Household stories from the Land of Hofer

Gräfin Jaufenstein was at the head of the hall welcoming the guests, and doing the honours of the castle, to supply what the moody humour of its lord left lacking in courtesy. But while she courtesied to noble lords and ladies with queenly grace, and, with imperceptible asides, at the same time gave directions that every one should have his due place, and that every thing should proceed with the due order of etiquette, it never for a moment escaped her practised eye that something unusual was going on in the neighbourhood of the young baron. That he should summon the cook to his presence, probably to chide her justly for some breach of the rules of her art, if such had befallen, was indeed no unreasonable distraction for the baron’s melancholy, and she hailed it as a token of returning interest in the ordinary affairs of life, which had occupied him so little of late; but when she heard him order the Hennenpfösl to be brought there in the midst of his guests, she thought it time to interfere – it became a matter of eccentricity passing all bounds. Dexterously excusing her momentary absence from her guests, she accordingly made her way up to her nephew, preparing to wrap up her remonstrance in her most honeyed language, so as better to convince without provoking him. Before she could reach his chair, there was a movement of astonishment in the vast assembly, and a cry of admiration, while the heralds proclaimed, —

“Place for the most noble baron’s daughter!” And then, surrounded by her shining crowd of attendants, and glittering in her jewelled robes, Klein-Else made her way with modest, but at the same time noble carriage towards the young baron.

The young baron recognized her the moment the tapestry was raised for her to pass, and instantly went forth to meet her with courteous gestures, and led her up to the seat next his own at the banquet.

The stately countess looked on a little perplexed, for the first time in her life, but with admirable serenity and self-possession inquired the name of the fair guest who did their poor banquet the honour of attending it in so great state.

“I am the poor Hennenpfösl, madame, whom your noble nephew has done the honour to summon to his presence; and I hope you will not think I disgrace his command,” replied Klein-Else, with a reverence at once lowly and full of accomplished dignity.

“The Hennenpfösl!” repeated the countess, returning the salute mechanically. “But surely there is some mistake – some – ”

“Yes, dearest countess, some mystery there is,” interposed her nephew; “but we will not seek to penetrate it till it shall please the lady herself to reveal it. Why she should have chosen to pass some time as the Hennenpfösl, I know not; but this is not the first time we have met, and I am sufficiently satisfied of her grace and discretion to know that for whatever reason she chose it, she chose aright. I have further determined this very night to lay myself and my fortune at her feet!”

Klein-Else started, with a little cry of satisfied expectation, then coloured modestly and looked down.

“But the lady will at least favour us with her name?” urged the countess, but half satisfied. Klein-Else turned to her chamberlain with dignity, and whispered an order; and then the chamberlain stood forward and proclaimed aloud the names and titles of the deceased baron of the Passeier-Thal, her father.

“Oh!” said the lady, in a tone of disparagement, “methinks his was a fortune which could scarcely be united with that of my nephew!”

“Countess!” exclaimed the young baron, furious at the suggestion; but before he could proceed the chamberlain once more intervened.

“There need be no difficulty on that score,” he said; and he made a sign to the attendants who were behind. They came up in brave order, two and two, each pair bearing a casket in which was a thousand crowns. “A thousand such caskets contain the dowry of the baron’s daughter; and she has priceless jewels without number.”

“A million crowns!” echoed the whole assembly, in chorus; “was there ever such a fortune known?”

The countess was absolutely speechless, and turned to participate in the astonishment of her guests.

The young baron and Klein-Else, thus left to each other’s conversation, were not slow in confessing their mutual love.

“And now all our friends are gathered round us,” he exclaimed, at last, “what better time to proclaim our happiness? My friends! I present you the fair lady who has consented to become my bride!”

There was a general sound of jubilation and praise. All gathered round to felicitate the baron, and the minstrels sang the charms of the bride.

The baron begged them all to stay with him ten days, to celebrate the nuptials. And for ten days there was revelry and rapture, singing and merry-making; and when at last the guests returned home, every one carried back to his own neighbourhood the tale of the surpassing beauty, riches, and grace of Klein-Else. Every body had been won by her, there was no dissentient opinion; and even Gräfin Jaufenstein acknowledged that her nephew could not have made a nobler or better choice.

When they were left alone, the days seemed hardly long enough to tell their love. Never was there happiness equal to theirs. Before the guests left, the baron had invited them all to come back every year on the anniversary; and every year, as they gathered round, they found them more and more wrapt in each other’s love.

On the second anniversary they found that their happiness had been increased by the birth of an heir; and the next year there was a little daughter too, the delight of her parents. Year by year the children grew in beauty, and grace, and intelligence, and others were added to their numbers. And every one envied the unequalled happiness of the baron and baroness.

Meantime the years were passing away, though Klein-Else had taken no account of them. To her it was one continual round of enjoyment, uncrossed by any care; each season had its own joys, and she revelled in the fresh variety of each, but counted them not as they passed.

One day they sat together under a shady grove: the baron was weaving a chaplet of roses, Klein-Else was fondling her latest-born upon her knee; round them sported their little ones, bringing fresh baskets of roses for the chaplet the baron was weaving for Klein-Else; while Otto the heir, a noble boy who promised to reproduce his father’s stately figure and handsome lineaments, rejoiced them by his prowess with his bow and arrow.

“How the time has sped, Klein-Else!” whispered the baron; “it seems but yesterday that you first came and knelt beside me in your sunbeam garment. Then, just as now, it was happiness to feel you beside me. I knew not who was there, but as I heard the flutter of your drapery a glow of joy seemed to come from its shining folds, and I, who had never loved any one else, loved you from that moment as I love you now!”

“How well you say it, love!” responded Klein-Else. “Yes; where is the difference between to-day and yesterday, and last year and the year before that? Ever since that first day it has been one long love, nothing else! Yes; well I remember that day. I was poor, and despised, and had no one to talk to, and never thought any one would ever look at me again – except to scold me. And then I went into the church and knelt by you; and I felt as the new ivy twig must feel when it has crept and tossed about in vain, and then at last finds, close under its grasp, the strong, immovable oak, and clasps it – clasps it never to loose its hold again, never! but grows up clasping it ever closer and closer, till it grows quite one with it, and no one can separate them any more for ever!”

“Yes,” replied the baron; “nothing can separate them any more – nothing can separate us now! We have grown together for years, and have only grown the closer. It is now – let me see – five, six, seven years, and we have only grown the closer to each other! To think it is seven years! no, it wants a few weeks; but it will soon be seven years. Seven – ” he turned to look at her, for he perceived that as he spoke she had loosened her hold of him, and now he saw she was pale and trembling.

“But what ails you, Elschen66? Elschen dear! speak to me, Elschen!” he added, with anxiety, for she sank back almost unconscious against the bank.

“I shall be better presently,” stammered the baroness. “I think the scent of the flowers is too powerful. I don’t feel quite well – take me down by the side of the water; I shall be better presently.” An attendant took the babe from her arms – and the baron remembered afterwards, that as she parted from it she embraced it with a passionate flood of tears; then he led her to the side of the stream, and bathed her burning forehead in the cooling flood.

Suddenly voices in angry altercation were heard through the trees, and the servants summoned the baron with excited gesticulations, saying there was a strange knight, all in armour, who claimed to see the baroness.

Klein-Else was near fainting again when she heard them say that.

“Claims to see the baroness, say you?” replied their lord, with menacing gesture. “Where is he? Let him say that to me!” and he darted off to meet him, without listening to the faint words Klein-Else strove to utter.

Now she was left alone by the side of the stream where, as the Hennenpfösl, she had first washed away the stains of servitude and dressed herself to meet him who was to teach her to love. It was beside that stream she had sat, and her tears had mingled with it, as she had vowed that if ever such joy was hers as now she owned, her treasure should be for those who were outcast and suffering as she had been, and her happiness should be in making others happy!

How had she fulfilled her vow? From that time to this it had passed out of her mind. Filled with her own gratification, she had left the orphan in her bereavement, the suffering in their misery, nor stretched out a helping hand.

The seven years were spent, and there was no doubt the knight was come to seek an account of the treasure he had entrusted to her. She had not only to meet him with shame for its misuse, but even his name she had forgotten! And he had said, “Woe be to you, if you have forgotten that name!”

But she had forgotten it. She pressed her hands against her throbbing temples as if to force it from her brain, and swept away the mantling hair – if but the cool breeze might waft it back to her! But the forgotten name came not.

Suddenly the knight stood before her, and terrible he was to look at in his shining armour! As she saw him she screamed and swooned away.

But he touched her, and bade her rise, then beckoned her to follow him; and she could not choose but obey. He led her over the stream and along the path in the mountain-side where the trees fringed the way; and when they reached the rock she knew so well, with its treasury whence all her means of happiness had been derived, he said in solemn accents, —

“Open, hoary rock!”

But to her he said, —

“Look!”

Then she could not choose but look. But oh, horror! in place of the coin and jewels, armour and apparel, it was filled with wasted forms bowed with misery and distress! the tear-worn orphan, the neglected sick. Here she saw lying a youth, wan and emaciated, struck down in all the promise of boyhood, and his mother tore her hair in agony by his side. And there stood a father, gaunt and grey, vainly grappling with Hunger, who was stealing away his children one by one from before his face. Here —

But she could bear no more. She sank upon the ground, and hid her face for very shame.

“The ransom of these, it is, you have spent upon yourself!” thundered the pitiless knight; and every word was a death-knell…

The baron and his servants continued their search for the unknown knight, but for long they found him not; one said he had seen him go this way, and another that. Till at last an artless peasant maiden told them she had seen him take the path of the mountain, across the stream, and the baroness following behind with weak and unsteady steps. The baron hasted his steps to pursue the way she pointed.

But he only found the lifeless body of Klein-Else kneeling against the hoary rock!

PRINCE RADPOT67

Radpot succeeded early to the throne of his fathers. When on his deathbed, his sire had called him to his side, and said to him, “In leaving you my kingdom, I leave you a counsel with it which is worth the kingdom itself. In all things be guided by the advice of my wise counsellor Rathgeb, and you shall do well.”

But Radpot had a stepmother who hated him, and was determined to destroy him if possible; so she devised a plot against him, the first step of which was to get him out of the kingdom. She therefore advised that he should take a year’s journey to perfect himself in knowledge of the world, before assuming the reins of government.

Radpot was not devoid of shrewdness, and readily suspecting some evil intention in his stepmother’s advice, at first resisted following it; but afterwards, submitting the matter to Rathgeb, according to his father’s desire, he received from him a different counsel from that which he had expected.

“Though your stepmother may have evil intentions,” he said, “you need not therefore be afraid; we shall be able to baffle them. In the meantime, it is well that you should travel to see the world, and learn experience. We will so establish a council of regency that the queen shall not be able to do great mischief during your absence.”

Radpot was nothing loath to follow this advice, as he was of an adventurous disposition; so, all things being ordered for the due conduct of the affairs of the kingdom, he set out with Rathgeb for his year’s journey.

During all the days of preparation for the journey, the queen, who had always heretofore shown herself harsh and hostile to Radpot, behaved with the utmost tenderness and devotion, which the young prince ascribed to her satisfaction at his having followed her advice, and returned her advances with an ingenuous cordiality. She, in turn, received his deference with an increase of solicitude, and nothing could be more affectionate than their leave-taking. Every thing the thoughtfulness of a fond mother could have suggested was provided by her for his safety and comfort on the journey; and as he had his foot in the stirrup she still had one more token of her care of him.

“Take this vial,” she said, “it is a precious cordial; and when you are worn and wearied with heat and travel, a few drops of its precious contents will suffice to restore you to strength and vigour. Farewell! and when you taste of it, think of me.”

Radpot, with all the openness of his generous nature, assured her that he should never forget her kindness for him, and stowing away the vial in his belt, waved his hand to her as he rode away.

Two days and two nights Radpot and his trusty counsellor journeyed through the cool forest; and then for another day along its border, exposed to the heat of the sun upon the mountain-sides, till they came to a vast plain where there was no shelter of hill or tree, no hospitality of human dwelling. With unbroken courage, however, the young prince commenced crossing it. It was only when, after three days’ more hard riding, they still seemed as far as ever from a place of rest, that, wearied and dispirited, he took out his stepmother’s vial, to try the effect of her cordial.

It was the moment Rathgeb had feared. He had observed how completely the queen had lulled Radpot’s suspicions, and that every attempt at suggesting there was any hypocrisy in her conduct had appeared to vex him. To have now spoken of any danger in trying her cordial would probably have provoked his resentment – Rathgeb took another way of saving his charge.

“Think you not our mounts deserve more than we to taste this precious restorative? whatever labour we have endured, theirs has been tenfold.”

“True,” said the good-natured prince; and, dismounting, he opened the mouth of his steed, and poured some drops of the liquid on his tongue. He had scarcely done so, however, when the poor beast stretched out his long neck with an air of agony, then fell over on its side, and expired!

Rathgeb left the incident to produce its own effect on the mind of his pupil, who stood gazing as one bewildered.

“What can it be that killed my good horse?” he exclaimed, at length; “it could not be the cordial! no, never! the queen could not have been so base! It was, that he has been so long unused to exercise, this terrible journey has overcome him, and the cordial was too late to save him.”

“Try it on mine,” answered Rathgeb; “he is a battle-charger, used to endurance, and delighting in labour. See,” he said, jumping to the ground, and patting his neck, “he is as fresh now as when we started, not a hair turned!”

“Be it so,” replied Radpot, not without some asperity. “I would not suffer the trial, could I suspect it possible the queen could be capable of so horrible a plot as you evidently suppose; but I cannot believe it – so give the cordial to your horse.”

Rathgeb took the vial, and poured not more than three drops on the tongue of his thirsty beast. Both watched the effect with a tension akin to awe.

In the first few moments no change was apparent, but Radpot was too generous to give utterance to the triumph he began to experience.

Suddenly the faithful beast started as if it had been transfixed with the sharpest arrow, directed one piteous look towards the master it had served so well, and fell down lifeless by the side of its companion.

“There is no doubt it is as you say,” Radpot now confessed, at once. “Forgive me for the haste with which I spoke.”

“Nay, prince, there is no need of excuse. Though it behoved me to stand on guard and see no harm befell you, it became you to trust her whose duty it was to befriend, not to harm you.”

“And now try this cordial of mine, maybe it will fulfil what the other promised.”

The prince gladly accepted the proffered gift; and both, wonderfully restored by its effects, continued their journey on foot.

They had not gone far when three ravens passed them on the wing. The prince and his companion turned back to watch their flight, and saw them alight on the carrion of their dead horses, immediately after tasting of which they all three fell to the earth dead, by the side of the dead horses.

“There may be some profit to be gained from these,” said Rathgeb; and going back to the spot, he picked up the dead ravens and took them with him.

Their journey was without further incident, till they at last espied a welcome hut completely sheltered in the border of a vast stretch of forest land.

The sight gave them courage for renewed exertion; and in a few minutes more they stood before the door. An old woman came out to ask them in, but observing the youth and noble mien of the prince, she seemed to be moved with compassion, and cried out, with great earnestness, entreating them not to come in, for the place was the resort of a band of twelve robbers, and that no one could deliver them out of their hands. They would not be home till the next day for dinner; in the meantime, by a path she indicated, the travellers could easily make good their escape.

The prince would have rewarded her for her advice, and have set out again to find a safer shelter; but Rathgeb remarked to him, that a prince should rather find means to overcome a danger than fly from it, and promised to carry him through this one, if he would be guided by him. Radpot, mindful of his father’s desire, promised to do all he proposed.

“Then, when the robbers come in, do exactly as I do,” said Rathgeb; “in the meantime keep up your courage.” And so they supped on what the old woman set before them, and went to bed and slept peacefully. The next day, an hour before dinner-time, Rathgeb went into the kitchen and handed the three ravens to the old woman to cook, giving her very particular directions as to the sauces that were to accompany it, as if it were a dish for which they had a particular liking, and wished dressed entirely for themselves. He was still watching the confection of the dish when the twelve robbers came back. They gave the two strangers a friendly reception, and invited them to dinner. This, the old servant had told Rathgeb, was their custom, and that after dinner they fell upon their guests and slew them at the moment when they least expected any onslaught.

Rathgeb accepted the invitation, with the proviso that he and his companion should be allowed to eat their own food, being some game they had brought down by the way. The robbers made no objection, and they sat down to table. While waiting for the repast to be brought, the robbers entertained their guests with lively conversation, in which Rathgeb joined with great show of cordiality, the young prince sustaining his part admirably.

When the dishes were brought, the old woman was careful to set the three ravens before Rathgeb, as he had bidden her; but the chief robber interposed, and said they must really allow him to offer him and his young friend of their hospitality. Rathgeb made a little courteous difficulty; and the robber-chief, whose object was not to thwart his guests in any thing, but make a show of the greatest civility, said he must really consent to exchange dishes, and not deprive him of the pleasure of providing in one way or another for his guests. After holding out for some pressing, Rathgeb consented, and each set to work to help himself to what was before him, the dish which had been before the robber-chief having been exchanged with that which was before Rathgeb.

Rathgeb helped the prince without appearing to take any notice of what befell the robbers; and Radpot, understanding how important it was to engender no suspicion, fell with a hunter’s appetite upon the viands without taking his eyes from his plate, after the manner of a famished man. Before he had devoured many mouthfuls, however, the poison of the ravens had done its work; one after another, or rather all together, the robbers fell under the table as suddenly as the horses and the ravens themselves – all but one. For one of the robbers had felt suspicious of the unusual circumstance of guests bringing their own food with them; when he pointed this out to his companions, they said it was clear there could be no guile in the matter, seeing the guests had so manifestly prepared it for their own eating. But he had abstained from incurring the risk himself, and now alone stood erect amid the dead bodies of his companions.

“Draw, prince,” said Rathgeb, “and rid us of this scum of the earth! cross not your sword with the defiled one, but smite him down as a reptile.”

Radpot did not wait to be twice told; before Rathgeb had done speaking he had hewn down the swaggering bully, who had thought to make easy work of an unpractised foe.

Radpot and his counsellor lost no time in continuing their journey. The store of the robbers they left to the old woman who had befriended them, and took only a provision of wine and bread with them for their necessities by the way.

Skirting along the borders of the forest, they shortly came to a fine city, where they established themselves at the first inn. They sat down in the Herrenstübchen68 while other guests came in. “What news is there?” asked Rathgeb of the new comers.

“News?” asked the person addressed; “it’s always the old story here – but that’s as strange for those who don’t know it as any news.”

“What may it be, then?” pursued Rathgeb.

“Why, the princess to whom all this country belongs is going on with her old mad pranks. She is perpetually propounding some new stupid riddle, promising her hand and kingdom to whomsoever divines it. But no one can divine the meaning of her nonsense; and the penalty is, that whoever attempts and fails is dressed like a fool or jester, with long ears and bells, and is made to ride backwards all through the city, with all the people hooting and jeering him.”

Rathgeb then informed himself as to the appearance and character of the princess.

“Oh, as to that, she is charming in appearance – radiant as the sun, dazzling all beholders; that is how so many heads are turned by her. And as for her mind, there is no fault there either, except that just because she is more gifted than all other women, she is thus proud and haughty and unbearable.”