University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

When the door was closed on the husband, the
Count turned to the wife, and continued the discourse.

“I love young Berchthold Hintermayer, good
Ulrike,” he said, “and would gladly be of aid in
this affair, which, I see plainly, thou hast much at
heart.”

“The mother would be unnatural that had not
anxiety for the happiness of her child. In youth,
Lord Count, we gaze before us, filling the dim ascent
with scenes drawn after our wishes, and peopling
the world with the beings that we deem most necessary
to our hopes; but when we have reached the
eminence, whence the commencement and the end
of life can both be plainly seen, do we first find
truth. I am as little disposed as another to venture
rashly on a union that has no better security for its
fruits than a blind and feverish passion, that will be
certain to consume itself by its own fierceness; but,
on the other hand, none who have known life as I,
can be disposed to consider lightly those resemblances
of taste and opinions, those gentle touches
of character and disposition, that are most likely to
conduce to wedded love.”

“Thou art esteemed lucky in thine own consorting,
dame?”

“God hath much blessed me in many mercies—
the question is of Meta, my Lord Count.”

Ulrike, spite of herself, had changed color; but,
aided by the manner of matronly reserve she immediately
assumed, the little emotion passed with

Emich as no more than a display of feminine reserve,
that was intended to repress a curiosity he had no
title to indulge.

“The question is of Meta, is sooth,” he answered;
“and, by Saint Benedict! the youth shall not want
for friendly and free support. But favor should have
favor's reward. If I give into thy humor in this
concern of thy daughter's marriage, good Ulrike,
in return, I expect of thee a service on which I
scarce lay less stress.”

The matron raised her eyes to the countenance
of her companion, in surprise. One who had not so
uniformly preserved her own self-respect, might
have doubted of what she heard; but the look of
the Burgomaster's wife merely conveyed a meaning
of curiosity and innocence.

“You will deserve far more than I can bestow,
Herr Count, should you do aught to secure the happiness
of Meta.”

“Fair wife,” continued Emich, seating himself,
and taking her hand, with the freedom which his
superior rank and the usages of the country allowed,
“thou knowest the manner in which these Benedictines
have so long vexed our valley; and, being so
deeply in the confidence of the honest Heinrich, thou
must have suspected that, wearied of their insolence
and exactions, we have seriously bethought us of
the means by which to reduce them to the modesty
that becometh their godly professions, and which
might better justify their pretensions?”

Emich paused, and sat intently regarding the face
of his quiet listener. He had unwittingly touched
upon the very subject that had been the chief inducement
with the Burgomaster's wife for intruding
upon the privacy of the conspirators. She had long
suspected their intentions; and, though she felt deep
care for the future lot of Meta, and had gladly
availed herself of a favorable occasion to break

the ice on a subject that, sooner or later, must be
disclosed, her real object was to warn Heinrich
against the probable consequences of the plot. In
this disposition, then, she heard the Count with secret
pleasure, and prepared herself to reply, in the
manner she had long meditated.

“All that you say, Herr Count,” she answered,
“has more than once crossed my mind; and deeply
have I grieved that those I so love and honor should
thus meditate injury to the altars of God—plan desperate
devices to interrupt his praise.”

“How! dost thou call the whinings of these knaves
praise of aught but their own hypocrisy?” interrupted
Emich. “Are they not the instigators of most
of our sins, by their example?—the parents of all
the contention that troubles the neighborhood?—
Consider, good Ulrike, that heaven is not a close
into which souls are to be driven blindfolded; but
that we, who are of the flock, have at least the
right, as we have the means, of judging whether
the shepherds are fit for their office, or not.”

“And should they prove unequal to, or unworthy
of their duties, where do we find authority to do
them harm?”

“God's my life! good wife; are our swords
nothing? Are a noble name, an ancient and high
descent, a long-standing claim to command, and a
stout heart, nothing?”

“Arrayed against the Almighty, they count as
the leaves of your own forest, when fluttering in a
gale;—less than the flakes of snow that drive, in
winter, against the battlements of your strong castle.
Limburg is reared in honor of God; and he that
raises a hand against the sacred walls, will be apt to
repent the rashness in woe. If there are unworthy
ministers at its altars, there are also those that are
worthy; and, were it not so, the mission is too high

to be sullied by any frailty of those who abuse their
trusts.”

The Count was disturbed; for Ulrike spoke earnestly,
and in a voice of sweet persuasion. He leaned
his chin upon a hand, as a man that pondered well
on the hazards of his enterprise.

“What thinkest thou, Ulrike, of this brother of
Wittenberg” he at length asked. “Could we but
fairly make him out honest and wise, ecclesiastical
authority for lowering the pride of Limburg might
be had!”

“I am one of those who think Brother Luther
honest; I am also one of those who think him mistaken:
but even he is far from urging to deeds of
violence.”

“By Saint Benedict! woman, thou hast had converse
with Father Arnolph, touching this question.
Echo does not answer sound more faithfully than
thou repeatest the sentiments of the Prior.”

“It is not strange that they who love God should
feel and speak alike in a matter affecting his honor.
I have said naught to Father Arnolph, nor to any
other of the Abbey, of your designs; for it is not
easy for Ulrike Frey to forget she is both wife and
mother. But I have prayed often, that the hearts of
those who contemplate this dangerous sacrilege
may be softened; and that, for their own safety,
they may yet see the evil of their plot. Believe me,
Count, the Dread Being who is worshipped in Limburg,
will not forget to avenge himself of those who
despise his power!”

“Thou art certain, Ulrike, that thy opinions have
weight with me, for since childhood have I known
and respected thy wisdom. Nay, had there not
been want of those claims which birth can alone
give, thou wouldst now be sitting in this castle its
mistress, and not a guest. The self-denial which
was practised, in order to do my father pleasure,

cost me much pain for many years; nor did I rightly
regain my freedom, until the birth of my eldest
born turned my hopes towards posterity.”

It is seldom woman hears the acknowledgment
of her influence with the stronger sex, without
secret satisfaction. As there had been nothing in
the attachment to which the Count alluded, to alarm
her principles or to offend her delicacy, Ulrike
listened to this reference to the feelings and incidents
of their younger days, with a smile that produced
an effect on her gentle features, which resembled the
melancholy light which illuminated the chapel of
the religious community in question; or which was
mild, placid, and, if we may be permitted an expression
so vague, tinged with hues of the past.

“We are no longer young, Emich,” she answered,
withdrawing her hand, under a keen impulse of its
propriety—“and that which thou speakest belongs
to a former age. But if thou dost, in sooth, entertain
this opinion of my discretion, I have never
said aught of thee but in thy honor. There were
other reasons than the late Count's will, why I could
not listen to thy suit, as thou wert then informed;
for we are none of us the controllers of those sentiments
which so much depend on taste or accident.

“By the sainted eleven thousand of Koeln! Heinrich
Frey was scarce a youth to do this disadvantage
to the heir of my line and name!”

“Heinrich Frey received my troth, as the noble
Ermengarde received thine, Herr von Hartenburg,”
answered Ulrike, with the composure of one whose
feelings had never been interested in the refusal to
which she alluded, and with the dignity of a woman
sensitively alive to her husband's character. “By
Heaven's favor, we are both happier than if wedded
either above or beneath our hopes. But if thou
couldst deny thyself this boon—for such, in thy
young fancies, didst thou believe my hand—to

oblige thy father of earth, wilt thou still defy him
of Heaven, to gratify a longing less excusable?”

“Go to, Ulrike; thou pressest me out of reason;
I know not fairly that I even meditate the enterprise
thou meanest.”

“Or, in other language, thou art not yet decided
to commit the sacrilege. Before thy hand strikes
the irretrievable blow, Herr Count, hear one that, in
thy youth, thou professed to love, and who yet remembers
thy preference, with grateful kindness.”

“Thou art more indulgent as a matron than as a
maid! This is the first word of pity for all the
sorrow thou causedst my youth, that hath ever escaped
thee!”

“Pity is a term it would ill become Ulrike Haitzinger
to use to Emich von Leiningen. I said gratitude,
Herr Count; for the woman that pretendeth
not to feel this sentiment towards the honorable
youth that has preferred her to all others of her
sex, payeth an indifferent compliment to her own
heart. I never disavowed that thy suit gave me
both gratification and sorrow—gratification, that
one of thy hopes could find sufficient in me to justify
thy choice; sorrow, that thou wert necessarily
disappointed.”

“And had our births been nearer an equality,
gentle Ulrike, hadst thou, like me, come of noble
parentage, or I, like thee, been of more humble
origin, couldst thou, in sooth, have found, in thy
heart, the excuse for a different answer?”

“We are here to discuss other matters, Herr von
Hartenburg, than these recollections of childish
feelings.”

“God's my life! Callest thou the pain of disappointed
affection a childish sorrow? Thou wert ever
tranquil in temper, and too much disposed to indifference
on the subject of any warmth of heart,
beyond the cold duties of family regard.”

“This may be my fault, if you will, Count Emich,
but I esteem it an advantage to feel strongest where
duty most directs the affections.”

“I remember thy final answer, made through thy
friend young Berchthold's mother—I owe the lad
no grace for the boon, were justice done—but thou
answered, that the daughter of a Burgomaster was
unfit to be the partner of a Baron; and thou prayedst
me to render all duty to the Count my father, that
his blessing might lighten the disappointment. Now,
were the truth known, that reply cost thee no more
than a simple refusal to one of thy maidens of some
trifling grace!”

“Were the truth known, Emich, it would tell a
different tale. Thou wert then young, and, though
violent and hot-headed, not without many manly
virtues; and thou greatly overratest the power of a
thoughtful girl, if thou supposest she would gladly
give pain, where she has received naught but esteem.”

“And had I been thy neighbor's child—or wert
thou the daughter of some equal of the Empire?—”

“In that case, Lord Count, the answer would have
been the same,” said the other, firmly, though her
countenance evidently lost its tranquil brightness in
a transient cloud: “The heart of Ulrike Haitzinger
spoke in that reply, as well as her prudence.”

“God's truth! thou art of cutting simplicity!”
cried the Count, rising abruptly, and losing the expression
of gentleness that the recollection of his
better days and youthful feelings had given his features,
in their usual hardened character. “Thou
forgettest, Frau Frey, that I am a poor Count of
Leiningen!”

“If I have failed in meet respect,” returned the
mild Ulrike, “I am now reminded of the fault, and
will sin no more.”

“Nay, I would say naught unkind or ungentle—
but thou bruised my spirit, with a sore answer. We
were conversing of the accursed monks, too, and
blood gets hot at the mention of their names. Thou
thinkest, then, my excellent neighbor, that, as Christians,
we are bound to submit to all the exactions
of these reverend knaves, and that to presume to
right ourselves, is flying in the face of Heaven's
authority?”

“You put the case in your own humor, Count.
I have said naught of abject forbearance, or of unnecessary
submission. If the Limburg monks are
forgetful of their vows, the question is of their own
safety:—as for us, we have to look that we do nothing
wrongful of itself, or nothing that may be accounted
disrespectful to Him we worship”—

“Prithee, good Ulrike,” interrupted Emich, resuming
his seat, in the familiar manner he had used at
the commencement of the dialogue, “let us converse,
in freedom, of this inclination of thy child. I love
young Berchthold, and would fain do him service,
were the means offering; but I greatly fear we
shall have difficulty in bringing Heinrich to a complying
state of mind.”

“The apprehension of his refusal hath caused me
much uneasiness, Herr von Hartenburg,” returned
the tender mother; “for the Burgomaster is not one
of those who change their opinions readily. The
over-zealous persuasion of friends increases his faith
in himself, at times, instead of softening those resolutions
which the wisest of us are apt to form hastily
and without thought.”

“This quality of thy excellent consort hath not
escaped me. But Heinrich Frey was wived so happily
himself, and with so little claim to riches on his
own part, that he should not, in reason, bear too
heavily on a youth that might have known better
days, but for a hard fortune befalling his parents.

He that hath been poor, should have respect for
poverty in others.”

“I fear that such is not the working of human
nature,” answered the thoughtful wife, nearly unconscious
of what she uttered. “Our experience
in life would prove that they who have risen show
the least tolerance for those who tarry in the rear;
and, as none prize the gifts of rank and consequence
so much as they to whom they are novelties, we
ought not to expect the successful man too soon to
forget the longings he felt when in adversity, nor
him to whom honors are new, to look too closely
into their vanity.”

“Nay, Heinrich is not so young in consideration,
or so new to fortune, as to be classed with these.”

“Heinrich!” exclaimed the matron, across whose
chaste brow there stole a crimson suffusion, that
resembled the flush of even upon the snowy peaks
of the Alps—“There is not question, here, of Heinrich
Frey!”

The Count smiled till the mustachios curled upon
his brown cheeks.

“Thou art right,” he answered courteously; “it
is in Berchthold and Meta that we are most interested.
I think I see the means of accomplishing
all we wish in their behalf, and means that offer so
readily as to wear the air of being a gift of Providence.”

“They are only the more welcome for their character.”

“Thou knowest, Ulrike, that I am greatly burthened
with charges that lay heavily on all of my rank.
Ermengarde hath most of the qualities of her station,
and a love of splendor that is costly; besides, this
outfit of my young heir, who travels with the Emperor,
hath much drained me of means, of late;
else would I offer, of pure love for thee and thine,
that which would make the connexion acceptable to

Heinrich. In this strait, borne down, as we all are,
by the war, and saddled with the cost of keeping
on foot so many men in Hartenburg, I see no other
present means than that I have just mentioned.”

“Or have not mentioned; for, in the desire to
prove your inability to serve the youth, nothing hath
yet been said of this favorable chance offered by
Providence.”

“I cry thy mercy! Thou hast rightly judged me,
Ulrike, for I feel it a reproach to be able to do nothing
for one I so esteem.”

“Put no undue meaning on my words,” interrupted
the matron, smiling like one who wished to reassure
her companion. “It has never entered my thoughts
that the Counts of Leiningen are bound to portion
all who serve them, according to their several hopes.
It would lighten the heaviest purse in the Palatinate,
Herr Emich, to furnish an equal marriage-gift to
that which may be the share of Meta Frey.”

“None know this better than I. Heinrich and I
have often discoursed of the affair, and I could fain
wish there existed no inequality of rank—but this is
idle, and we will talk only of Berchthold and his
hopes. Thou are aware, Ulrike, that there are
heavy issues between me and the brotherhood concerning
certain dues, not only in the valley, but on
the plain, and that the contest fairly settled in my
favor will much increase my revenues. Now were
this unhappy dissension decided as I could wish, it
would not only be in my power, but it would become
my wish, to bestow such grace on all my principal
followers, and on none so much as on Berchthold,
as might leave a favorable opinion of my bounty.
We want but this affair rightly settled to possess the
means of winning Heinrich to our desires.”

“Could this be honestly done, my blessing on him
that shall effect it!”

“I rejoice to hear thee say this, good Ulrike.

Thou, of all others, mayest be most useful in the
matter. Heinrich and I have well nigh decided on
the fitness of disturbing the monks in their riotous
abominations”—

“The words are strong, when applied to professed
Benedictines!”

“By the holy Magi! they are more than merited.
Here, has not the day twice turned since I had Bonifacius
himself weltering in wine beneath the roof of
Hartenburg, an' he had been a roisterer of a suburb!
Bonifacius, Limburg's Abbot, have I seen in
this unfit condition, Frau Ulrike, within mine own
good castle walls!”

“And in thine own good castle company, Herr
Emich?”

“Dost thou make no difference between Baron
and Monk? Am I a sworn professor of godliness,
a shaven crown, or one that looketh to be accounted
better than his fellows? That I am noble is the
chance of fortune, and as such I receive and profit
by the advantage, though, I trust, always in fitting
reason; but no man can say that Emich of Leiningen
pretends aught to the especial virtues of a
monkish character. We that are modest may claim
to indulge our failings, but justice should heavily
visit him that sins under a cloak of sanctity.”

“I know not that thy exception may avail thee in
the end. But thou wouldest say something to Berchthold
Hintermayer's advantage?—”

“That would I, and right heartily. Could Heinrich
be brought to a firm mind, that I might count
on the support of the townsmen, these reprobates
in cowls should be quickly disposed of; and, as of
necessity, my dues would be much augmented, by
clothing Berchthold with a deputy's authority over
the recovered fields and villages, he should so gain
in men's respect, as to soften the reluctance of the
hardest-hearted Burgomaster in all Germany.”

“And in what manner dost thou look to me, in
effecting this object?”

“One of thy understanding need scarce put the
question. Thou hast been long a wife, Ulrike, and
art skilled in the persuasions of thy sex. I know
not thy practice with Heinrich; but when Ermengarde
would have her way, spite of her husband's
inclinations, she has various manners of coming to
her wishes. To-day she is smiling, to-morrow silent;
now she fondles, and then she frowns; and, most of
all, is she ready in seizing the moments of idle
confidence to press on my unprepared reason the
arguments of kisses and coquetry.”

“It were idle to say I do not understand you,
Herr von Hartenburg. I wish not to raise the curtain
of your domestic confidence, nor do I feel disposed
that any should presume to lift mine. Heinrich
and I pursue our several ways, as each deems
right, though, I trust, always with the harmony of
wedded interests, and I am little practised in the
influence you mention. But, dear as Meta is to the
heart of her mother—and surely no shoot from the
parent stem ever gave fonder hopes, or justified
more tender regard”—Ulrike folded her hands, and
turned her meek blue eyes to heaven—“much as I
esteem young Berchthold, who is the child of my
youth's nearest friend; and gladly as I would see
their young hearts for ever bound up in the same
ties of family concord and matrimonial love, the
common parents of lisping laughing babes that
should cluster at my knee, giving the evening of life
some compensation for the chill of its noon-tide—
rather than aid thee in this unhallowed design;
rather than do aught, even in rebellious thought,
against the altars of my God; rather than set my
selfishness in array against his dread power, or
fancy wish of mine can prove excuse for sacrilege
—I could follow the girl to her grave, with a

tearless eye, and place my own head by her side,
without regret for that calm decline which, when
the weary probation of life is ended, Heaven grants
to the deserving.”

The Count of Leiningen recoiled at the energy
with which his companion spoke; for none are so
commanding as the mild when aroused to resistance,
or so authoritative as the good when required to
exhibit the beauty of their principles. He was disappointed;
but, though a sort of instinct warned him
that he had no further hopes of gaining the assistance
of Ulrike, and, almost without knowing it
himself, the respect which he had always entertamed
for his companion was increased. Taking the hand
she extended to him, in amity, the moment her excitement
had a little abated, he was about to reply,
when a footstep in the adjoining room, and a timid
tap at the door, interrupted him.

“Thou canst enter,” said the Baron, believing
that one of the castle maidens was without, and
glad for the relief.

“A million of thanks for the honor,” returned Ilse,
curtsying to the floor as she availed herself of the
privilege. “This is the first time so great a favor
ever befell me in Hartenburg, though, when a girl,
as it might be a ruddy maiden like our Meta, I once
was admitted to a closet in Heidelburg. There was
I, and the late Burgomaster, Ulrike's father, and
the good wife, her mother, on a junketing, in our
young days, to see the curiosities of the Elector's
Palace, and we had visited the tun”—

“Thou art sent to seek me?” interrupted the mistress.
“Hath Meta need of her mother?”

“That may be always said of a certainty, for
girls of that age are like the young of the nest,
Herr Count, who are ever in danger of breaking
their necks, if they take a hasty flight, without the
example of the old to give them prudence as well as

courage. Twenty times each day—I know not an'
it be not fifty—do I say to our Meta, `Do as thou
wilt, child, an' thou dost nothing amiss.' I hold it to be
wrongful to curb young humors so long as they are
innocent; and therefore do I say, that kindness is a
better rod than anger; and, in this reproving and
chastening manner, Herr von Hartenburg, have I
reared both Meta and her mother. Well, here you
both are, in friendly communion, an' you were
children of the same cradle!—and Heinrich Frey
is yon, without, tasting the rhenish with the two
churchmen that infect the castle”—

“Thou wouldst surely say frequent, good nurse.”

“What matters a word, child! Infect or frequent
are much the same, when one speaketh of the gentle
and gay! I remember ye both young and handsome,
and a pair that the whole town of Duerckheim said
ought never to be parted; for if one was noble, the
other was good; if one was strong and valiant, the
other was fair and virtuous; but the ways of the
world led ye on different paths, and Heaven forbid
that I should say aught against ways that so many
travel!”

“And thou hast left Meta with those that infect
the castle, to come and say this?”

“Naught like it. It is true I let the girl listen to
a few of their idle words, for without experience a
maiden may not know when to repulse an improper
freedom; but for any levity to escape my eye, were
as impossible as for my Lord Count to fail in duty
to the Limburg altars. No, I complain not of the
stranger nobles; for while he of Rhodes did many
gentle offices in behalf of Meta, the reverend Abbé
held me in discourse touching this heresy of Luther,
and, I warrant you, ecclesiastic as he is, he went
not away the worse for my opinion of the schismatic!
We had goodly discourse on the dangers and tribulations
of the times, and might have had much

learning between us, but for young Berchthold, who
fancied himself beating the forest, by the manner
in which he threshed among the old armor of the
hall, disturbing all present with the idle pretence of
seeking a cross-bow for the Count's pleasure in the
morning; as if the Herr Count would have hunted
with less satisfaction because there were wise words
uttered in his halls! The Hintermayers are a race
I love, but this youth seemeth to be wanting of
respect for years.”

“And what hast done with my child?”

“Thou knowest it was thy desire she should say
a few greetings to the fallen Lottchen; and when I
thought the wandering cavalier had had his say, I
beckoned the child away, in order that she might
go to the hamlet on that errand. She will be
none the worse for the discourse with that free
cavalier, for naught so quickens virtue of the pure
stamp as a little contamination with vice—it is like
the base metal they put in gold, to make the precious
ore hard and able to undergo many hands.”

“Thou hast not suffered Meta to go unattended?”

“Didst ever know me fail in duty? Thy motherly
heart is quick to take alarm, like the bird fluttering
at each leaf that rustles. Not I, in sooth: I sent the
vain Gisela to keep her company, and whispered our
Meta well, as they departed, not to fail to draw instruction
from her companion's light discourse,
which, I will warrant, turns on naught else but the
gallantries of these strangers. Oh! leave old Ilse
to profit by any thing edifying that may turn up, in
the way of accident! I that never yet lost a good
moral for want of pushing an opportunity! and here
stands Ulrike as proof of what I have done. I owe
you excuses, Herr Emich, for sending away your
forester; but the boy vexed me with his clatter
among the shields and arquebuses, and, in order to
give him a wholesome lesson in silence, I sent him

to see Meta safe to his mother's door, under the pretence
of its being necessary to have a manly arm
present, to beat off the barking curs of the hamlet.”

“Does Heinrich know this?”

“In sooth, he is so beset with thy honor in being
closeted with my Lord the Count, that he does little
besides talk of it, and take his cup. When the child
was thus cared for, by the one who first held her in
arms, and one, too, whose experience is little short
of threescore and fourteen, I saw not the necessity
of calling him from his pleasures.”

Ulrike smiled, and turning to the Count, who had
been so much lost in thought as to give little heed
to the words of the nurse, she offered him her hand,
and they left the closet in company.