"... may have done in his younger days. Last night I dreamt that he held me close in his arms, when suddenly a Hunnic woman, with yellow face and black hair, came and tore him away. 'He is mine,' cried she, and when I did not let him go, she became a serpent, and tightly coiled herself around him."
"Leave alone serpents and Hunnic women now," interrupted Praxedis, "and get thyself ready, for they are already coming up the hill. Don't forget the sprig of rosemary, and the white handkerchief."
Cappan's white garment shone out brightly in the courtyard, and so Friderun gave the slip to all foreboding thoughts, and walked out. The bride's-maids welcomed her outside; he who had just been baptized, laughed at her with his whole face; the chapel-bell rang out merrily, and so they went to be married.
The religious ceremony was over, and the new couple walked out of the castle-yard with beaming faces. Friderun's kith and kin had come; strong healthy-looking people; who, as regarded bodily height, did not fall short of Friderun. They were farmers and yeomen on the neighbouring lands, and had come to help in lighting the first fire on the new hearth, at the foot of the Hohenstoffeln, and to celebrate the wedding in all due form. On a cart decorated with garlands, which headed the train, the bride's outfit was to be seen. There, the huge bedstead of pine-wood was not missing, on which roses and magic signs were painted; meant to drive away night-mares, goblins and other nightly sprites. Besides this, there were still sundry boxes and trunks, containing the necessary household articles.
The bride's-maids carried the distaff, with the bundle of flax, and the prettily adorned bridal broom, made of white birch twigs; simple emblems of industry and order for the future household.
Loud shouts of joy and merriment were not wanting either, and Cappan felt, as if the baptismal floods had swept away all recollection of his having ever governed, and lived on the back of a swift-footed horse. Decently and soberly, he walked along with his new relations, as if he had been a bailiff, or magistrate of Hegau, since his youth. Before the noise of the merry-makers going down the hill, had died away, two nice-looking lads, the sons of the steward at the imperial castle of Bodmann, and cousins of Friderun, appeared before the Duchess and her guests. They came to invite them to the wedding; each with a cowslip stuck behind his ear, and a nosegay in his button-hole.
Somewhat embarrassed, they remained standing at the entrance, until the Duchess made them a sign to approach, upon which they walked on a few steps, stopped again, and scraping a deep bow, they spoke the old customary words of the invitation to the wedding-feast of their cousin, begging her, to follow them over dale and vale, roads and moats, bridges and water to the house of the wedding. There she would find some vegetables, such as the good God had given. A tun would be tapped, and violins ringing, a dancing and singing, jumping and springing. "We beseech you, to accept two bad messengers for one good one. Blessed be Jesus Christ!" so they concluded their speech, and without waiting for the answer, they scraped another bow, and quickly hurried away.
"Shall we give the honour of our presence, to the youngest of our christian subjects," gaily asked Dame Hadwig. The guests well knew, that questions which were so graciously put, must not be answered in the negative. So they all rode over in the afternoon. Rudimann, the deputy of St. Pirmin's monastery, accompanied them; but he was silent and watchful. His account with Ekkehard had not yet been settled.
The Stoffler-mountain, with its three basalt pinnacles, feathered with stately pine-trees looks proudly down over the land. The castle, whose ruins now crown its summit, was not built then; only on the highest of the three points stood a deserted tower. Somewhat lower down, on a projecting part of the hill, there was a modest little house, hidden amongst the trees, which was to be the domicile of the newly married pair. As a tribute, and sign that the owner of the house was the Duchess's vassal, it was decreed that he should furnish every year fifty moles' skins, and on the day of St. Gallus a live wren.
On a green meadow in the woods, the wedding-party had erected their camp. In large kettles and pans, a tremendous cooking and frying was going on; and he who could not get some dish or plate, feasted off a wooden board; and where a fork was wanting, a double pointed hazel-wand, was installed in its place.