"Yes, dear Wohlfart, the first. Originally individuals were free, and, in the main, equal; then came the semi-barbarism of the privileged idler and the laboring bondsman. It is only since the growth of our large towns that the world boasts civilized states—only since then is the problem solved which proves that free labor alone makes national life noble, secure, and permanent."
Toward evening our travelers reached the frontier station. It was a small village, consisting, in addition to the custom-house and the dwellings of the officials, of only a few poor cottages and a public house. On the open space between the houses, and round about the village, bivouacked two squadrons of cavalry, who had posted themselves along the narrow river that defined the border, and who were appointed to guard it in company with a detachment of riflemen. The public house presented a scene of wild confusion: soldiers moving to and fro, and sitting cheek by jowl in the little parlor; gay hussars and green coats camped round the house on chairs, tables, barrels, and every thing that could by any contrivance be converted into a seat. They appeared to Anton so many Messrs. Pix, such was the peremptoriness with which they disposed of the little inn and its contents. The Jew landlord received the well-known merchant with a loud welcome, and his zeal was such that he actually cleared out a small room for the travelers, where they could at least spend the night alone.
The merchant had scarcely dismounted when half a dozen men surrounded him with shouts of joy. They were the drivers of the wagons that had been recently expedited. The oldest of their party related that, when just beyond the frontier, they had been induced to make a hasty retreat by the alarming spectacle of a body of armed peasants. In turning round, the wheel of the last wagon had come off; the driver, in his fright, had unharnessed the horses and left the wagon. While the delinquent stood there, flourishing his hat in the air, and excusing himself as well as he could, the officer in command came up and confirmed the story.
"You may see the wagon on the road, about a hundred yards beyond the bridge," he went on to say; and when the merchant begged leave to cross the bridge, he offered to send one of his officers with him.
A young officer belonging to a squadron just returned from a patrol was curbing his fiery steed at the door of the tavern.
"Lieutenant von Rothsattel," called the captain, "accompany the gentlemen beyond the bridge."
It was with rapture that Anton heard a name linked with so many sweet recollections. He knew at once that the rider of the fiery charger could be no other than the brother of his lady of the lake.
The lieutenant, tall and slender, with a delicate mustache, was as like his sister as a young cavalry officer could be to the fairest of all mortal maidens. Anton felt at once a warm and respectful regard for him, which was perhaps discernible in his bow, for the young gentleman acknowledged it by a careless inclination of his small head. His horse went prancing on by the side of the merchant and his clerk. They hurried to the middle of the bridge, and looked eagerly along the road. There lay the colossal wagon, like a wounded white elephant resting on one knee.
"A short time ago it had not been plundered," said the lieutenant; "the canvas was stretched quite tightly over it; but they have been at it now, for I see a corner fluttering."
"There does not appear to have been much mischief done," replied the principal.