Part 19 (2/2)
”Yes, another; who according to Rosel's account must be a charming nice young man. She was with her young mistress in Tubingen, and there was a Herr von ---- von ----, I believe he was called Sturmfittich; he studied at the University; they became acquainted with each other there; and the old nurse declares such a handsome couple was not to be found in all Swabia. She was over head and ears in love with him, that's true; and was very unhappy when she parted with him in Tubingen; but now her false heart is unfaithful to the poor youth, and Rosel really weeps when she thinks of him; he is handsomer, much handsomer, than her present lover.”
The hostess, who had quite forgotten her household duties in her zeal to relate the gossip of the neighbourhood, was now called by the fat man in the drinking room: ”Landlady,” said he, ”how long must I knock here, before I get another can of wine.”
”Coming, coming, sir!” she answered, and flew to the bar to satisfy the importunate man, and from thence she went to the cellar, and then to the kitchen, and was all of a sudden so full of business, that her guest in the bow had sufficient time to ponder over all he had just heard. He sat there, his hand supporting his head, looking with fixed eyes into the bottom of his silver tankard; he remained in that position from the afternoon till the evening; night advanced, and still he sat at the round table, dead to all the world about him, giving signs of life only by an occasional deep sigh. The landlady did not know what to make of him. She had placed herself at least a dozen times near him, had tried to speak with him, but he only looked at her with a staring eye, and answered nothing. She at last got very uneasy, for just in the same way had her good husband of blessed memory gazed at her when he died, and left her in possession of the Golden Stag.
She consulted the fat man, and he with the leather back gave his opinion also. The landlady maintained that he must be either over head and ears in love, or that some one must have bewitched him. She strengthened her supposition by a terrible history of a young knight, whom she had seen, and whose whole body became quite stiff from sheer love, which caused his death.
The pedlar was of a different opinion; he thought that some misfortune must have happened to the stranger, a circ.u.mstance which often befals those engaged in war, and that, therefore, he was in deep distress. But the fat man, winking, asked, with a countenance full of cunning conjecture, what was the growth and age of the wine the gentleman had been drinking?
”He has had old Heppacher of the year 1480,” said the landlady: ”it is the best that the Golden Stag furnishes.”
”There we have it,” said the wise fat man; ”I know the Heppacher of the year eighty, and such a young fellow cannot stand it; it has got into his head. Let him alone, with his heavy head upon his hand; I'll bet that before the clock strikes eight he will have slept his wine out, and be as fresh as a fish in water.”
The pedlar shook his head and said nothing; but the hostess praised the acknowledged sagacity of the fat man, and thought his supposition the most probable.
It was now nine o'clock; the daily visitors of the drinking room had all left it, and the landlady was also on the point of retiring to rest, as the stranger awoke out of his reverie. He started up, made a few hasty steps about the room, and at last stood before the hostess.
His look was clouded and disturbed, and the short time which had elapsed between mid-day and the present moment had so far altered the features of his otherwise kind, open countenance, as to impart to them an expression of deep melancholy.
The kind-hearted woman was grieved at his appearance; and calling to mind the sagacious supposition which the fat man had p.r.o.nounced as to the cause of his agitation, she proposed cooking a comfortable supper and preparing a bed for him; but her kind offices were altogether unavailing, as he appeared bent upon a rougher pastime for the night.
”When did you say,” he inquired with a altering voice, ”when did you say the nocturnal guest went to Lichtenstein? and at what hour did he depart?”
”He enters at eleven o'clock, dear sir,” she replied; ”and at the first c.o.c.k crow he retires over the drawbridge.”
”Order my horse to be saddled immediately, and let me have a guide to Lichtenstein.”
”At this hour of night!” cried the landlady, and clasped her hands together in astonishment; ”you would not start now: you surely cannot be in earnest.”
”Yes, good woman, I am in real earnest; so make haste, for I am in a hurry.”
”You have not been so all day long,” she replied, ”and you now would rush over head and ears into the dark. The fresh air, indeed, may do invalids such as you some good; but don't suppose I'll let your horse out of the stable this night; you might fall off, or a hundred accidents might happen to you, and then it would be said, 'where was the head of the landlady of the Golden Stag, to let people leave her house in such a state, and at such an hour.'”
The young man did not heed her conversation, having relapsed into the same melancholy mood as before; but when she finished, and paused to get an answer, he roused up again, and wondered that she had not yet put his orders into execution.
While she still hesitated to meet his wishes, and saw he was on the point of going himself to look after his steed, she thought that, as her good intentions were unavailable to retain him in her house, it would be more advisable to let him have his own way. ”Bring the gentleman's horse out,” she called to her servant, ”and let Andres get ready immediately, to accompany him part of the way. He is in the right to take some one with him,” she said to herself, ”who may be of use to him in case of need. How much do you owe me, did you say, sir knight?
why, you have had a measure of wine, which makes twelve kreuzers; and the dinner,--as to that it's not worth talking about, for you ate so little; indeed you scarcely looked at my fowl. If you give me two more kreuzers for the feed of your horse, you shall receive the thanks of the poor widow of the Golden Stag.”
Having paid his reckoning in the small current money of the times, Albert took his leave of his kind landlady, who though her opinion of him was somewhat changed since he first entered her house, proceeding from an air of mystery about his character which she could not account for, still she could not conceal from herself, when he threw himself into the saddle by the light of a torch, that she had seldom seen a handsomer youth. She therefore impressed upon the lad who accompanied him to be very careful, and keep an especial look out upon the gentleman, ”who,” she added, ”did not appear to be quite right in his head.” Having reached the outer gate of Pfullingen, the guide asked his new master where he wished to go? and upon his answer, ”to Lichtenstein,” took a road to the right, leading to the mountains.
Albert rode on in profound silence; he looked not to the right nor to the left, neither at the stars over head nor in the distant horizon; his eye only sought the ground. His mind now was in much the same state as at that moment when a blow from the hand of an enemy laid him senseless on the ground. His thoughts stood still, hope no longer animated him, he had ceased to love and to wish. But at that time, when he sank, exhausted, on nature's cool carpet, his last thoughts were cheered with the endearing recollection of his beloved, and his benumbed lips were still able to p.r.o.nounce once more her idolized name.
But that light seemed to be extinguished which had hitherto guided his steps. It appeared as if he had but a short distance still to go in the dark, in order to seek his peace of mind in a light different to that he had fondly hoped to find on the Lichtenstein rock. His right hand went occasionally to his sword, as if to a.s.sure himself that at least this companion was faithful to him, for he now trusted to it alone, as the important key by which he might open the door that would lead from darkness to light.
The travellers had long since reached the wood; the path became steeper, and the horse with difficulty ascended the hill with his rider, who was, however, unconscious of all surrounding objects. The night air blew cool, and played with the flowing locks of the young man,--he felt not its effects; the moon rose and lighted up the road, which ascended amidst huge ma.s.ses of rock and tall oaks, under which he pa.s.sed,--he noticed them not; time flowed on un.o.bserved by him; hour followed hour in rapid succession, unheeded by his troubled mind.
It was past midnight when they arrived at the summit of the highest hill, and having reached the skirts of the wood, they beheld the castle of Lichtenstein before them, situated upon an insulated perpendicular rock, rising as if by magic from the depths of darkness, and separated by a broad chasm from the surrounding country. Its white walls, its indented rocks, glimmered in the moonlight; it seemed as if the castle slumbered in the profound tranquillity of solitude, cut off from the rest of the world.
Albert cast a troubled glance towards it, and sprang from his horse, which he fastened to a tree, and sat down on a stone covered with moss directly opposite the castle. The guide stood waiting for further orders, and asked several times in vain, whether his services were required any longer.
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