The Banished Part 18

"What tottering walls do you talk of?" cried the fat man; "whoever has seen the castle of Tubingen, must not talk of tottering walls. Are there not two deep ditches on the side towards the mountains, which no ladder of the League can scale, and walls twelve feet thick, with high towers, whence the falconets keep up no insignificant fire, I can tell you?"

"Battered down, battered down!" cried the thin man, with such a fearful hollow voice, as made the astonished burghers think they heard the falling of the towers of Tubingen about their ears: "the new tower, which Ulerich lately built, was battered down by Fronsberg, as if it had never stood there."

"But everything is not lost with that," answered the pedlar; "the knights make sallies from the castle, and many a one has found his bed in the Neckar. Old Fronsberg had his hat shot from his head, which makes his ears tingle to this day, I'll be bound."

"There you are wrong again," said the thin man, carelessly; "sallies, indeed! the besiegers have light cavalry enough, who fight like devils; they are Greeks; but whether they come from the Ganges or Epirus, I know not, and are called Stratiots, commanded by George Samares, who does not allow a dog of them to sally out of their holes."[1]

"He also has been made to bite the gra.s.s," replied the pedlar, with a scornful side glance: "the dogs, as you call them, did make a sally, in spite of the Greeks, and made their leader prisoner, and----"

"Samares prisoner?" cried the rawbone man, startled out of his tranquillity; "you are not right again, friend!"

"No?" answered the other, quietly; "I heard the bells toll, as he was buried in the church of Saint George."

The burghers looked attentively at the thin stranger, to notice the impression this news would make on him. His thick eyebrows fell so low that his eyes were scarcely visible; he twisted his long thin mustachios, and striking the table with his bony hand, said: "And if they have cut him and his Greeks into a hundred pieces, the besieged can't help themselves! the castle must fall; and when Tubingen is ours, good night to Wurtemburg! Ulerich is out of the country, and my n.o.ble friends and benefactors will be the masters."

"How do you know that he will not come back again? and then----" said the cautious fat man, and clapped on the cover of his goblet.

"What! come back again?" cried the other: "the beggar! who says he will come back again? Who dares say it?"

"What does it signify to us?" murmured the guests; "we are peaceable citizens; and it is all the same to us who is lord of the land, provided the taxes are lowered. In a public house a man has a right to say what he pleases."

The thin man appeared satisfied that none of the company dared return an angry answer. He eyed each of them with a searching look, when, a.s.suming a kinder manner, he said, "It was only to put you in mind, that we do not want the Duke any longer as our master that I speak as I do; upon my soul, he is rank poison to me; so I'll sing you a _paternoster_, which a friend wrote upon him, and which pleases me much." The honest burghers, by their looks, did not appear very curious to hear a burlesque song upon their unfortunate Duke. The other, however, having cleared his throat with a good draught, began a few words of a burlesque parody on the Lord's Prayer, in a disagreeable hoa.r.s.e tone of voice--a vulgar song, apparently familiar to the ears of his audience--for no sooner had he commenced, than the good taste of the burghers manifested itself by a whisper of disapprobation; some shrugging their shoulders, others winking at each other; symptoms sufficiently evident to the thin man, that the burden of his song was not welcome to their ears. He therefore stopt short, looking around for encouragement; but, finding none, he threw himself back in his chair, with a scowl of contempt on his features.

"I know that song well," said the pedlar; "and shame be to him who would offend the ears of honest men with it. With your permission," he added, addressing the company, "I'll give you one I think more to your taste." Encouraged by the rest of the burghers, excepting the thin man, who squinted at him with scorn, he began:

Mourn, Wurtemberg! thy fallen state, Thy drooping pride, thy luckless fate!

A Quack, whom even dogs despise, Presumes to make thy fortunes rise.

Noisy applause and laughter, mingled with the hisses of the thin man, interrupted the singer. The burghers reached across the table, shook the pedlar by the hand, praised his song, and begged him to proceed.

The raw bone man said not a word, but looked furiously at the company.

He knew not whether to envy the applause which the songster received, or to feel offended at the subject of his song. The fat man put on an air of greater wisdom than usual, and joined in approbation with the rest. The leather-backed pedlar was going on, encouraged by his audience:

Of Nurenberg he, a knife-grinder by trade; His friend was a weaver, a man of low grade--

when the thin man, upon hearing these words, and not able to contain his indignation, flew into a violent rage, and vociferated: "May the cuckoo stick in your throat, you ragged dog! I know very well who you mean by the weaver,--my best friend, Herr von Fugger. That such a vagabond as you should calumniate him!" expressing his anger by a frightful distortion of his countenance.

But his opponent was in no wise to be daunted, and held his muscular fist before him, saying, "Vagabond yourself, Mr. Calmus, I know who you are; and if you don't keep silence, I'll twist those pot-ladle arms of yours off your half-starved body."

The crest-fallen guest rose immediately, and p.r.o.nounced his regret to have fallen into such low company; he paid for his wine, and walked out of the room with the strut of a man of quality.

FOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER XVI.:

[Footnote 1: The appearance of these Greeks at the siege of Tubingen was an extraordinary event; they were called Stratiots, and were commanded by George Samares, from Corona, in Albania. He was buried in the collegiate church of Tubingen. Crusius says, he was famous for wielding the lance.]

CHAPTER XVII.

Hope, faith, and confidence are there, For all that I esteem are near; And yet suspicion finds its way, And makes my hopeless mind its prey.

SCHILLER.

When the offensive man left the room, the guests looked at each other with astonishment; they were in a state of mind similar to that of one who sees a heavy storm arise, and expects it to burst and overwhelm him; when, behold, it produces little more than a flash in the pan.

They thanked the man with the leather back for having driven away the odious stranger, and inquired what he knew of him?

"I know him well," he answered; "he is a worthless, idle fellow, a travelling doctor, who sells pills to cure the plague; extracts the worm from dogs, and crops their ears; eases young women of thick necks; and gives the old ones eyewater, which, instead of healing, makes them blind. His proper name is Kahlmauser, or baldmouse; pretending to be a learned man, he calls himself doctor Calmus. He fastens himself upon the great, and should one of them call him a.s.s, he fawns upon him as his best friend."

"But he cannot be upon good terms with the Duke," remarked the cunning-looking man; "for he abused him in no measured terms."

"Yes, he certainly is not happy with him; and for this reason--the Duke had a beautiful Danish sporting dog, which had run a thorn deep into its foot. It was a great favourite of the Duke, who inquired after an experienced man to cure it; and it so happened that this Kahlmauser was on the spot, and tendered his services, with a look full of consequence. The wretch was fed every day with the best of food in the castle of Stuttgardt, and the fare was so palatable that he remained more than a quarter of a-year, doctoring the dog's foot. The Duke one day called for both doctor and dog, to know and see what had been done.

The quack, it appears, talked a great deal of learned stuff, to which the Duke paid no attention; but, upon examining the wound himself, he found the dog's foot worse than ever. He laid hold of the doctor, tall as he was, led him to the top of the long flight of steps, so contrived that a horse can mount up to the second story, and threw him headlong down. He was half dead when he arrived at the bottom, so you may imagine that since that time, Doctor Calmus does not speak well of the Duke. He is also said to have been a spy between Hutten and Frau Sabina, and only undertook the care of the dog for the purpose of remaining in the castle to carry on intrigues."

"Really! was he in correspondence with Hutten?" said one of the burghers; "if we had but known that, he should not have come off so cheaply, the vagabond doctor; for Hutten's amorous intrigue is the cause of this unhappy war; and it appears that this Kahlmauser a.s.sisted him in it!"

"_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_,--we ought to spare the dead, say the Latins," replied the fat man; "the poor devil has paid his crime dear enough with his life."

"It served him right," cried the other burgher, angrily; "had I been in the Duke's place I would have done the same; every one must protect his domestic rights."

"Do not you ride sometimes hunting with the bailiff?" asked the fat man, with a peculiar crafty smile: "you surely have the best opportunity to a.s.sert your rights; you possess a sword, and could easily find an oak tree to hang a corpse upon."

A loud laugh from the burghers of Pfullingen apprised the stranger in the balcony, that the jealous upholder of domestic rights was not so well able to administer justice in his own house. He coloured up, and murmured some unintelligible words as he put his can to his mouth.

The pedlar, however, who, as a stranger, thought it not courteous to join in the laugh, took his part: "Yes, indeed, the Duke was quite in the right, for he had the power of hanging Hutten upon the spot, without giving him a chance of his life in fair honourable fight. Is he not president of the Westphalian chair, and of the secret tribunal, which gives him the power of dispatching villanous fellows without further ceremony? Had he not the best proof of his treachery before his eyes? Have you ever heard a pretty little song upon that subject? I'll sing a couple of verses, if you like:

"In the forest he turn'd him to Hutten, to know, What't was on his hand that glittered so?"

"Lord Duke, it is this little ring you see, This ring which my sweet love gave to me."

"Hey, Hans, by my troth thou art n.o.bly drest, A chain of gold, too, lies on thy breast."

"That, too, my true love gave so free, A pledge that she would remember me."

"And then it goes on:

"Oh! Hutten, away! nor spare the goad, The Duke's eye rolls with fury wode; Away, whilst there is yet time to fly, The scabbard is voided, his sword is on high."

The fat man put on a serious face, and said, "I would not advise you to go on; such songs in public houses, in these times, are dangerous; they cannot serve the Duke's cause at present. The confederates being round about us, some one of them might easily overhear it," he added, as he cast a scrutinizing glance at Albert, "and then Pfullingen might have to pay another hundred ducats contribution."

"G.o.d knows, you are in the right," said the pedlar; "it is no longer the case, as it used to be, when one could freely speak his mind, and sing a song over his gla.s.s; but now a man must always be on the look out, to see that a partizan of the Duke's does not sit on one side, or a Leaguist on the other; but, in spite of Bavarian or Swabian, I'll sing the last verse:

"There stands an oak in Schonbuch wood, It shoots aloft and it spreads abroad; And centuries hence recorded shall be, That the Duke hang'd Hutten on that very tree."

When he had finished, the conversation among the burghers sunk into a whisper, which made Albert suspect they were making comments upon him.

The good-natured hostess also appeared curious to know who she entertained in the balcony. When she had spread a clean table-cloth over the round-table, and placed the repast she had prepared before him, she took her seat on the opposite side, and questioned him, but with respect and deference, whence he came, and whither he was going?

The young man was not inclined to give her positive information as to the real object of his journey. The conversation to which he had listened at the long table, made him cautious in giving an answer to her leading question, for he felt that in times of civil strife, it was not less indiscreet than dangerous to declare, in a place like a public inn, to what party he belonged. Albert's peculiar circ.u.mstances at this moment required him to exercise more than ordinary prudence, and he merely said, "that he came from Franconia, and was going further into the country, in the neighbourhood of Zollern." With this general answer to the question, he cut short any other upon the same subject. But being now in the neighbourhood of Lichtenstein, he thought he might be able to learn something of the family from the loquacious landlady of the Golden Stag. Putting a few questions to her respecting the different surrounding castles and their inhabitants, in the hope of gaining his point, she very soon related to him reports which deeply affected his future prospects; for upon the truth or falsehood of them seemed, to his ardent mind, to depend his future happiness or misery.

The hostess, fond of a gossip, in less than a quarter of an hour gave him the history of five or six castles about the country, and among them of Lichtenstein. The young man drew a deep breath at the sound of that name, and pushed away the plate from before him, to devote his whole attention to what she said:

"Well, the owners of Lichtenstein are not poor; on the contrary, they possess fields and woods in plenty, and not an acre of land is mortgaged; rather than do so, the old gentleman would allow his beard to be shaved off, for believe me he prizes it much, and takes a pride in smoothing it down when people speak to him. He is a severe stern man, and what he has once determined upon must be done; as the saying is, should the bow not bend, it must break. He is also one of those who have continued faithful to the Duke, for which the League will make him pay dear."