The Banished Part 21

Brilliant white rocks composed its walls. The bold arched cupola, formed of innumerable stalact.i.tes, from the ends of which hung millions of small drops of water, reflected the light in all the colours of the rainbow. The surrounding rocks were thrown together in such happy confusion, as to give the imagination full scope to fancy it could discover in their grotesque shapes, here a chapel, having its high altarpiece ornamented with flowing drapery; there its corresponding pulpit of rich gothic architecture. An organ even was not wanting to complete the idea of a subterranean church, and the changing shadows thrown on the walls by the light of the torches, resembled the solemn figures of martyrs and holy men placed in niches.

The guide came down again from his position on the rock, after having, as he thought, sufficiently satisfied the curiosity of his companion.

"This is called the Nebelhohle, or the Misty Hollow," said he; "it is little known in the country, excepting to huntsmen and shepherds, and few venture to enter it, as all kinds of fearful stories are abroad of ghosts inhabiting its chambers. I would not advise any one who is not minutely acquainted with its locality to venture down, for there are deep cavities and subterranean waters, whence no one would see the light again, if once entangled amidst their intricacies. There are also secret pa.s.sages and compartments known only to five individuals now alive."

"But the banished knight," asked Albert, "where is he?"

"Take the torch, and follow me," replied the other, and led the way though a side pa.s.sage. They had proceeded about twenty paces, when Albert thought he heard the deep tones resembling those of an organ. He drew the attention of his leader to it.

"That is some one singing," the fifer answered, "the voice sounds particularly beautiful and full in these caverns. When two or three men join their voices together, it resembles the full chorus of monks chanting the _Ora_." The music became still plainer; and as they approached the spot, the expressive feeling of a beautiful melody was distinctly heard. They were obliged to bend themselves under the corner of a rock, as they proceeded, when the voice of the songster sounded from above, and broke in repeated echo on the indentations of the wall of rock, until it was lost in the mingled noises of dripping water from the moist stones, and the murmur of a subterranean waterfall.

"That is the place," said the guide; "above there, in the side of the rock, is the habitation of the unhappy man. Hearken to his voice! We'll wait and listen till he has finished, for he never was accustomed to be interrupted, even when he lived above ground." It was with great difficulty that they could catch the following words on account of the great echo and the murmur of falling and rushing water.

The tow'r from whence my childhood gazed Upon the subject fields so fair, Now bears a stranger's banner, raised Where erst my father's fann'd the air.

To ruin sink my father's halls, The portion of my ancestry; O'erthrown and unavenged, the walls In earth's deep bosom buried lie.

O'er fields, where once in happier tide My jocund bugle horn I blew, The savage foemen fiercely ride: A n.o.ble quarry they pursue.

I am their game, the quarry chased; The slot-hound follows where he flies, Athirst the stag's warm blood to taste, Whose antlers[1] are the hunter's prize.

The murderers have bent their bow, They ransack forest, hill, and plain; Whilst clad in rags I nightly go A beggar on my own domain.

Where once I rode in lordly state, Whilst greeting va.s.sals bow'd the head; I fear to tap the cotter's gate, And beg in pity's name for bread.

From my own doors ye thrust me out; Yet will I knock while knock I can: All is not lost, if heart be stout: I bear a sword, I am a man.

I quail not: tho' my heart should break, I will endure unto the end; And thus my foes of me shall speak, "This was a man, and ne'er would bend."

A deep sigh, which followed the conclusion of the song, gave the hearers reason to suppose, that the burden of it had not afforded the unfortunate exile much consolation. A large tear had rolled down the tanned cheek of the man of Hardt as they stood listening; and Albert perceived the inward struggle which this good peasant seemed to contend with in order to compose his mind, and appear before the inhabitant of the cavern with a cheerful countenance. He requested the young man to hold his torch awhile; and clambered up the smooth, slippery rock which led to the grotto whence the sounds they had just heard had issued.

Albert supposed he had gone to acquaint the stranger of his arrival, but his guide returned with a strong rope in his hand. He descended half way down the rock again, threw one end of the rope to him, and desiring him to tie the torches on to it, he pulled them up, and placed them in a secure corner in the rock. He then a.s.sisted his young master to mount to the spot where he was standing, which he would not have been well able to accomplish alone. Once up there, they were only a few paces from the inhospitable abode of the exile.

We have attempted to describe this remarkable cavern according to its natural formation. Some further observations may be interesting to the reader. The entrance is about 150 feet in circ.u.mference; two paths, which form two natural excavations, one of 100 feet long, the other 82, lead from thence, and, taking different directions, meet again in the interior at the distance of about 200 feet. The place where they join forms a grotto, whence, on the right towards the north, higher up in the rock, is another smaller one, the spot to which we have led the reader, to the dwelling of the exile. The whole length of the cavern, from the entrance to the innermost point, is about 577 feet.

FOOTNOTES TO CHAPTER XVIII.:

[Footnote 1: Referring, probably, to the arms of Wurtemberg.]

CHAPTER XIX.

The rugged rocks fantastic forms a.s.sume, Seen in the darkling of the midnight gloom; And the wild evergreens so dimly bright, Seem to reflect a kind of lurid light; This sight so strange may well our knight amaze, He stops, upon the witchery to gaze.

WIELAND.

The spot to which they had arrived in this large cavern, possessed one great advantage, that of being perfectly dry. The ground was covered with rushes and straw; a lamp hung on the side of the rock, which threw sufficient light on the breadth, and a great part of the length, of the grotto. Opposite the entrance sat the stranger upon a large bear skin, and near him stood his sword and a bugle horn; an old hat, and a grey cloak lay on the ground. A jacket of dark brown leather, and trowsers of coa.r.s.e blue cloth, covered his person; an unseemly costume, but which did not the less set off the powerful shape of his body, and the n.o.ble features of his countenance. He was about thirty-four years old, and his face might be called still handsome and pleasing, although the first bloom of youth was worn off by hardship and fatigue, and his beard having grown wild upon his chin, imparted to his look an air of severity. Albert made these fleeting remarks as he stopped at the entrance of the grotto.

"Welcome to my palace, Albert von Sturmfeder," said its inhabitant, whilst he rose from his bear skin, and offering him his hand, begged him to take a seat beside him on a deer skin: "you are heartily welcome," he repeated. "It was no bad thought of our friend the musician, to introduce you into these lower regions, and bring me such agreeable society. Hans, thou faithful soul! thou hast been our major domo and chancellor up to this moment, from henceforth we nominate thee our head-master of the cellar and purveyor-general. Look behind that pillar, and thou'lt find the remains of a bottle of good old wine. Take my beech-wood hunting-cup, the only utensil left us, and fill it up to the brim, to the honour of our worthy guest."

Albert beheld the exiled man in astonishment; though he might have expected to find the energies of his mind unsubdued by the storms of life, still he was prepared to see him brooding over his misfortunes in sullen melancholy, driven by hard fate to seek shelter in these inhospitable regions. What, therefore, was his surprise to find him, on the contrary, cheerful and unconcerned, joking about his situation, just as if he had been merely overtaken by a storm in hunting, and had sought shelter from its violence in the grotto! It was a storm, indeed, more terrible than the fury of the elements which had driven him from the castle of his ancestors, for he was the prey that had taken shelter here from the shots of his murderous huntsmen.

"You look at me and my abode with astonishment, my worthy guest," said the knight: "you, perhaps, expected to hear me bewailing my hard fate--but of what use would that be? As no one can retrieve my misfortune in this moment, I think it the wisest plan to put a bold face upon what I cannot alter. But tell me, am not I as well lodged here as many princes in their palaces? Have you noticed the halls and saloons of this my palace? do not the walls shine like silver, and the vaulted ceilings sparkle as if they were set in pearls and diamonds?

and the pillars, do they not glitter with emeralds, rubies, and all sorts of precious stones? But here comes Hans, my purveyor, with the wine. Say, my trusty subject, does that cup contain the whole of our cellar?"

"Your habitation can boast of water, as clear as crystal," answered the fifer, who well understood the cheerful mood of his companion; "the remainder of the wine in the cellar will fill more than three cups, and--as we have another guest to-day--we may indulge a little. Luckily, I brought a jug full of good old Uhlbacker from the castle to-night."

"You have done well," said the exiled knight, whilst a ray of joy flashed from his brilliant eye; "you must not think, Albert von Sturmfeder, that I am a wine-bibber; but good wine is a n.o.ble thing, and I love to see the full gla.s.s circulate in friendly society. Put the jug down here, worthy master of the cellar, we'll enjoy ourselves, as in the best days of our prosperity. Here's to you, and the former splendour of the house of Sturmfeder!"

Albert thanked the knight, and drank. "I wish I could return the honour, in drinking to your name," he said; "but, as you have already hesitated to give it me, I will not ask it now, sir knight. But here's to you, and may you return victorious to the castles of your fathers, and may your family live and nourish there for ever--huzza!" He p.r.o.nounced the last word with a loud voice, and just as he set his cup down, he was astonished to hear it repeated by many sounds, which appeared to be voices, coming from the whole length of the grotto: "What is that?" he said, "are not we alone?"

"Those are my va.s.sals,--spirits," answered the knight, smiling; "or, if you prefer it, the echo, which responds to your kind wish. I have often heard," he added, in a more serious tone, "in the days of my prosperity, the success of my house cheered by hundreds of voices; but I have never been more pleased, or more affected, than to have it drank to, by my only guest, and re-echoed among the rocks of these lower regions. Fill the cup, Hans, and drink, and if you can give us a good toast, let's have it."

The fifer of Hardt filled the cup, and glanced a significant look at Albert: "Here's to you, sir, and something which will please you more,--the Lady of Lichtenstein!"

"Hollo, right so, right so! drink, sir, drink!" cried the exile, and laughed so heartily, that the cavern appeared to tremble under it.

"Drink out every drop! long may she live, and bloom for you! Well done, Hans! only look how the blood mounts up in the cheeks of our guest; how his eyes sparkle, as if he actually kissed her beautiful lips. You need not be bashful! I also have loved and wooed, and know the state of a light merry heart of four-and-twenty, on such an occasion!"

"Poor man!" said Albert, touched by a sigh of deep feeling which accompanied these last words.--"Have you loved and wooed also? and perhaps been obliged to leave a beloved wife and children to lament and bewail your present misfortunes!" As he said this he felt his cloak pulled from behind, when turning around, the countryman winked to him, as a sign, that it was a subject of all others the most painful to the knight to hear. Albert immediately saw the effect it produced on his features; and regretted having been the cause of giving him pain.

With a look of wild despair, and evidently trying to combat his feeling, he merely said, "Frost in September destroys the beautiful flower which blossoms in May, and we scarcely know how to account for it. My children are left in the hands of rough but faithful nurses, who will, with G.o.d's help, take care good of them till their father returns home again." He was so much affected when he spoke these words, that it required no small effort to enable him to resume his good humour. "Hans is witness," he said, after a pause, "how often I have wished to see you, Albert von Sturmfeder; he told me of your being wounded, on that occasion when you were surprised by a party of the League, who probably took you for one of us outcasts; but happily gave you an opportunity to escape."

"Yes, I had a narrow escape," answered Albert. "I almost believe they took me for the Duke, for they were on the look out for him at that time. I would willingly have suffered much greater loss, to be the instrument of saving him."

"Well, that is saying a good deal; are you aware, that the cut which was made at you might have cost you your life?"

"He who takes the field," replied Albert, "must settle all his accounts with the world beforehand. I would certainly prefer falling before the enemy in the field of battle, surrounded by friends and comrades, that I might receive from their hands the last offices of regard and love.

But still, to parry the murderer's hand from the Duke, I would have sacrificed my life, at any time, had it been necessary."

The exile regarded the young man with emotion, and pressed his hand.

"You appear to take great interest in the Duke," he said; "I should hardly have supposed it; because they say, your heart is with the League."

"As I know you are a partisan of the Duke," answered Albert; "I trust you will excuse me if I speak my mind freely. Well, then, I must tell you, I think the Duke has acted, in many respects, not becoming his high station; for example, he ought not to have meddled in the affair of Hutten in the manner he did, whatever might have been his reasons; and then, the treatment of his wife was excited by violence and an overbearing spirit; and you must admit, that it was rage and revenge, and not a just ground for attack, which moved him to take forcible possession of Reutlingen."

He paused, expecting to hear a remark from the knight, upon what he had just said; but as he remained silent, Albert continued: "Upon these reports I formed the idea of the Duke's character when I joined the ranks of the confederates, among whom he was vilified in still stronger terms; but, on the other hand, he had a warm advocate in the Lady of Lichtenstein, who was better acquainted with his virtues than his enemies, and who you may perhaps have already heard was the princ.i.p.al cause of my quitting their service. I will not, therefore, say more upon the subject further than she opened my eyes to the true state of existing circ.u.mstances. In consequence of her information, I gave myself some trouble to penetrate the ulterior views of the League, and found they were directed, not only to the dispossessing him of his dominions and banishing him his country, but, in order to gratify the real object of their views, they grasped at the part.i.tion of his sovereignty among themselves. With the impression of the injustice of their intentions strong in my mind, I viewed the Duke's cause in a light totally different to what I had hitherto done. His character was raised still higher in my estimation, when I also learnt, that though urged by the patriotism and love of his people to venture a battle in defence of his rights, he would not risk the blood of his faithful Wurtembergers in such a hazardous game. And though possessing the power of extorting money from his subjects to subsidize the Swiss, he rather preferred exile for the good of his country. These are my reasons for befriending the ill-used Prince."

The knight, whose eyes had been fixed on the ground, now raised them upon Albert, and he seemed overpowered with the kind expressions which he had used towards the Duke. "Truly," he said, "your feelings are pure and generous, my young friend! I know the Duke as well as I do myself, and I may venture to say with you, that he rises superior to his misfortunes, and merits a far better name than report gives of him. Ah!

if he had a hundred hearts such as yours, not a rag of the League's ensigns would ever float over the castles of Wurtemberg;--could I but persuade you to join his cause! Far be it from me, however, to invite you to share his misery; it is enough that your sword, and an arm such as yours, do not belong to his enemies. May your days be happier than his! may heaven reward your good opinion of an unfortunate man!"

The spirit which breathed throughout the words of the exile, struck many a corresponding chord in the heart of Albert. He was flattered and encouraged to hear his own actions thus acknowledged.

The similarity which appeared to exist between the fate of his unknown friend and the impoverished fortunes of his own house, together with the prompting of the n.o.ble desire to espouse the weakest but honest cause in the pending struggle, in preference to taking the side of victorious injustice, were so many irresistible inducements to the manly mind of Albert to stand by the exile in his present deep distress.

Inspired by this feeling, he took his hand, and said, "Let no one henceforth talk to me of the imprudence,--let it not be called folly,-- of sharing the misfortunes of the persecuted! May others partake of the division of the Duke's fine country, and carouse in the spoils of the unhappy man's property,--I feel courage enough to suffer with him in his sufferings; and, when he draws his sword to re-conquer his lost possessions, I will be the first by his side. Take my hand, sir knight, as my pledge: let what may happen, I am the Duke's friend from henceforth, for ever."

A tear of grat.i.tude started in the eye of the exile as he returned the shake of his hand. "You risk much, but you lose nothing by becoming Ulerich's friend. The country, beyond these inhospitable regions, is now in the possession of tyrants and robbers; but here below faithful hearts still beat true to Wurtemberg. Forget for a moment that I am a poor knight and an exiled man, and figure me to yourself the Prince of the country, as I am lord of this cavern, with his knight and citizen standing before him. Ah! as long as these three estates hold firm together, be they concealed ever so deep in the lap of the earth, Wurtemberg still exists. Fill the cup, Hans, and join your rough hand to ours; we'll seal the alliance in a b.u.mper!"