PAGE 5
Axel
by
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In anxious expectation of what would follow, Tugendreich had been standing for some time in the window of the baronial hall, from which she had in the morning admired Axel’s horsemanship, when her father came up to her with a wrathful countenance, seized her hand, and led her to the gigantic portrait of the ancestors of the Starschedels, which gloomily and menacingly looked down, as it were, from the gold frame upon the delinquent. “Who is that?” asked the baron, with suppressed wrath.
“Magnus von Starschedel, the founder of our family,” repeated Tugendreich, words which had been impressed on her memory from infancy. “In the war against the emperor, Henry IV., Duke Rodolph of Swabia dubbed him knight, A.D. 1078, at Stronow, near Mellenstaedt; and he fell in the battle fought against the same emperor, near Wuerzburg, A.D. 1086, after his valour had contributed to gain the victory.”
“What think you this glorious knight would have done, if he had, like myself, seen you from behind the hedge?” asked her father, while Tugendreich cast her eyes down on the squares of the inlaid floors. “He would have cleft the head of the unfaithful servant,” continued the baron, raising his voice, “and thrown the degenerate girl into the dungeon, until he should have placed her and her passion for ever in a cloister.”
The Fraeulein gave a silent assent to the justice of this sentence.
“Tugendreich! Tugendreich!” continued her father, reproaching her; “why did I give you this lovely name?[2] I ought to have christened you Philippe, for Talander has interpreted this name to me, to mean a lover of horses, and it would therefore be some excuse for your predilection for the stable.”
Now a feeling of pride rose within her, and she cried, “I deserve blame, but do not merit your contempt. My feelings are pure, and I need not be ashamed of him.”
The furious impetuosity of noble wrath would now have broken through the last barrier of paternal love, when fortunately for the poor Fraeulein a loud shriek of terror resounded from the court-yard, and Talander entered the hall with a countenance as pale as death. “May God and his holy gospel protect us,” exclaimed the old man. “A swarm of Croats is storming through the country, and may probably come this very night.”
“Well,” replied the baron, with affected composure, “Saxony has nothing to fear from the troops of his Imperial Majesty.”
“So you think, my lord, but I do not,” rejoined the magister, trembling. “People whisper already about the alliance concluded between Saxony and Sweden, and if the Croats are terrible even as friends, may Heaven preserve us against their inroads as enemies. They are said to commit the most awful havoc on the estates of the protestant noblemen.”
The baron fell into an arm-chair as if thunder struck, and Tugendreich was wringing her white hands as Axel entered the hall. A helmet covered his head, a sword was rattling at his side, and before the old baron could think of his wrath against him, he said in a firm and manly tone, “The Croats are approaching, and will not want a pretext for committing their depredations here as they have done every where else; your property and life, and the honour of your lovely daughter are in jeopardy. Nothing but a bold resistance can save you. Isolani’s followers spare nothing, not even those who submit readily.”
“Are you out of your senses?” asked the baron. “With what force am I to begin the struggle against an imperial army?”
“Only he who abandons himself is abandoned,” said Axel. “This castle has high, strong walls and deep moats. I have raised a whole village, and have armed your ranger and servants. If they follow my advice they will all take refuge here with their property. We must give up the village, and hold out here until succour comes.”