Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace Part 11

"Why should they kill you on that account? If four or five were to spring out of the bush there now with loaded rifles pointed at us, and politely inquire, 'Gentlemen, what have you with you?' or 'If agreeable, we will help you carry it,' or some such elegant mode of address, then you wouldn't make a fool of yourself, but would open your knapsack and lay the yellow waist-coat, the blue coat, two shirts, and all your necklaces, bracelets, combs, and whatever you had besides, politely on the ground, and be thankful for the life they spared you."

"You think so, do you?" responded Felix warmly. "You think I would give up the ornament I have here for my G.o.dmother, the dear lady countess?

Sooner would I part with my life! Sooner would I be hacked into small pieces. Did she not take a mother's interest in me, and since my tenth year bind me out as apprentice? Has she not paid for my clothes and every thing? And now, when I am about to go to her, to carry her something of my own handiwork that she had ordered of the master; now, that I am able to give her this ornament as a sample of what I have learned; now you think I would give that up, and my yellow waistcoat as well, that she gave me? No, better death than to give to these base men the ornament intended for my G.o.dmother!"

"Don't be a fool!" exclaimed the compa.s.s-maker. "If they were to kill you, the countess would still lose the ornament; so it would be much better for you to deliver it up and keep your life."

Felix did not answer. Night had settled down, and by the uncertain gleam of the new moon he could not see more than five feet before him.

He became more and more nervous, kept close by the side of his companion, and was uncertain whether he ought to approve of the arguments of his friend or not. Thus they continued on, side by side for another hour, when they saw a light in the distance. The young goldsmith was of opinion that they should not prematurely rejoice, as the light might come from a den of thieves; but the compa.s.s-maker informed him the robbers had their houses or caves under ground, and that this must be the inn that a man had told them of, as they entered the forest.

It was a long, low house, before which a wagon stood; and adjoining the house was a stable from which came the neighing of horses. The compa.s.s-maker beckoned his comrade to a window whose shutters were open; and by standing on their toes they were able to look into the room. In a chair before the stove slept a man whose clothes bespoke him a wagoner--very likely the owner of the cart before the door. On the other side of the stove sat a woman and a girl, spinning. Behind the table, close to the wall, sat a man with a gla.s.s of wine before him.

His head was supported in his hands so that his face could not be seen.

But the compa.s.s-maker judged from his clothes that he was a man of rank. While they were peeping, a dog in the house began to bark; Munter, the compa.s.s-maker's dog, barked a reply; and a servant-girl appeared at the door and looked out at the strangers.

They were promised supper and a bed; so they entered, and laying their heavy bundles, sticks, and hats in the corner, sat down at the table with the gentleman. He looked up at their greeting, and they perceived him to be a handsome young man, who returned their greeting pleasantly.

"You are late on the road," said he; "were you not afraid to travel through the Spessart on so dark a night? For my part, I would have stabled my horse in this tavern before I would have ridden an hour longer."

"You are quite right in that, sir," responded the compa.s.s-maker. "The hoof beats of a fine horse are music in the ears of these highwaymen, and lure them from a great distance; but when a couple of poor journeymen like us steal through the woods--people to whom the robbers would sooner think of making a present than of taking any thing from them--then, they do not lift a foot."

"That is very likely," chimed in the wagoner, who, awakened by the arrival of the journeymen, had taken a seat at the table. "They could not very well be attracted by a poor man's purse, but there have been instances of robbers killing poor people, simply out of thirst for blood, and of forcing others to join the band and serve as robbers."

"Well, if such are the deeds of these people in the forest, then this house will not afford us very good protection," observed the young goldsmith. "There are only four of us, or, counting the hostler, five; and if ten men were to attack us here, what could we do against them?

And more than this," he added, in a low tone, "who can guarantee that the people of this inn are honest?"

"Nothing to fear there," returned the wagoner. "I have known this tavern for more than ten years, and have never seen any thing wrong about it. The master of the house is seldom at home; they say he carries on a wine trade; but his wife is a quiet woman who would not harm any one. No, you do them a wrong, sir."

"And yet," interposed the young gentleman, "I should not like to brush aside so lightly what he said. Don't you remember the reports about those people who suddenly disappeared in this forest and left no trace behind them? Several of them had previously announced their intention of pa.s.sing the night at this inn; and as two or three weeks pa.s.sed by without their being heard from, they were searched for, and inquiries made at this inn, when they were a.s.sured that the missing men had never been here. It looks suspicious, to say the least."

"G.o.d knows," cried the compa.s.s-maker, "we should do a much more sensible thing if we were to camp out under the next best tree we came to, than to remain within these four walls, where there is no chance of running away when they are once at the door, for the windows are grated."

All grew very thoughtful over these speeches. It did not seem so very improbable, after all, that these tavern people in the forest, be it under compulsion or of their free accord, were in league with the robbers. The nighttime seemed particularly dangerous to them, for they had all heard many stories of travellers who had been attacked and murdered in their sleep; and even if their lives were not endangered, yet most of the guests of the inn were possessed of such moderate means that the robbery of even a part of their property would have: been a very serious loss to them. They looked dolefully into their gla.s.ses.

The young gentleman wished himself on the back of his horse, trotting through a safe open valley. The compa.s.s-maker wished for twelve of his st.u.r.dy comrades, armed with clubs, for a body-guard. Felix, the goldsmith, was more anxious for the safety of the ornament designed for his benefactress, than for his own life. But the wagoner, who had been blowing clouds of smoke before him, said softly: "Gentlemen, at least they shall not surprise us asleep. I, for my part, will remain awake the whole night, if one other will keep watch with me."

"I will"--"I too," cried the three others. "And I could not go to sleep," added the young gentleman.

"Well we had better contrive some means of keeping awake," said the wagoner. "I think while we number just four people, we might play cards, that would keep us awake and while away the time."

"I never play cards," said the young gentleman, "therefore you would have to count me out."

"Nor do I know any thing about cards," added Felix.

"What can we do, then, if we don't play cards," asked the compa.s.s-maker. "Sing? That wouldn't do, for it would only attract the attention of the robbers. Give one another riddles to guess? That would not last very long. How would it do if we were to tell stories?

Humorous or pathetic, true or imaginative, they would keep us awake and pa.s.s away the time as well as cards."

"I am agreed, if you will begin," said the young gentleman, smiling.

"You gentlemen of trades visit all countries, and have something to tell; for every town has its own legends and tales."

"Yes, certainly, one hears a great deal," replied the compa.s.s-maker.

"But, on the other hand, gentlemen like you study diligently in books, where really wonderful things are written; therefore, you would know how to tell a wiser and more entertaining story than a plain journeyman, such as one of us, could pretend to--for unless I am much mistaken you are a student, a scholar."

"A scholar, no," laughed the young gentleman; "but certainly a student, and am now on my way home for the vacation. But what one reads in books does not answer for the purpose of a story nearly as well as what one hears. Therefore begin, if the other gentlemen are inclined to listen."

"Still more than with cards," responded the wagoner, "am I pleased when I hear a good story told. I often keep my team down to a miserably slow pace, that I may listen to one who walks near by, and has a fine story to tell; and I have taken many a person into my wagon, in bad weather, with the understanding that he should tell me a story; and one of my comrades I love very dearly, for the reason that he knows stories that last for seven hours and even longer."

"That is also my case," added the young goldsmith. "I love stories as I do my life; and my master in Wuerzburg had to forbid me books lest I should neglect my work. So tell us something fine, compa.s.s-maker; I know that you could tell stories from now until day-break before your stock gave out."

The compa.s.s-maker complied by emptying his gla.s.s and beginning his story.

THE HIRSCH-GULDEN.

In Upper-Suabia still stands the walls of a castle that was once the stateliest of the surrounding country, Hohen-Zollern. It rose from the summit of a round steep mountain, from whence one had a distant and un.o.bstructed view of the country. Farther than this castle could be seen from the encircling horizon, was the brave race of the Zollerns feared; and their name was known and honored in all German countries.

There lived several hundred years ago, in this castle, a Zollern, who was by nature a singular man. One could not say that he oppressed his subjects, or that he lived at war with his neighbors; yet no one trusted him, on account of his sullen look, his knitted brow, and his moody, crusty manner. There were few people, outside of the castle servants, who had ever heard him speak properly like other people; for when he rode through the valley, if one met him, gave him the road, and said to him with uncovered head, "Good evening, Sir Count! It is a fine day," he would answer, "Stupid stuff," or, "I know it already." If, however, one had been inattentive to his wants or had neglected his charger, or if a peasant with his cart met him on a narrow road, so that the count could not pa.s.s him quickly enough, he broke out into a torrent of curses. Yet it was never said of him on these occasions that he had struck a peasant. But all through this region he was called "The Tempest of Zollern."

The Tempest of Zollern had a wife who was a complete contrast to himself, and as mild and pleasant as a May morning. Often by her friendly words and her kind glance had she reconciled to her husband people whom he, by his rude speech, had deeply insulted. To the poor she did all the good in her power; nor could the warmest days of Summer or the most terrible snow storms of Winter prevent her from descending the steep mountain to visit poor people or sick children. If the count met her on these errands, he would say in a surly manner, "Know already--stupid stuff," and proceed on his way.

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Many ladies would have been discouraged or intimidated by such a crusty manner; one would have thought, "why should I concern myself with poor people when my husband calls it all stupid stuff?" another, through pride or sorrow, might have lost her love for so moody a husband; but not so with the Countess Hedwig of Zollern. She was constant in her affection, strove to smooth the lines on his brow with her beautiful white hand, and loved and honored him. And when after a long time Heaven bestowed upon them the gift of a son, she loved her husband none the less while conferring all the duties of a tender mother on her little boy.

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Three years went by, and the Count of Zollern saw his son only on Sunday afternoons, when the child was handed to him by the nurse. He looked at him without changing a feature of his face, growled something through his beard, and gave him back to the nurse. But when the boy was able to say "father," the count gave the nurse a gulden, but showed no pleasanter face to the boy.

On his third birthday, however, the count had his son put on the first pair of breeches and had him dressed splendidly in velvet and silk.

Then he ordered his horse, and also another fine horse for his son, took the child up on his arm, and began to descend the spiral staircase. The countess was astonished as she saw this. She was not accustomed to inquire where he was going and when he would return; but this time anxiety for her child opened her lips.

"Are you going to ride out, Sir Count?" she asked. He made no reply.

"For what purpose do you take the child?" continued she, "Cuno will take a walk with me."

"Know already," replied the Tempest of Zollern; and kept on his way till he stood in the court-yard, where he took the boy by one of his little feet and lifted him into the saddle, bound him fast, and then swinging himself on his horse, trotted out of the castle gate with the bridle of his son's horse in his hand.

At first the little fellow regarded it as a great treat to ride down the mountain with his father. He clapped his hands, laughed, shook the mane of his horse to make him go faster, all of which pleased the count so much that he called out several times: "You will make a brave lad!"

But when they came to the foot of the mountain, and the count's horse began to trot, the boy lost his courage, and begged, at first very quietly, that his father would ride slower; but as the count spurred on his horse, and the strong wind nearly took poor Cuno's breath away, the boy began to cry, became more and more impatient, and finally howled at the top of his lungs.

"Know already! stupid stuff!" began his father. "The young one howls on his first ride; be still, or----"

But in the moment he was about to stop the boy's cries by a curse, his horse reared, and the bridle of his son's horse slipped from his hand.

He gave his attention to quieting his horse, and when he had mastered it and looked around for his child, he saw the other horse running up the mountain without its little rider.

Stern and unfeeling as was the Count of Zollern, this sight struck him to the heart. He believed his son had been dashed to the ground and killed. He pulled his beard and groaned; but nowhere could he find a trace of the boy. He had just began to think that the frightened horse had thrown him into the ditch that ran along the road, full of water, when he heard a child's voice call his name, and as he quickly turned, there sat an old woman under a tree, not far from the road, rocking the child on her knees.

"How do you come by that boy, old witch?" shouted the count angrily.