CHAPTER XV.
Art thou troubled, maiden? Tell me what,--
Thou speak'st of matters which beseem thee not.
Schiller.
Barbelle went up stairs to her mother, who was still occupied in adorning her little plump person, to appear before her guest in proper attire. They then descended together to the kitchen on the ground floor, which adjoined the apartment of Albert. The attention of the good matron was more excited by getting a peep at him through a small window looking into his room, than in preparing a mess of oatmeal porridge for his mid-day meal. Barbelle was also determined to satisfy her curiosity in like manner, and standing upon tiptoes, looked over her mother's shoulders.
She beheld the young man with wondering eyes, and her heart beat violently for the first time in seventeen years at the sight of his fine figure. She had been often moved to tears as he lay on the bed of sickness, insensible, almost lifeless; deeply affected at the pallid appearance of his fine manly features struggling with death, as she imagined, she had watched him with the tender anxiety of a pious mind; but now she felt he was quite a different object to behold. His eye was reanimated by a beautiful expression, and it struck Barbelle, young though she was, that she had never seen the like before. His hair fell no longer in wild disorder over his forehead; it now hung down his neck arranged with care and combed into neat curls. The colour had returned to his cheeks, and his lips were as fresh as cherries on the festivals of Peter and Paul; and how well did his embroidered silk jacket become him, and the broad white collar which he had put on over his dress! But the little girl could not comprehend why he was so much occupied with a certain white and blue silk scarf; she even thought that he pressed it to his heart and raised it to his lips, full of the devotion which is paid to some esteemed relic.
The elderly matron had, in the meantime, satisfied her curiosity in the examination of her guest, and returned to her culinary occupations. "The gentleman looks like a prince," she said, as she gave the mess of oatmeal porridge a stir, "what a jacket he has! no Stuttgardt beau can boast of a finer one. But what is he always doing with that band he holds in his hand? He never ceases to look at it. Perhaps there is a spot of blood on it which he cannot get out?"
"No, that's not it!" said Barbelle, who could now look into the room with greater ease. "But do you know, mother, what I think? he looks at it with such ardent eyes, that it must certainly be something from his love."
The matron could scarcely help smiling at the supposition of her child, but she soon recover her dignity, and replied, "Ah, what do you know about love! Such a child as you must not think of the like. Get away from the window, and fetch me a napkin. The gentleman has been accustomed to good living, so I must put more melted butter in the porridge." Barbelle left the window rather in a pet. She knew that she dare not disobey her mother, but nevertheless thought that she was in the present instance decidedly in the wrong. For, had she not been in the habit of joining the other girls of the village for a whole year past, when they talked and sang of their loves and favourites? Had not some of her companions, who were only a few weeks older than herself their appropriate sweethearts? and should she alone be debarred from even speaking on the subject,--not even to know anything about it? No, it was too bad of her mother; who now forbad her knowing anything about such affairs, when but a moment before she had not objected to her standing upon tiptoes to look over her shoulder. But, as it often happens that prohibition excites transgression, so Barbelle was determined not to rest satisfied until she had discovered why the young knight regarded his scarf with such enraptured eyes.
The breakfast of the young man was, in the meantime, ready, wanting only a can of wine to complete it; this was also soon provided; for, though the fifer of Hardt was a man of low condition, he was not so poor that his cellar could not produce a bottle or two upon extraordinary occasions. The girl carried the wine and bread, whilst her mother, dressed in her complete Sunday's attire, preceded her daughter into the room, bearing the dish of oatmeal porridge in both hands.
Albert had some difficulty to dispense with the ceremonious respect, which the fifer's wife thought was due to such a distinguished guest. She had once served in the castle of Neuffen, and knew what good manners were, and therefore remained on the threshold of the door, with the smoking hot dish in her hands, until the young man positively ordered her to approach. Her daughter stood blushing behind the round plump matron, and her confused countenance was only occasionally visible to Albert when her mother curtsied very low. She also followed her mother through the number of requisite ceremonies, but felt, perhaps, less embarrassment now than she might have done, had she not had half an hour's previous conversation with their guest.
Barbelle covered the table with a clean cloth, and put the porridge and wine before Albert, who was to sit on the end of the bench under the crucifix, which hung on the wall. She then stuck a curiously carved wooden spoon into it, which, standing unassisted upright, was a proof that the meal was of the best cooking. When the young man had seated himself, the mother and daughter also took their places at the table to partake of the breakfast, but placed themselves at a respectful distance, not forgetting to put the salt between them and their distinguished guest, for such was the custom in the good old times.
During the time that each was occupied with their repast, Albert had sufficient opportunity to make a few passing observations upon his companions. In the appearance of the stately personage who filled the situation of honour in the fifer of Hardt's house, self importance and dignity seemed pre-eminent whilst much kindliness of expression was marked on her features. Had not her better half been a man of determined character, and positive in maintaining the upper hand in the essentials of domestic government, there was something in the bearing of his wife which indicated, that one less bold might easily have been brought under her dominion.
In her daughter's countenance, the combined charms of simple unaffected goodness and innocence beamed forth in all their glory. The purity of her heart, and kindliness of her feelings, were delineated in the delicate lines of her features, and the soft modest expression of her eye bespoke unconsciousness of nature's best gifts. Such was this child of nature, bred and born in the lonely cottage of a restless intriguing peasant; Albert could not behold her without admiration, and owned to himself that, had his heart not been already fully occupied with another, and the distance between the heir to the name of Sturmfeder and the lower born daughter of the fifer of Hardt been immeasurably great, she might have won no insignificant place in it. His eye rested with peculiar pleasure and interest upon her innocent face, and, had not her mother been so much occupied with her porridge, she could not have avoided noticing the blushes of her child, when a stolen look at the young knight by chance met his glance.
"Now that the platter is empty, is the time to gossip," is a true saying; which was put in practice as soon as the table cloth was taken away. Albert had two things particularly at heart. He wished to know for certain, when the fifer of Hardt would return from Lichtenstein, because he only awaited intelligence from Bertha to hasten immediately to her; and, secondly, it was highly necessary for him to learn where the army of the League was at the present moment. To the first question he could not expect any further information, than that which the maiden had already given him, namely, that her father had been absent about six days, but, having promised to be back on the fifth, she now looked for his arrival every hour. The good matron shed tears as she bewailed to her guest how her husband, since the commencement of the war, had been but a few hours at home; how he had always had the reputation of being a restless character; and how people rumoured all sorts of stories about him, which would certainly bring his wife and child into misfortune and trouble by his dangerous mode of life.
Albert tried all means to console her and stop her tears; and so far succeeded, as to enable her to answer his questions respecting the army of the League.
"Ah! sir," she said, "terror and misery are our portion now-a-days! it is just as if a wild huntsman were riding on the clouds, driving over the country with his ghost hounds. They have overrun all the low country, and now the whole force is gone to attack Tübingen."
"So all the fortresses are in their hands?" said Albert, astonished: "Höllenstein, Schorndorf, Göppingen, Teck, Urach--are they all taken?"
"All of them, I believe; a man from Schorndorf told me that the confederates were in Höllenstein, Schorndorf, and Göppingen. But I can tell you for certain about Teck and Urach, as we are only three or four hours' distance from them." She then related that, on the 3rd of April, the League's army advanced to Teck; one part of the infantry was posted before one of the gates of the town, and had a parley with the garrison about surrendering. Every one flocked to the spot to hear the summons, and in the meantime the enemy scaled the other gate. But, in the castle of Urach, there were four hundred ducal infantry, which the citizens would not admit into the town when the enemy advanced. A battle took place between them, in which the soldiers were forced into the market place, where the commander was wounded by a ball, and afterwards run through the body by a halbert; the town then surrendered to the League. "It is no wonder," said the fifer of Hardt's wife, as she concluded her narration, "that they take all the towns and castles; for they have long falconets and bombarding pieces which shoot balls as large as my head, breaking down walls and upsetting towers."
Albert could easily foresee from this information, that the journey from Hardt to Lichtenstein would not be less dangerous, than that which he had already performed over the Alb, for he knew that he would be obliged to pass directly between Urach and Tübingen. But, as the army of the League had been withdrawn from Urach several days back, and the siege of Tübingen necessarily required a large force, he might hope there was no post of any importance occupied by the enemy, in the country through which he would have to travel. He therefore awaited the arrival of his guide with impatience.
The wound on his head was quite healed; though the blow had been severe enough to deprive him of his senses for many days, it was not deep, owing to the feathers of his cap and the thickness of his hair having blunted the sharpness of the cut. He had recovered also of the wounds on his legs and arms, and the only inconvenience he suffered from the result of that unfortunate night, was a debility arising from the loss of blood, and lying so long upon the bed of sickness. But his constitution hourly gained strength, his natural buoyancy of spirit resumed its sway, and his only thought was to proceed onwards to his destination.
He was, however, compelled to summon up all his spirits, to make the tedious hours he was still doomed to pass in his present quarters at all bearable. The daughter of the fifer, perceiving how the prolonged absence of her father distressed him, did her best to beguile the time by amusing him with her cheerful conversation. The delay was nevertheless not without its advantages, for he became acquainted with the character and life of the Swabian peasant. Their manners and dialect were quite new to him. His countrymen, the Franconians, although bordering so near on this part of Würtemberg, were to his mind a race more subtle and crafty,--in many respects less polished,--than these. But the kind-hearted honesty of the Swabians, which their looks, address, and actions bespoke,--their cheerful industry, their cleanliness and order, giving to poverty a respectable, indeed a substantial, appearance; in short, everything he saw induced him to think they possessed more intrinsic good qualities than their shrewder neighbours.
He was very much taken with the unaffected simplicity of the young girl's talk. Her mother might scold as much as she liked, and remind her continually of the high rank of the knight, she was not to be deterred from entertaining him, and she was particularly bent upon not giving up her secret plan to ascertain whether she or her mother were right in their views respecting the white and blue scarf. Upon this subject she had her own thoughts, arising out of the following circumstance:
One night when Albert was very ill, she had remained up late to keep her father company, who was watching by his bed-side. But having fallen asleep over her work, she was aroused, it might have been about ten o'clock, by a noise in the room. She saw a man in earnest conversation with her father, whose features did not escape her notice, although he tried to conceal them under a large cap. She thought she recognised in the stranger a servant of the knight of Lichtenstein, who had often been in the habit of coming in a mysterious way to the fifer of Hardt, upon which occasion she was always obliged to leave the apartment.
Bent upon knowing what this man had to communicate to her father, she feigned to be asleep thinking he would not disturb her. She was right in her conjecture; and heard the stranger speak of a young lady, who was inconsolable, on account of a certain young man. She had commissioned him to go to Hardt to ascertain the truth of the report which had given her great concern, and had determined to acknowledge every thing to her father respecting her acquaintance with the invalid, and in case he returned to her with unsatisfactory intelligence, she would immediately proceed to nurse him herself.
The messenger from Lichtenstein spoke in an under tone, as if afraid of being overheard; and her father, lamenting the case of the lady, represented the state of the patient as being likely soon to be ameliorated, and promised that, when he was decidedly better, he would immediately convey the consoling news to her himself. The stranger then cut off a lock of the sick man's hair, folded it up carefully in a cloth, which he carried under his jacket, and being led out of the room by her father, took his departure.
The many occupations of the following days, had driven the conversation of the stranger from the recollection of the fifer's daughter; but when she witnessed the scene from the kitchen window, it came back in full force to her mind. She knew that the knight of Lichtenstein had a daughter, because her aunt had been her nurse, and now was her attendant. It could be no other than this very lady, who had sent the servant to inquire about the sick man, and intended to come herself to nurse him.
All the stories she had ever heard as she sat at the spinning-wheel on a long winter's evening,--and there were many terrible ones, of king's daughters in love, of gallant knights sick in prison, saved by the hands of noble ladies,--came to her remembrance. She did not exactly know what people of quality thought of love, but she supposed that sensation must be much the same kind of thing, which girls of her village felt, when they surrendered their hearts to handsome young fellows of their own rank in life. With this idea strong in her mind, she thought how painful must be the situation of the noble lady, living in the high and distant castle, not to know whether her treasure were dead or alive, nor to be able to come to him, to see him, and to watch over him.
These reflections brought tears into her eye, generally so animated and cheerful. Her heart was touched at the idea of the narrow escape the lady had run of losing her lover; and supposing her to be the daughter of a noble, rich knight, she necessarily must be very beautiful, her imagination led her to fancy her situation to be doubly inconsolable. But was not the young man to be equally pitied, if not more so? thought she. Her father had surely ere this imparted to the lady the gratifying news of her lover's recovery; whilst he, poor man, had not heard one word from her for many days! Has he not been deprived of his senses during nine whole days; and since their return been left in anxious suspense on her account? These circumstances, therefore, left no doubt upon her mind, of the reason why he cherished the scarf with such tender regard, and convinced her from whose hands it came, at the same time that it satisfied her why he constantly pressed it to his heart and lips. Thinking to give him comfort, she determined to relate to him what had passed on that night, when she overheard the conversation between her father and the stranger.
Whilst Barbelle was occupied at her spinning wheel, Albert remarked that she was not so cheerful as usual, that there was a cast of seriousness on her countenance, which he had never observed before. Her mind appeared occupied with a thought that distressed her; nay, he even perceived a tear in her eye. He was so much struck by the change, as to wish to know the cause of it. "What have you at heart, girl?" he asked, just after her mother had left the room. "What makes you all at once so silent and serious? you even moisten your thread with tears!"
"And can you be gay, sir?" asked Barbelle, and looked at him inquisitively in the face. "I think I saw something once fall from your eye also, which moistened that scarf. I am sure it was given you by your love; and I was just thinking how much I grieved that you were not by her side."
Albert was taken by surprise at this remark of his young friend, and blushed deeply, which satisfied her she had made a better guess about the mysteries of the scarf than her mother had. "You are not far wrong," he answered, smiling; "but I am not uneasy on that account, as I hope to see her again very shortly."
"Ah! what joy there will be at Lichtenstein when that happy event comes to pass," said Barbelle, whose countenance had now resumed its wonted gaiety.
What could be the meaning of this, thought Albert? could her father have made known to her the secret of his love? "In Lichtenstein, did you say? what do you know about me and Lichtenstein?"
"Ah! I rejoice to think of the happiness the noble lady will have when she sees you again. I have heard how miserable she was when you were ill."
"Miserable, did you say?" cried Albert, springing upon his feet, and approaching her; "was she aware of my state? O speak! what do you know of Bertha? Are you acquainted with her? What has your father said of her?"
"My father has not said a single word to me; and I should not have known there was such a person as a lady of Lichtenstein, if my aunt was not her nurse. But you must not be offended at me, sir, if I listened a little; look ye, this is the way I know it." She then related how she became acquainted with the secret; and that her father was probably gone to Lichtenstein to give the lady comforting intelligence of his recovery.
Albert was painfully affected at this news. He had all along cherished the hope that Bertha would have heard of his misfortune and recovery at the same time, and have been spared much anxiety on his account. He well knew how the cruel uncertainty of his being safe from the vigilance of the enemy's patroles, even had his health been restored, would wear upon her spirits; perhaps affect her health also. Truly his own misfortune appeared nothing, when he compared it to the distress of that dear girl. How much had she not gone through in Ulm! how painful the separation from him! and now scarcely had she enjoyed the thought of his having quitted the colours of the League, scarcely had she been able to look forward to a more cheerful futurity, when she was terrified by the news of his being almost mortally wounded. And all this she was obliged to suffer in secret, to conceal it from the looks of her father--without possessing one single soul as a friend, to whose sympathy she could confide the secret of her heart--and from whom she might seek consolation. He now felt more than ever how necessary it became to hasten his departure for Lichtenstein; and his impatience was inflamed into anger, that the fifer of Hardt, otherwise a cautious and clever man, should just at this moment remain so long absent.
The maiden guessed his thoughts: "I plainly see you long to be away--oh, were but my father here to shew you the way to Lichtenstein! It would be imprudent in you to go alone, for there would be no difficulty in detecting your not being a Würtemberger by your speech. Do you know what? I'll run to meet my father, and hurry him home."
"You go to meet him?" said, Albert touched by the proposal of the good-hearted girl; "do you know whether he be in the neighbourhood? he may be still some distance from home; and it will be dark in an hour."
"And were it so dark, that I should be obliged to grope my way blindfolded to Lichtenstein, I'll wager you could not go faster to your----." Blushing, she cast her eyes down; for although her good heart induced her to proffer her services as a messenger of love, she felt confused when she touched upon the tender subject, which had been made so clear to her this day, and which confirmed her in her former suspicions.
"But if you volunteer to go to Lichtenstein out of regard for me, there is no reason why I should not accompany you, rather than remain behind, to await the arrival of your father. I'll saddle my horse immediately, and ride by your side; you can shew me the way until I am far enough not to mistake the rest of it."
The girl of Hardt scarcely knew which way to look, when Albert made this proposal; and playing with the ends of her long plaits of hair, said, almost in a whisper, "But it will be so soon dark."
"Well, what does that signify? So much the better, because I shall then be able to arrive in Lichtenstein by cock-crow," answered Albert; "you yourself proposed finding the way through the darkness."
"Yes, to be sure, so I could," replied Barbelle, without looking up; "but you are not strong enough yet to undertake the journey; and he who has just risen from a sick bed, must not think of travelling six hours in the night."
"I cannot pay any more attention to that," said Albert; "my wounds are all healed, and I feel as well as ever I was; so get ready, my good girl, we will start immediately; I'll go and saddle my horse." He took the bridle, which hung on a nail on the wall, and went to the door.
"But, sir! hear me, good sir!" cried the girl, in a beseeching tone, after him: "pray do not think of going now. It would not be proper for me to travel alone with you in the dark. The people in Hardt are very censorious, and they would certainly say some ill-natured thing of me if----; better stay till to-morrow morning, when I will willingly go as far as Pfullingen with you."
The young man respected her reasons, and replaced in silence the bridle on the nail. It would certainly have been much more agreeable to him, if the folks of Hardt had been less inclined to think evil of their neighbours; but he could not do otherwise than meet the well-meant scruples of Barbelle in their proper light. He therefore determined to remain the night waiting the arrival of the fifer of Hardt; should he not then come, he would mount his horse by daybreak, and set out for Lichtenstein, under the conduct of his young friend.