Part 20 (1/2)
”How long is it to the first crow of c.o.c.k?” inquired Albert at last.
”Two hours, sir,” was the answer of the lad.
He then gave him a handsome reward for his conduct, and made signs to him to depart. The boy hesitated to obey him, as if afraid of leaving the young man in his present state of mind; but, upon his repeating the sign with impatience, he withdrew with a slow step. He looked back once before he regained the wood, and observed his silent master still seated upon the same stone, under an oak, with his hand supporting his head.
CHAPTER XIII.
This hollow path must be his way, It doth to Kussnacht lead, So here I will his coming stay, And here I'll do the deed.
SCHILLER.
Much has been said and written in all ages upon the folly of jealousy, but since the days of Uriah the world has nevertheless not grown wiser upon the subject.
The news which Albert von Sturmfeder had heard from the hostess of the Golden Stag respecting the nocturnal visits of the stranger to the castle of Lichtenstein, had created a feeling in his breast to which it had hitherto been a perfect stranger, and he did not possess sufficient coolness of blood, to exercise his judgment with calmness and moderation, upon a subject of such vital importance to his future prospects. Though he was of an age in which an open generous disposition places implicit reliance in the honour of others, yet taken by surprise, as his unsuspicious heart now was, in its dearest affections, the consequences were likely to become fatal to his happiness. The anguish attendant upon plighted faith broken, burnt within him; he could scarcely control the feeling of wounded pride, at being made the dupe of misplaced confidence; that calm judgment which teaches us to discriminate between right and wrong forsook his mind, and the truth was veiled from his sight in an atmosphere of gloomy foreboding. The fiendish a.s.sociates, contempt, rage, and revenge, which, with many others, compose the steps of the ladder of feeling between love and hatred, now a.s.sailed him, and rendered even jealousy a secondary pa.s.sion in his breast.
Brooding over these tormenting sensations, he sat upon the moss-covered stone, insensible to the chill of the night air, and his only thought was, to meet the nocturnal visitor, and demand an explanation.
When the clock struck two in a village beyond the wood, he observed lights moving in the windows of the castle. His heart beat in full expectation; he grasped the hilt of his sword. A few moments after the lights were visible behind the trellis of the gate, and dogs began to bark. Albert sprang upon his feet, and threw his cloak aside. He heard a deep voice very distinctly say, ”Good night.” The creaking drawbridge was lowered over the abyss which separates the rock of Lichtenstein from the country; the gate opened, when a man, his hat falling deep over his face, and enveloped in a dark cloak, came over the bridge, directly towards the spot where Albert was standing.
When he had arrived at a few paces from him, the young man called out in a threatening tone, ”Draw, traitor, and defend your life!” and advanced on him. The man in the cloak stepped back, drawing his sword; in a moment the two blades met.
”You shall not have me alive,” cried the other; ”at least I'll sell my life dear!” and with these words the stranger attacked him vigorously, proving himself by the rapid and heavy blows which he dealt to be an experienced swordsman, and no despicable opponent. This was not the first time Albert had crossed blades in anger; for at the university of Tubingen he had fought many an honourable duel with success; but now he had found his match. His adversary pushed him hard, and his attack was maintained with so masterly a hand, that Albert was compelled to confine himself solely to his own defence, when, in a last attempt to settle the affair by one powerful thrust, his arm was suddenly seized by a strong hand from behind, and in the same moment his sword was wrested from his grasp. A loud voice, from the person who now held him fast in both his arms, cried, ”Run him through, sir; such a.s.sa.s.sins don't deserve a moment's time to say their paternoster.”
”You do it, Hans,” said the stranger; ”I am not the one to take the life of a defenceless man; run him through with his own sword, and be quick about it.”
”Let me rather do it myself, sir,” said Albert, with a firm voice; ”you have robbed me of my love,--what further need have I of life?”
”What is that I hear?” said the stranger, and approached nearer.
”What voice is that?” said the other stranger, who still kept a firm hold of Albert; ”I ought to know its sound.” He turned the young man in his arms, and, as if struck by lightning, he let go his hold. ”What on earth do I see! we might have made a pretty business of it!--but what unlucky star has brought you to this spot, sir? How could my people think of letting you depart without my knowledge?”
It was the fifer of Hardt who addressed Albert, and now offered him his hand. He was not, however, much inclined to return the friendly salute of a man who but a moment before was going to perform the part of executioner. Burning with fury, he looked at the man in the cloak, and then at the fifer: ”Do you mean to say,” said he, addressing himself to the latter, ”that I ought to have allowed myself to remain a prisoner in your house, for the purpose of not witnessing your traitorous designs? Miserable impostor! And you, sir,” turning to the other, ”as you value your honour, defend yourself singly, and not fall two upon one. If you wish to know my name, I am Albert von Sturmfeder, come here for the express purpose of measuring swords with you, to uphold my previous claim to the Lady of Lichtenstein, which pretension, perhaps, may not be unknown to you. I demand my sword back again, having been wrenched from my hand by an act of treacherous cowardice, and let each make good his pretensions in honourable fight. With my life alone will I cease to a.s.sert my right.”
”Albert von Sturmfeder!” replied his opponent in surprise, but in a friendly manner. ”It appears you must be labouring under some mistake.
Believe me, that, instead of being your enemy I am much interested in you, and have long wished to see you. Accept my friends.h.i.+p, upon the word of honour of a man; and do not imagine I visit the castle with the sinister views you attribute to me.”
He stretched out his hand from under his cloak, and offered it to the astonished youth, who hesitated, however, to take it. The skill with which he wielded his sword, and the heavy blows he dealt out, strengthened Albert in his opinion, that his opponent was accustomed to the use of his weapon; and that he was a man of honourable and generous character, seemed satisfactorily proved in the frank and unreserved manner he proffered his hand when he became acquainted with his name.
Under these circ.u.mstances therefore he could scarcely forbear trusting to his word. Still his mind could not in an instant shake off doubts of being deceived under the specious dealings of the stranger, which made him undecided to accept, without further reserve, the proffered friends.h.i.+p of a man whom but the moment before he had looked upon as his bitterest enemy.
”Who is it that offers me his hand?” demanded Albert; ”I have given you my name, it is but just you tell me yours.”
The stranger threw his cloak back, and raising his hat, discovered to Albert, by the light of the moon, a n.o.ble countenance, with a brilliant sparkling eye, bearing the expression of commanding dignity. ”Ask not my name,” said he, whilst a ray of sorrow played about his mouth; ”that I am a man of honour, is sufficient for you to know. I once, indeed, bore a name which was upon a level with the most honourable in the world; I once wore the golden spurs, and carried the waving plume of feathers in my helmet, and, at the sound of my bugle, could a.s.semble hundreds of my people around me--but now all is lost. One thing alone remains to me,” he added, with indescribable dignity, taking the hand of the young man with a firm grasp, ”I am a man, and carry a sword,--
'Si fractus illabatur orbis Impavidam ferient ruinae.'”
With these words he drew his hat again over his face, and throwing his cloak over his person, withdrew, and was soon lost in the wood.
Albert von Sturmfeder stood in dumb astonishment, resting on his sword.
The commanding look of the stranger, his winning benevolent features, his brave and generous conduct, filled his soul with admiration and respect. Revenge, which had agitated his breast before he crossed swords with him, no longer ruffled it, but gave way to the contemplation of the virtues which his opponent had displayed in his unexpected rencontre with one, whose life he might have taken in the just defence of his own person. But what conduced above all to raise this man higher in Albert's estimation, was the frank and honest manner in which he had disavowed any clandestine acquaintance with Bertha, having confirmed it by a gallant defence of his honour, which he seemed as capable of a.s.serting as he did of wielding his weapon. Such was the result of this adventure upon the mind of Albert, that he felt it relieved of a mountain's weight of trouble and anxiety, with which, but a few moments back, it had been oppressed. The malicious reports of the hostess of the Golden Stag, which he had too readily given credit to, now stung him with shame and remorse. He would willingly have risked every thing at that moment to have gained admittance to the castle, and thrown himself at the feet of his beloved, to implore her forgiveness for having given place to a doubt of her faithful attachment.