"In the name of his most Christian majesty, Louis XIV., King of France, I announce to the Diet of the German empire that he has taken possession of Bonn, Kaiserswerth, and other strongholds of the archbishopric of Cologne; that Mentz has opened her doors to his victorious armies, and that war is declared between France and Germany. The sword is drawn, nor shall it return to its scabbard until the inheritance of the Duchess of Orleans is given up to France, and the King of France is recognized as lord and sovereign of Lorraine, Alsatia, and the Netherlands! War is declared!"
CHAPTER VI.
THE JUDITH OF ESSLINGEN.
It was a clear, bright morning in March. The snow had long since melted from the mountain-tops, flowers had begun to peep out of the earth's bosom, and the trees that, grew upon the heights around Esslingen were decked with buds of tender green.
But the inhabitants of Esslingen had no pleasure in contemplating those verdant hills; for the castle that crowned their summit was in possession of the French. Within its walls the enemy were feasting and drinking, while the owners of the soil, plundered of all they possessed, had naught left to them on earth save the cold, bare boards of their homes, wherein, a few weeks before, peace and plenty had reigned.
On the 2d of March, 1689, the French reduced the castle of Heidelberg to a heap of ashes, and for more than a century its bleak ruins kept alive the hatred of Germany toward their relentless enemies.
God had permitted them to spread desolation over the land. He had withdrawn His help from the innocent, and had suffered the wicked to triumph. After plundering their houses of every necessary of life, General Melac now required of them tribute in the shape of twenty thousand florins. To raise one-fourth of the sum was an impossibility in Esslingen; and the burghers of the town had gone in a body to the castle to beg for mercy.
Two hours had elapsed since they had departed on their dangerous mission, and the people, with throbbing hearts, awaited their return. Up to this day, they had mourned and wept in the solitude of their plundered homes; but in this hour of mortal suspense, they had instinctively sought companionship; and now the market-place, in whose centre was the ancient town-hall, was thronged with men, women, and children, of every degree. Misfortune had levelled all distinctions of rank, and the common danger had cemented thousands of human beings into one stricken and terrified family.
They stood, their anxious looks fixed upon the winding path which led to the castle, while all around at the open windows pale-faced women hoped and feared by turns, as they saw light or shadow upon the faces of the multitude below.
Just opposite the council-hall was a house of dark-gray stone, with a bow-window and a richly-fretted gable. At the window stood two persons; one a woman whose head was enveloped in a black veil which set off the extreme paleness of her face, and fell in long folds around her person. Near her stood a young girl similarly attired; but, instead of the hair just tinged with gray, which lay in smooth bands across the forehead of her companion, her golden curls, stirred by the breeze, encircled her young head like a halo, and the veil that fluttered lightly around her graceful person lay like a misty cloud about a face as beautiful in color as it was in feature. Spite of suffering and privation, the brow was smooth and fair, the cheeks were tinged with rose, and the lips were scarlet as autumn berries. She, like the rest, had endured hunger and cold; but youth is warmed and nourished by Hope, and the tears that dim a maiden's eyes are but dew-drops glittering upon a beautiful rose.