"Oh! yes; at Tübingen, I was in the thick of it. Not twenty paces from me a man was killed as dead as a mouse. I shall never forget the fright I was in, if I live eighty years. After we had perfectly subdued the whole country, I was appointed to the honourable situation of secretary to the governor in Stuttgardt. We lived quietly, and in peace, until the restless Duke returned once more to disturb us. Oh! had I but followed my own wish, and joined the representatives of the League at Nördlingen! but I feared the fatigue of the journey."
"But why did you not depart with the governor when we arrived? He is now quietly seated in Esslingen, until we hunt him out of it."
"He deserted us shamefully," said Kraft; "and intrusted everything to my head, which has nearly suffered for it. I had not the least idea the danger was so imminent, and allowed myself to be seduced by Doctor Calmus to speak to the people, and warn them against breaking their oath to the League. Had I but succeeded, it would have made a noise in the world, and I should have stood high in Marie's estimation. But the Würtembergers are barbarians, and void of all decent manners. They did not even let me say a word, but threw me down, and treated me like a common vagabond. Just look at my cloak, it is torn to tatters! I regret it, for it cost me four gold florins, and Marie maintains that rose colour becomes the complexion of my face to perfection."
Albert scarcely knew whether to laugh at the folly of his friend the scribe, or admire the stoical composure with which he lamented his torn gown, when he had but a moment before narrowly escaped losing his head. He was going to ask some other questions about his adventures, when an extraordinary noise was heard under the window in the open space before the castle; he looked out, and beckoned to Dieterich von Kraft to come and witness a spectacle of fallen greatness.
Doctor Calmus was being paraded through the town. He was seated on an ass, with his face towards the tail. The lansquenets had dressed him out in a ridiculous manner, with a painted leather cap, at the top of which was stuck a large cock's feather. Two drummers led the procession, on either side, the Magdeburger, Staberl of Vienna, the late Captain Muckerle, and the brave general, marched with solemn pace, every now and then pricking the animal with the ends of their halberts to quicken his pace. An immense crowd of people swarmed around him, pelting him with eggs and mud.
The scribe looked down upon his unfortunate companion in distress with pity, and sighed, "It's hard to be obliged to ride upon an ass in that fashion, but it's better than being hanged." He turned from the scene, and looked towards another side of the square. "Who comes here?" he asked the young knight; "that's just the kind of thing I went to the field in."
His friend looked round, and perceived a train of travellers with a litter in the middle. An old man on horseback brought up the rear of the party, which now moved towards the castle. Albert observing them more closely, cried out, in wild joy, "It's them! it's them! it is her father, and she is in the litter!" One spring took him out of the room, to the great astonishment of the scribe. "Who can it be? what father?" said he. He returned to the window, and looking out, he saw the cavalcade stop on the drawbridge, and in the same moment his friend fly through the gate. Dieterich then observed him to open the door like a madman, a lady in a veil stepped out of the litter, and when she threw it back, to his great surprise he recognised his cousin Bertha von Lichtenstein. "But only see; he kisses her in the public street," said the scribe to himself, shaking his head, "I have never seen such joy before! But, alas! there goes the father to the litter; what angry eyes he will make! how he will stamp and swear! but no, he nods kindly to my friend; he dismounts, he embraces him.--Well, that's very curious, I must say!"
The scribe could scarcely believe his eyes, and to convince himself that he was not deceived, left the room, and went into the gallery, where he perceived the old knight of Lichtenstein coming up the stairs, leading Albert by his right hand, and Cousin Bertha by the left. He thought a great alteration for the better had taken place in her beautiful features, since the time they had made such a deep impression on his heart, and still lived in his recollection.
He had seen her for the first time in Ulm, when she appeared to him like a messenger from a fairy land, so dignified was the expression of her eyes, majesty sat upon her brow, and her whole countenance bespoke a mind far above the common stamp of mortals. The scribe had often puzzled his mind in the attempt to unravel the mystery by which she had gained such influence over him. The damsels of Ulm possessed perhaps cheeks fresher and more plump, eyes more lively, a more attractive smile, and perhaps greater brilliancy of youth. But there was a something in Bertha which he could not account for, which inspired him with awe. Was it the dark eyelashes, which, like a veil, fell over her eyes, and concealed the starting tear? Was it the delicately compressed lip, upon which was encamped the expression of painful grief? or the rapid change of colour upon her features, which appeared to betray suffering of some acute feeling--perhaps of love? Marie's cheerfulness, her easy manners, a certain art of teasing, which imparted life and good will to all around her, had long since driven her cousin's image from his heart; but now that he came again in contact with the influence of the lady of Lichtenstein, poor Dieterich von Kraft felt all his old wounds bleed afresh. What was the power which worked in so different a manner upon his feelings was a question beyond his comprehension. Though there was the same dignity, the same expression, which commands the respect and admiration of the beholder, her eye was now animated with placid joy, a pleasing smile played on her lips, and her cheeks bloomed with unalloyed happiness. Dieterich von Kraft had made these observations in speechless astonishment, when the old knight first noticed him. "Do my eyes deceive me?" he cried, "Dieterich von Kraft, my nephew! What brings you to Stuttgardt? Perhaps you come to the wedding of my daughter with Albert von Sturmfeder? But how you look! What's the matter with you? How pale and miserable your whole appearance, and your clothes hang about your body all in rags! What has happened?"
The scribe eyed his rose-coloured gown in despair and dismay, and blushed; "God knows!" he said, "I am ashamed to shew myself before any decent person. These cursed Würtembergers, these vine-dressers and contemptible shoemakers, have mangled me in this way. Verily, and in truth, the whole illustrious League has been attacked and insulted in my individual person!"