rocks, which, rising up into the blue ether like countless palaces, churches and high towers, assumed the appearance of a gigantic city. Softly rounded snow-domes, crimsoned by the rays of the morning sun and glistening with thousands of diamonds, adorned the summits of these natural edifices, and the undying verdure of the pines and firs which arose here and there from the clefts of the rocks, gave a cheerful aspect to the view.

'Great is the Lord, when seen in his works!' cried the enraptured Oswald, withdrawing his mantle from Faith, to enable her to enjoy the spectacle.

Opening her large and beautiful eyes, she stood awhile as if blinded. 'How came this strange and wonderful city here?' asked she with astonishment 'Is it indeed a city?'

'Certainly,' answered the Bohemian, laughing. 'We call it the stone city, and divide it into city and suburbs. It is here, however, properly called the rocks of Aldersbach.'

'Are we to go in among those rocks?' anxiously asked Faith, clasping her Oswald more closely.

'There is no other way, my child,' answered the latter. 'Be not alarmed--you see that I am not disturbed, which I should be, if I anticipated any danger to you.'

'Ah, you iron-nerved men never anticipate danger until it is close at hand,' said the maiden; 'and then it is too late to avoid it.'

'Go on in advance, Lotek,' said the Bohemian to one of his companions. 'Beat the path a little where the snow lies too deep; announce to the worthy pastor that I bring him guests, and kindle a good fire in my quarters, that the lady may be rendered comfortable on her arrival.'

Lotek threw his musket upon his back, whistled to his wolf-dog, stepped off with long strides, and soon disappeared among the rocks.

'Now, if agreeable, we also will start,' said the Bohemian. 'The sun is tolerably high, and I would not willingly remain abroad, in open day.'

'Come, my child,' said Oswald, offering his arm to Faith, which she took with a sigh, and they briskly entered among the rocks. The procession was led by the Bohemian, closed by his armed companions, and flanked by the hounds.

'These masses are frightfully high,' said Faith, looking anxiously up at their summits.

'They appear so to you,' said the Bohemian, looking back. 'These, however, are but small affairs. We are now only in the suburbs. In the city you will see rocks worth talking about.'

'Heaven take pity on us!' sighed Faith, wandering on until she came to an open space. Here towered up, solitary and frightful, a single monstrous gray rock, formed like an inverted cone with its base stretching high up into the clouds and its apex imbedded in a lake of ice.

'Do not go so near, Oswald,' said Faith. 'This large rock must in the next moment tumble over.'

'Fear it not,' said the Bohemian. 'This is the Sugarloaf, which has been standing thus upon its head for thousands of years, and will surely retain its position long after we are in our graves.'

They were still advancing, when Faith, who was somewhat ashamed to exhibit her fears to the Bohemian, whispered to Oswald, 'only see that horrible gray giant's head projecting over us from between those high towers. I can plainly discern a monstrous, solemn looking face, surrounded by flowing gray locks.'

'That is the burgomaster,' said the laughing Bohemian, who well understood the whisper. 'So is this sport of nature called, and it is the most beautiful of any here. You need not fear him, for he is the only burgomaster on earth who never troubled any one.'

They continued to proceed farther and farther, until at length they were interrupted by a purling mountain stream. Beyond it, stood a broad mass of stone. The Bohemian leaped across the rivulet, rattling down a quantity of loose stones behind him, and with the humming operation of some wheel-work, the heavy stone moved slowly aside, and discovered a low, narrow opening.

'Do we enter there?' asked Faith in a tone so disconsolate as to call forth a hearty laugh from all the Bohemians. Even Oswald joined in the laugh, and, clasping the maiden in his arms, he sprung with her to the opposite bank. They all now stood within a narrow passage, the wheel-work again moved, the entrance closed, and they were enveloped in darkness.

'It is very dark here!' cried Faith.

'We shall soon come into the light,' said their leader, advancing. The others followed, and they thus proceeded in a narrow path, floored with yielding planks, and bounded by high perpendicular walls of dark gray stone, between which was seen the dark blue sky--so dark indeed, that they could almost distinguish the stars in broad day-light. The trickling water glistened upon the walls like silver threads upon a black velvet ground; and here and there little waterfalls, forming dazzling crystals with their congealing spray, bounded down the rocks and disappeared under the planks upon which they were walking.

'If we follow this path much longer,' protested Faith, 'I shall die of fear and anxiety.'

'For shame, my love!' answered Oswald. 'Will you, who spoke so boldly for me to the grim Wallenstein, lose your courage here in the bosom of harmonious nature, where we are especially and wholly in the hands of a protecting God?'

'We are at the end!' exclaimed the Bohemian, stepping out into the clear sunshine. The fugitives followed him, and found themselves in a narrow but pleasant valley, surrounded by high snow-covered rocks which cut off this quiet retreat from the rest of the world. A clear, silver fountain, which gushed from a cleft in the rocks, meandered through the vale, while among and upon the rocks, like eyries, were to be seen about ten huts, built of rough branches, and well covered with moss, to secure their inhabitants from the inclemencies of the weather. Men, women, and children, were moving in and about these simple dwellings as quietly and confidently as if they had resided there all their lives. The fire ordered by the Bohemian twirled its smoke up into the clear heavens, and there sat Lotek, assiduously turning a haunch of venison which was roasting before it. An old and venerable man with a long white beard, in a black clerical dress, and with a black cap surmounting his white hairs, came forth from one of the best of the huts to meet the new comers.

'Welcome, ye who have become outcasts and wanderers for the sake of your faith!' said he, with solemnity, as he extended to them the hand of friendship. 'Welcome to the Hussite's Rest. In my hut there is yet room for you. Come, eat of my bread and drink of my cup. By the grace of God you have here found an asylum which will conceal and protect you as long as may be necessary; for the destructive storm which now rages over the land, reaches not here.'

'Heartfelt thanks for your hospitable offer, reverend father,' said Oswald. 'Have you dwelt long among these rocks?'

'For the last five years,' answered the venerable pastor. 'After our emperor (who will one day have to answer for the deed before the judgment seat) destroyed the sacred edict which assured toleration, and burned its seal, there was no longer peace or safety for the poor Hussites in Bohemia. As he openly declared that 'he would have none but catholic subjects,' more than thirty thousand of our most respected families, embracing all ranks, wandered abroad to strengthen and enrich foreign countries by their wealth and industry. The poor cultivators of the soil could not avail themselves of the generous permission to emigrate with their property. They could not carry the soil with them, and being thus compelled to remain, they seized their arms and fell upon their persecutors. I myself, with the cross in my hand, led my parishioners against the enemy, and we struck boldly for our religion. Fresh armies were sent against us; the gallows and racks were encumbered with the corpses of our brethren, and we were compelled to yield; but it was impossible for us wholly to abandon our father-land, and we therefore threw ourselves into the caverns among these rocks, where a deep seclusion from the world is our only safety. Here we live quietly and peacefully upon the produce of our labor and the chase, which we dispose of in Bohemia and Silesia, and are much rejoiced whenever a victim of priestly rage wanders hither to claim our protection and hospitality.'

'We may now dismiss all anxiety,' said Oswald to Faith. 'We have at last reached a safe and well concealed haven.'

'That beauteous form inclines so confidingly and yet so modestly toward you, young man,' said the venerable pastor, 'that I should judge you were not yet man and wife, but only lovers. If you desire it, I will pronounce the blessing of the church over you. I am fully authorized to perform the ceremony, having received ordination from our right reverend bishop, who now wears the crown of martyrdom before the throne of the Lamb.'

'Have I your consent, my dearest?' asked Oswald, warmly pressing the maiden's hand. 'We already have your mother's blessing.'

'Not now, dear Oswald,' said Faith, with mingled sadness and resignation. 'I cannot consent to take that important step while yet so deeply impressed with sorrow for the fate of my dearest relatives. Our love must now wear the mourning dress in which it has been clad by these unhappy times. It would be almost wicked to put on the myrtle now; and the decisive yes, which should be spoken out of a joyful heart, would be stifled by my sobs and tears, under the present circumstances.'

'Your wish can alone decide the question,' said Oswald, tenderly, impressing a chaste kiss upon her forehead.

'Maiden, it is evident you have chosen a worthy partner,' said the pastor. 'And early has your betrothed learnt the lesson of self-denial, the hardest in this life to be acquired.'

Delighted to hear from such reverend lips the praise of one so dear to her, the maiden threw her arms about Oswald's neck and embraced him with love and joy.