CHAPTER XIV.
The Swabian League displays her mighty power,
Her warriors people many a castle wall,
Her banners wave from many an ancient tower,
And every city answers to her call.
Alone, will Tübingen no homage proffer,
But stand apart, and grim resistance offer.
G. Schwab.
The forces of the Swabian League had advanced in large numbers into Würtemberg. Uninterrupted success crowned all their undertakings,--its army became daily more formidable. Hollenstein and the strong castle of Heidenheim were the first that fell into their hands after a long and brave defence. The latter was defended by Stephan von Lichow; but with only a couple of culverins and a handful of men at his command, he could not hold out against the thousands of the League and the military experience of a Fronsberg. Göppingen soon after experienced the same fate. Not less brave than Lichow, Philip von Rechberg distinguished himself there, and obtained an honourable retreat for himself and garrison; but his gallant conduct was not able to turn the fate of the country. Teck, at that time a strong fortified position, was lost through the imprudence of the garrison. Möckmukh held out the longest; it possessed a man within its walls, who would have been a match for twenty of the besiegers, and whose determined resistance was equalled only by the power of his iron hand. Its walls were, however, demolished, and Götz von Berlichingen was also reckoned among the prisoners. Schorndorf could not withstand Fronsberg's cannon; it was reckoned, of all places, one of the strongest holds, and with it the rest of the low country belonging to Duke Ulerich fell into the hands of the League.
The whole of Würtemberg, as far as the neighbourhood of Kirchheim, being now in the power of the League, the Duke of Bavaria broke up his camp, for the purpose of besieging Stuttgardt in person. An embassy from the town met him, however, at Denkendorf, to beg for mercy. The ambassadors did not attempt to make any excuse before the bitter enemies of their Duke, nor to shelter themselves under the allegiance they owed to their hereditary Prince; they merely asserted, that as he, the cause of the war, was no longer within their walls, they craved exemption for their town being occupied by the troops of the League. But this petition found no grace in the stern mind of Wilhelm of Bavaria and the covetous desires of the other members of the League. The only answer they received was, that Ulerich's conduct had merited punishment, and that, as the country had supported him, Stuttgardt therefore must also open its gates unconditionally.
The townsfolk of the capital being unable to defend themselves against the powerful forces of the League, were obliged to submit to these hard terms, and admit a garrison within their walls.
The conquest of the country was, however, far from being complete with the capture of the capital. The greatest part of the hill country still held for the Duke, and, judging from the spirit of its inhabitants, they were not likely to submit to the first summons. This elevated district was commanded by two fortified places, Urach and Tübingen;--and so long as they remained firm to the Duke, the surrounding neighbourhood also determined not to desert his cause. In Urach, however, the citizens, fearful of the power of the League, wished to come to terms, whilst the garrison held faithful to their master. The two parties at last came to blows, in which the brave commander was killed, and the garrison was then obliged to surrender.
By the middle of April Tübingen, which had been strongly fortified, was the only place left to the Duke. Ulerich confided the defence of the castle, with the care of his family and the treasure of his house, to forty gallant and experienced knights, having under them two hundred of the bravest of his countrymen. The position of this fortress was strong, and being well supplied with ammunition and provisions, all eyes in Germany looked to its fate with anxiety; for, Tübingen being a town of great repute in those days, it was thought that if it could but hold out until the Duke relieved it, he might then be able to re-conquer the country. The League, to frustrate their enemy's last hope, now marched against it with their whole force. The heavy steps of armed bodies of men sounded through the forests in their march towards the place; the vallies of the Neckar trembled under the tread of cavalry; the artillery, with the baggage and ammunition waggons, and all the apparatus for a long siege, which was brought with the army, left deep ruts in the fields as a witness of the coming event.
Albert von Sturmfeder knew nothing of the progress of the war. A deep but sweet slumber, like a powerful enchantment, suspended the operations of his faculties for a long time. He suffered no inconvenience in this state of stupor, but resembled a child who, sleeping on the breast of its mother, occasionally opens its eyes to gaze at a world it knows not, and closes them again for a time. Pleasing dreams of better days soothed his situation, a placid smile often played upon his pale countenance, and comforted those who nursed him with tender solicitude.
We will now introduce the reader to the humble cottage, which had received him with hospitality, and treated him with tender care the day after he had been wounded.
The morning sun of this day threw its enlivening rays on the round frame of a small window, and illumined the largest room of a needy peasant's house. Though the furniture bespoke poverty, cleanliness and order reigned throughout. A large oaken table stood in one corner of the room, on two sides of which were placed wooden benches. A carved chest, painted with bright colours, contained, as was generally the case in such habitations, the Sunday wardrobe of the inhabitants, and fine linen spun by themselves; around the dark wainscot of the walls was a shelf, upon which were ranged well polished cans, goblets, and smoothing irons, earthen utensils with mottos in verse painted on them, and all kinds of musical instruments, such as cymbals, hautboys, and a guitar, hung on the walls. At the further end of the room stood a bedstead, with cotton curtains, of a coarse texture, ornamented with figures of large flowers. It was partly concealed from view by a range of clean linen hanging to air around an earthenware stove, which projected far into the apartment.
A young girl, of about sixteen or seventeen years of age, sat beside the bed. She was dressed in that picturesque costume which, with little difference, has been handed down to our days among our Swabian peasantry. Her golden hair was uncovered, and fell in two long tresses plaited with different coloured ribands, over her back. Her cheerful face was somewhat tanned by the sun, but not so much as to obscure the lovely youthful colour of her cheeks; a lively blue eye sparkled from beneath a long eyelash. Plaited full sleeves of white linen covered her arm down to the hand; a scarlet bodice, laced with a silver chain, and trimmed with fancy-worked linen, of a finer texture than the sleeves, sat close to her shape; a short black petticoat fell scarcely below the knee. This ornamental dress, together with a clean white apron and high clocked stockings of the same colour, fastened up with pretty garters, did not appear quite in keeping with the humble furniture of the room, nor with the week-day costume of a peasant's daughter.
The young girl was busily employed spinning fine thread; at times she opened the curtains of the bed, and peeped in. But, as if she had been caught in the act, she quickly closed them again, and smoothed the folds, so that no one might remark what she had been about.
The door opened, when a little plump elderly woman entered, dressed much in the same way as the girl, but not so smart. She brought a basin of hot soup for breakfast, and then arranged the plates on the table. When she saw her daughter (for such she was) sitting beside the bed, she was so startled at her appearance, that a little more and she would have dropped the jug of cider which she also held in her hand.
"For God's sake, what are you thinking about, Barbelle," said she, as she placed the jug on the table and approached the maiden; "what are you thinking about, to sit and spin there with your new bodice on? And she has got her new petticoat on, too, and the silver chain, I declare, and has taken a clean apron and stockings out of the chest! What a piece of vanity, you foolish thing! Don't you know that we are poor folks, and that you are the child of an unfortunate man?"
The daughter patiently allowed her bustling mother to expend her astonishment; she cast her eyes down, it is true, but there was a roguish smile on her face, which proved that the lecture did not sink very deep. "Ah! what's the use of being angry?" she answered; "what harm can it do to my dress, if I wear it once on a week day? The silver chain will not suffer, and I can easily wash the apron."
"So! as if we had not washing and cleaning enough? But tell me, what has put it into your head to make yourself so smart to-day?"
"Ah! don't you know, mother," said the blushing Swabian child, "that to-day is the eighth day? Did not my father say the gentleman would awake on the eighth day, if his medicines had their desired effect? And so I thought----"
"Yes, this is about the time," replied the mother, kindly; "you are quite right, child: if he awakes and sees everything about him slovenly and dirty, we shall get into trouble with the father. And I am not fit to be seen! Go, Barbelle, and fetch me my black jacket and red bodice, and a clean apron."
"But, mother," said the young one, "you had better go and dress yourself, while I remain here, for perhaps the gentleman may awake when you are putting your things on."
"You are right again, girl," replied the mother, and, leaving the breakfast on the table, retired to adorn her person. Her daughter opened the window to the fresh morning air, for the purpose, according to her usual practice, of feeding her pigeons, which were assembled before the house waiting for their accustomed meal; larks and other little birds saluting her in full chirping chorus, partook also of her bounty, which the young girl enjoyed with innocent pleasure.
At this moment the curtains of the bed were opened, when the head of a handsome young man looked out; we need not say it was Albert von Sturmfeder.
A slight colour, the first messenger of returning health, played on his cheeks; his look was as brilliant as ever, and his arm felt as powerful. He surveyed his situation in astonishment; the room, with its furniture, were strangers to him; everything about him was a riddle. Who had bandaged his head? who had put him in this bed? His position appeared to him like that of one who had passed a jovial night with his companions, and, having lost his senses, awoke in some out-of-the-way place.
He observed the girl at the window for some time. He could not keep his eyes off her, as she was the first object he had seen; for the purpose of drawing her attention, he made a rustling noise with the curtains as he threw them further back.
She' started when she heard the noise, and looking round, exhibited, to Albert's astonishment and delight, the beauty of her countenance, now slightly tinged with a blush. His sudden apparition appeared for a moment to deprive her pretty smiling mouth of the power of finding words to welcome the invalid to returning life. She soon collected herself, however, and hastened to the bedside, but immediately after checked her steps, as if she were not quite certain of her patient being really awake, or whether it were proper to be in the room when he returned to his senses.
The young man, observing the embarrassment of this beautiful maiden, was the first to break silence.
"Tell me, where am I? how came I here?" asked Albert. "To whom belongs this house, in which, it appears, I awake out of a long sleep?"
"Are you really in your senses again?" cried she, clasping her hands for joy. "Ah! thank God, who would ever have thought it? But you look at one as if it were true, though you have been so long ill as to make us very fearful and anxious about you."
"Have I been ill?" inquired Albert, who scarcely understood the dialect of the Swabian girl. "I have only been a few hours without consciousness?"
"Eh! what are you thinking about," giggled the girl, and bit the end of the tress, to suppress a rising laugh; "a few hours, did you say? This night will just be the ninth that I have been watching you."
The young man could not comprehend what he heard. Nine days, and not arrived at Lichtenstein, to see Bertha? And with this thought his recollection of the past returned in full force to his mind; he remembered having renounced the service of the League,--that he had determined to visit Lichtenstein,--that he had crossed the Alb by unfrequented paths, and that he and his leader had been attacked. But now, when he looked about him, fearful doubts oppressed his mind. Am I a prisoner, he thought to himself; and immediately put the same question to his pretty attendant.
She had noticed, with increasing anxiety, the placid countenance of the young knight, as it became ruffled, and the wild look his features had suddenly assumed. Fearful he might relapse again into his former situation, which the languid tone of his voice seemed to indicate, she hesitated what to do, whether to remain in the room, or call in the assistance of her mother.
She did not return an answer, and retired towards the door. Her heart was touched at the distress which appeared to oppress her patient; and Albert, judging by her silence and the anxious expression of her countenance, which he construed into an affirmation to his question, that he was now in the hands of his enemies, exclaimed, "I am a prisoner then, separated from her without hope, without consolation, without the possibility of hearing from her perhaps for a long time!" The shock was too great for his weak state of body to withstand; a tear stole from his eye.
The girl observed the tear: her anxiety was changed into pity, she approached nearer, and seating herself again by the bed-side, ventured to take the hand of the young man. "You must not give way to grief," she said, "your honour is well again, and----you can very soon proceed on your journey," she added, with a cheerful smile.
"Proceed on my journey?" asked Albert, "then I am not a prisoner?"
"Prisoner? no, certainly not; you might have been so, indeed, once or twice, for the patroles of the League often came to our house, but we always concealed you, because my father told us not to let any one see you."
"Your father!" cried the young man, "who is your father? Where am I?"
"Where are you?" answered Barbelle, "why, in Hardt, to be sure."
"In Hardt?" a glance at the walls adorned with musical instruments convinced him that he was indebted to the man for his life and liberty, who had been sent to him from Bertha as a guardian angel. "So I am in Hardt? and your father is the fifer of Hardt, is he not?"
"He does not like to be called by that name," said the girl; "he is certainly a musician, but he prefers being known by the name of Hans."
"But how did I come here?" inquired Albert.
"Don't you recollect anything about it?" smiled the young girl, and played with her hair again. She then related, in Swabian dialect, that after her father had been absent many weeks, he suddenly arrived nine days ago, in the night, and knocked at the door some time before it awoke her. Having recognised his voice, she hurried down to let him in. He was accompanied by four men, carrying a wounded man, covered with his cloak, whom they brought into the house. When her father withdrew the cloak from the sick man, and desired her to bring a light, she was terribly frightened at seeing a person bleeding, and apparently half dead. He then ordered her to heat the stove immediately, and they brought the wounded man into the room, and laid him on the bed. His dress was that of a person of distinction. "My father," added she, "applied some herbs to his wounds, he also prepared a cordial for him, for he understands the art of medicine both for man and beast. The young man was for two days very restless and violent, which caused us all great anxiety. But after my father had given him a third dose of medicine he became easy and quiet, and then he said that, on the eighth morning, the invalid would be himself again, and his prediction has actually come to pass."
Albert listened to the story of the young girl with much interest; he was obliged occasionally to interrupt her in her narration, when he did not exactly understand the expressions she made use of in her Swabian dialect, or when she described more minutely the herbs with which the fifer of Hardt had prepared his medicines.
"And where is your father?" he asked.
"How can we know where he is?" she answered, as if she wished to avoid the question; but, recollecting herself, she added, "I think I may tell you, because you must be a good friend of his; he is gone to Lichtenstein."
"To Lichtenstein?" cried Albert, and blushed deeply; "and when will he come back again?"
"He ought to have been here two days ago, as he told us, if nothing happened to detain him. Folks say the cavalry of the League are on the look-out for him."
The mere mention of Lichtenstein seemed to invigorate his weak frame with renewed strength. He fancied himself strong enough to mount his horse immediately, and, by the rapidity of his movements, make up for the time he had lost on the bed of sickness.
His next and most important question, therefore, was to inquire after his horse; and when he heard it was quite well in the cow-house, he thought he would be able to set out without further loss of time. He thanked his kind little nurse for the care she had taken of him, and asked for his jacket and cloak. She had long since cleaned his clothes, and carefully washed out all spots of blood; and taking them out of the carved painted chest, where they had been placed among her Sunday's attire, spread them out one by one before him, and appeared pleased with the grateful acknowledgements which he expressed for her attention. She then hurried out of the room to acquaint her mother with the joyful news of the young knight's restoration to health and vigour.
We know not whether she told her mother that she had had half an hour's gossip with the handsome gentleman; we have reason however to doubt it, for that good lady had learnt from the experience of her youthful days, and thought it necessary to repeat the warning constantly to her daughter, that "she should take good care not to speak to a smart young fellow longer than it would take to repeat an 'Ave Maria.'"