Andreas Hofer
by
Lousia Muhlbach
Part 3 out of 11
hearts."
The men paused; like Andreas Hofer, they clasped their hands, bent
their heads, and muttered fervent prayers.
After a long pause Hofer raised his head again. "And now, men,
listen to what I have to say to you," he exclaimed, cheerfully. "I
have invited you all because you are the most influential and
respectable men in this part of the country, and because the
fatherland has need of you and counts upon you and me. The
sharpshooters of the Passeyrthal told me, if war should break out, I
must be their captain; and I accepted the position because I think
that every one is in duty bound to risk his limbs and life for the
sake of the fatherland, and place himself just where he can serve it
best. But if I am to be your captain, you must all assist me to the
best of your power. We must act harmoniously, and strain every nerve
to deliver the fatherland and restore the Tyrol to our beloved
emperor."
"We are resolved to do so," shouted the men, with one accord.
"I know it full well," said Andreas Hofer, joyously. "Let us go to
work, then. and circulate throughout the Tyrol the message that the
Austrians are coming, and that it is time. Say, Teimer, did yon not
bring a written message with you?"
"Here is a letter from Hormayr," said Martin Teimer, drawing a large
sealed paper from his bosom.
Andreas took it and opened it quickly. But while he was reading it,
a slight cloud overspread his countenance, and for a moment he cast
a rapid, searching glance on Martin Teimer's bright, keen face;
however, no sooner had he met Teimer's stealthy, inquiring glance,
than he quickly turned his eyes again to the paper.
"Well," he said then, striking the paper with his right hand, "the
statements contained in this letter are entirely in accordance with
our wishes. We are to rise at once, for already tomorrow the
Austrians will have crossed our frontiers. Marquis von Chasteler
will march from Carinthia into the Puster valley; General Hiller is
moving from Salzburg toward the Lower Inn valley; the former thinks
he will reach Brixen in the course of four days; the latter says he
will be at Innspruck within the same time. I and Martin Teimer here,
who no longer keeps a tobacco-shop at Klagenfurth, but is again
Major Teimer as he was four years ago--we are to direct and manage
every thing in the Tyrol, and are intrusted with the duty of seeing
to it that the flames of the insurrection burst forth now as
speedily as possible from one end of the Tyrol to the other, and
that it shall become a conflagration that will burn up all Frenchmen
and Bavarians, or compel them to escape from the country. Assist us,
then, my men, in spreading the news over the mountains and through
the valleys, that all may rise and participate in the great work of
deliverance. Every able-bodied man is to shoulder his rifle, and the
women and children are to carry, from house to house, little balls
of paper on which are written the words: ''Tis time!' as we have
agreed at our meetings. And now, in compliance with the promise I
gave Hormayr in Vienna, I will issue a circular to all our friends
that they may know what to do under these circumstances. Is there
among you any one who can write well and correctly, and to whom I
may dictate? for my own handwriting is none of the best, and
although what I write may be thought correctly, it is not spelled as
learned men tell us it should be. If there is among you one who can
write nicely and correctly what I wish to dictate, let him come
forward."
"I can do it," said a young man, stepping forward.
"It is Joseph Ennemoser, son of John Ennemoser, the Seewirth," said
Andreas Hofer, smiling. "Yes, I believe you are a good scribe; you
have become quite a scholar and an aristocratic gentleman, and are
studying medicine at the University of Innspruck."
"For all that, I have remained an honest mountaineer; and as for my
studies, I will not think of them until we have delivered the Tyrol
from the Bavarian yoke. I shall keep only my pen, and act as Andreas
Hofer's obedient secretary." [Footnote: Joseph Ennemoser, son of
John Ennemoser, the tailor and Seewirth of the Passeyrthal, was a
shepherd in his boyhood. His father sent him to the gymnasium of
Innsbruck, and afterward to the university of the same city, where
he studied medicine. In 1809 he was Hofer's secretary. Afterward he
became a celebrated professor of medicine at the University of
Bonn.]
"Sit down, then, my boy, and write. You will find pen and ink in
the drawer of yonder table. Take them, and I will dictate to you."
And amidst the respectful silence of the men, walking up and down
slowly, and stroking his long beard with his right hand, Andreas
Hofer commenced dictating his "open order," which was as follows:
"Early in the morning of the 9th of April General Hiller will march
from Salzburg to the Lower Inn valley, and General yon Chasteler
from Carinthia to the Puster valley. On the 11th or 12th of April
the former will arrive at Innsbruck, and the latter at Brixen. The
Archduke John orders that the Muhlbach pass be occupied by peasants
from the Puster valley, and the Kuntersweg by mounted men. They are
to allow all forces of the enemy marching from Botzen to Brixen to
pass, and will cut off all communications only so soon as they
discover that the Bavarian civilians and soldiers are trying to
escape from Brixen to Botzen. Not a man must be allowed to pass
then."
While Andreas Hofer was dictating his "open order" with a firm and
thoughtful air, the peasants stood dumfounded with admiration,
staring at him with a feeling of awe, and delighted with his
sagacity and understanding. That Hofer cast from time to time a
searching glance at Hormayr's letter did not disturb the admiration
they felt for their chosen leader, and they were silent and stared
at him long after he was through.
"So," said Andreas when the writing was finished, "now Martin Teimer
and I will affix our names to this open order; Ennemoser will then
copy it half a dozen times, and six of you will carry the copies to
the other leaders who are already waiting for them, and who will
give the signal to their friends in the lower valley. You, George
Lanthaler, will carry the order to Joseph Speckbacher at Kufstein;
you, Joseph Gufler, will take it to the farmer at the Schildhof;
you, George Steinhauferle, will go to Anthony Wallner, the
Aichberger at Windisch-Matrey. Quick, quick, my friends, we have no
time to lose; you must walk night and day; you cannot rest on the
road, for we must strike the blow with lightning speed, and it must
be done at the same time all over the country."
"And I will likewise set out again to spread the news throughout the
country," said Martin Teimer. "For two weeks past I have been in all
parts of the Tyrol, and have worked everywhere for our cause, and
know now that we may count upon all our countrymen. They are waiting
for the signal, and we must give it to them. Here, take this
package; it contains a large number of those little paper balls upon
which are written the words ''Tis time!' Each of you can take a
handful of them and give them to your wives and children, that they
may carry them to the neighbors and distribute them everywhere.
Speckbacher and Wallner, too, have packages of such paper balls, and
so soon as our faithful messengers bring them our `open order,' they
will likewise send around their wives and children through the
neighborhood; and everywhere the cry will be, ''Tis time!' We must
expel the Bavarians! I will go now, for I must concentrate my men in
order to prevent the Bavarians from crossing the bridge of Laditch.
Farewell, then, and God grant that we may all meet again before long
as free and happy men at our good city of Innspruck!"
"We must go too," exclaimed the Tyrolese when Martin Teimer had left
the house as quickly as he had entered it. "We must go into the
mountains and inform our friends that it is time."
"But go through the kitchen, my dear messengers," said Andreas
Hofer; "there is a bag of flour for each of you; take it on your
back, and on passing during your march a rivulet or a mountain
torrent, throw some of the flour into it; and wherever you find dry
brushwood on the road, pile it up and kindle it, that the bale-fires
may proclaim to the country, ''Tis time!"
Half an hour afterward the large bar-room was deserted, and profound
silence reigned in the inn Zum Sand. The servants and children of
the Sandwirth had gone to bed; only he himself and his faithful
wife, Anna Gertrude, were yet up. Both had retired into the small
sitting-room adjoining the barroom. Andreas Hofer was walking up and
down there silently and thoughtfully, his hands folded on his back;
Gertrude sat in the leather-covered arm-chair at the stove, and
looked at her husband. Every thing was still around them; only the
slow, regular ticking of the clock broke the profound silence, and
outside was to be heard the wild roaring of the Passeyr, which
hurled its furious foaming waters not far from the inn over pebbles
and fragments of rocks.
Finally, after a long pause, Andreas stood still in front of his
wife, and gazed at her with a long, searching, and tender look.
Gertrude, as if lifted up by this glance, rose, encircled his neck
quickly with her arms, and looked with an expression of terror and
anxiety into his face.
"Andy," she exclaimed, mournfully, "my own, dearest Andy, I am
afraid harm will befall you!"
"That is what I expect," he said, sighing, "and I am sorry for you,
my dearest wife. I was just speaking with God and my conscience, and
asking them so fervently if it was not wrong in me not to think
above all things of my dear wife and my beloved children, and if I
ought not to live and die only for them. For I tell you, and I know,
what I am going to do is dangerous, and may easily cost my life. I
do not blind my eyes to it; I may lose my life in either of two
ways. A bullet may strike me in battle; or, if my life should be
spared in the struggle, and if we should be defeated, the Bavarians
would treat me as a traitor; and then a bullet would strike me also,
for they would shoot me."
"Oh, Jesus Maria! my Andy," cried Gertrude, taking Hofer's head in
her hands, as if to protect it from the murderous bullets.
"I do not say that this will occur; I say only that it may occur,"
said Andreas, with a gentle smile. "I wish to tell you only that I
am fully alive to the dangers threatening me when I step to-morrow
morning out of my street-door, and enter upon the duties of the
position which they have conferred on me; for I am to command the
peasants of the Passeyr valley and direct the insurrection in all
this part of the country. Therefore, I asked God and my conscience
whether or not I did right in taking upon myself so responsible a
task, and plunging my family, perhaps, into grief and distress. But
do you know what both of them replied to me? They said: 'It is your
duty to love your wife and your children; but you must also love
your emperor and your country; and when the latter call you and say,
"Come, we need your arm and assistance," you must, as an honest man,
obey the call, go to them, and leave your family; for to love the
fatherland is every man's highest honor, and to be loyal and devoted
to the emperor is the first duty of every Tyrolese.' God and my
conscience spoke to me thus in my breast, and now I ask you too,
dear wife--I ask you before God and your conscience--would you like
your husband not to obey the emperor's call, but stay at home, while
his brave brethren and friends are taking the field to defend the
country and expel the Bavarians?"
"No, indeed, Andy, I would not," cried Gertrude, in dismay; "I
should never dare again to lift my eyes before anybody; I should not
even venture to pray to the Holy Virgin and to God, for, as both
gave up their divine Son, so an honest woman must give up her
husband for the sake of the fatherland."
Andreas laid his hand on his wife's head as if to bless her. "It is
as you say, Gertrude," he said, solemnly. "For the sake of the
fatherland and the emperor you must give up your husband and your
children their father; and we are not allowed to shut our ears in
order not to hear that the dear Tyrol and the good Emperor Francis
have called me. I have heard the call, and must obey it. I shall do
so joyously and readily, and yet my heart grieves, and there is in
my breast here something telling me that our happiness is at an end,
that our sun has set, and--Gertrude, I am not ashamed of it--I
weep!"
He leaned his head against his wife's shoulder, and, folding her to
his heart, sobbed aloud. But this lasted only a short time; then be
raised himself again, and drew his hand quickly across his eyes.
"There," he said, "it is all over now. I wept as a good Christian is
surely allowed to do when he takes leave of his wife and his
children, and gives them up for the sake of his country. Did not
Abraham weep too, and beg God for mercy, when he was to sacrifice
his son to the Almighty? But he nevertheless was ready to make the
sacrifice. And, like Abraham, I have wept and lamented now, but I
shall make the sacrifice. Here I am, my God," he added, lifting his
eyes and hands to Heaven; "here I am, for Thou hast called me. Do
with me as thou deemest best. I am nothing but Thy faithful servant;
but if Thou wishest to use me for Thy great purposes, do so! I offer
Thee my arms, my body, and my life! Take them!"
"But thou, Holy Virgin," murmured Gertrude, "and thou Saint George,
our patron saint, stretch out your arms over him graciously and
protect my Andy. Bear in mind that he is my most precious treasure
on earth! Preserve my dear husband to me, and to my children the
father whom they love so ardently!"
"Amen!" exclaimed Andreas. "And now, dearest wife, come and give me
a kiss, a parting kiss!"
"You do not intend to set out this very night?" asked Gertrude,
anxiously.
"No, Gertrude, but still it is a parting kiss. For henceforth I must
become another man--a hard man, who will no longer think of his
family, but only of the fatherland and the emperor. I wept a few
minutes ago as a good father and husband, but now I must become as
hard as a good soldier ought to be. Until the Bavarians have been
expelled from the country, I shall no longer think of you and the
children, but shall be only a brave and intrepid soldier of my lord
and emperor, and the commander of the Passeyr militia. Kiss me,
therefore, a last time, Anna Gertrude! There! Give me another kiss!
Who knows but it may be the last time you will ever kiss me, dear
Gertrude? And here is still another kiss for our girls. Now it is
enough. Go to bed now, Gertrude, and pray for me."
"You will not go to bed, Andy?" asked Gertrude, anxiously.
"No, I will not, Anna Gertrude. I have business to attend to in the
yard with Joe, our laborer. We will kill the brindled cow."
"What? This very night?"
"This very night. We need the blood and meat. We shall pour the
blood into the Passeyr, and you will see tomorrow that we need the
meat, for I believe we shall have a great many guests in the
morning."
Andreas Hofer's prophecy was fulfilled. Already early in the morning
a great many men assembled in front of the inn Zum Sand. They were
the sharpshooters of the Passeyr valley, who were flocking from all
parts of the district to Hofer's house to report to the beloved
commander of Passeyr. They came down from the mountains and up from
the valleys. They wore their holiday dresses, and their yellow
Sunday hats were decorated with bouquets of rosemary and handsome
ribbons. They were merry and in the best of spirits, as if they were
going to the dance; only instead of their rosy-cheeked girls, they
held their trusty rifles in their arms. Nevertheless, they smacked
their lips, uttered loud exclamations of joy, and shouted as merrily
as larks--"'Tis time! The Bavarians must leave the country! Long
live the emperor! Long live the Archduke John!"
And echo seemed to answer, "The Bavarians must leave the country!"
But it was not echo that had repeated these words. They proceeded
from the throats of merry men, and a gay procession descended now
from the mountain-path. It consisted of the sharpshooters and
peasants of Meran and Algund, who were marching up in the beautiful
costumes of the Adige valley. Oh, how their eyes flashed, and the
rifles in their arms also. And with what jubilant Jodlers the men of
Passeyr received their dear friends from Algund and Meran.
All at once every sound was hushed, for in the door of the inn
appeared Andreas Hofer, looking like a king in his handsome holiday
attire; his good-natured, honest face gleamed with joy, and his
glance was mild and clear, and yet so firm and commanding. His whole
bearing breathed calm dignity, and it seemed to the men of Passeyr
as though the morning sun which illuminated his face surrounded his
head with a golden halo. They stood aside with timid reverence and
awe. Hofer advanced into the middle of the circle which the men of
Passeyr, Meran, and Algund formed around him. He then looked around
and greeted the men on all sides with a smile, a pleasant nod, and a
wave of his hand.
"My friends," he exclaimed in a loud voice, "the day has come when
we must expel the Bavarians from the country and restore the Tyrol
to the Austrians. 'Tis time! The Bavarians have amply deserved such
treatment at our hands, for they have sorely oppressed us. When you
had finished a wooden image, could you carry it to Vienna and sell
it? No, you could not! Is that freedom? You are Tyrolese; at least
your fathers called themselves so; now you are to call yourselves
Bavarians. And, moreover, our ancient castle of Tyrol in the Passeyr
valley was not spared! Are you satisfied with this? If you harvest
three blades of corn, the government claims two of them; is that
happiness and prosperity? But there is a Providence and there are
angels; and it was revealed to me that if we resolved to avenge our
wrongs, God and St. George, our patron saint, would help us. Up,
then, against the Bavarians! Tear the villains with your teeth while
they stand; but when they kneel down and pray, give them quarter. Up
against the Bavarians! 'Tis time!"
"Up against the Bavarians! 'tis time!" shouted all the brave men,
enthusiastically; and the mountain echoes answered: "Up against the
Bavarians! 'tis time!"
And the blood-red waters of the Passeyr carried down into the valley
the message: "Up against the Bavarians! 'tis time!"
CHAPTER X.
ANTHONY WALLNER OF WINDISCH-MATREY.
An unusual commotion reigned in the market-place of Windisch-Matrey
on the afternoon of the 9th of April. The men and youths of
Windisch-Matrey and its environs were assembled there in dense
groups, and thronged in constantly-increasing masses round the house
of the innkeeper Anthony Aichberger, called Wallner. The women, too,
had left their houses and huts, and hastened to the market-place.
Their faces were as threatening as those of the men; their eyes shot
fire, and their whole bearing betokened unusual excitement.
Everywhere loud and vehement words were uttered, clinched fists were
raised menacingly, and glances of secret understanding were
exchanged.
The liveliest scene, however, took place in the large barroom of the
inn. The foremost men of the whole district, strong, well-built
forms, with defiant faces and courageous bearing, had assembled
there around Anthony Wallner-Aichberger. They spoke but little, but
sat on the benches against the walls of the room, and stared into
their glasses, which Eliza, Wallner's eldest daughter, filled again
and again with beer. Even the young girl, who was usually so gay and
spirited, seemed to-day sad and dejected. Formerly her merry
laughter and clear, ringing voice were heard everywhere; to-day she
was moody and taciturn. Formerly her checks glowed like purple
roses, a charming arch expression played around her beautiful small
mouth, and the fire and spirit of youth beamed from her large black
eyes; to-day, only a faint crimson tinged Eliza's cheeks, her lips
were firmly compressed, and her eyes were dim and lustreless. From
time to time, while waiting on the guests, she cast an anxious,
searching glance through the windows over the market-place, and
seemed to listen to the hum of voices, which often became as
deafening as the wild roar of the storm, and shook the window-panes.
Anthony Wallner, her father, was likewise grave and anxious, and in
walking to the groups of guests seated on the benches here and
there, he glanced uneasily toward the windows.
"It may be that they will not come, after all, Tony, and that the
Viennese have fooled you," whispered old Thurnwalden from Meran to
him.
"I cannot comprehend it," sighed Anthony Wallner. "The insurrection
was to break out on the 9th of April, and the Austrian troops were
to cross the frontier on that day; and this was the reason why we
have hitherto resisted the conscription and refused to pay the new
taxes. But the 9th of April has come now, and we have received no
message from Hofer or the Austrians."
"And to-day the time which the Bavarians have given us is up,"
growled George Hinnthal; "if our young lads do not report
voluntarily to the enrolling officers by this evening, they will be
arrested to-morrow."
"They shall not be arrested," exclaimed one of the Tyrolese,
striking the table with his powerful fist.
"No, they shall not be arrested," echoed all, in loud, defiant
tones.
"But you will not be able to prevent them," said old Thurnwalden,
when all were silent again and had drunk a long draught from their
glasses as if to confirm their words. "You know there is a whole
company of soldiers at Castle Weissenstein, and Ulrich von
Hohenberg, the castellan's nephew, is their captain. He is a
Bavarian, body and soul, and, if we resist the authorities, he will
lead his men with muskets and field-pieces against us."
"Why, you have become greatly discouraged, Caspar Thurnwalden," said
Anthony Wallner, sneeringly, "and one would almost think you had
turned a friend of the Bavarians. We have got as good muskets as the
Bavarians, and if they shoot we shall shoot back. And as for the
field-pieces, why, we have got wheels and may roll down cannon from
Castle Weissenstein to Windisch-Matrey. But come, my dear friends, I
see the Bavarian tax-collectors walking across the market-place
yonder. They look very grim and stern, as if they meant to devour us
all. Let us go out and see what is going on."
The men rose as if obeying a military order, and followed Anthony
Wallner from the room to the market-place. Eliza Wallner was for a
moment alone in the room; and now that she had no longer to fear the
eyes of the guests, she sank quite exhausted on a chair and buried
her face in her trembling hands.
"What am I to do?" she murmured in a low voice. "Oh, God in heaven,
would I could die this very hour!"
"Why do you weep, Lizzie?" asked a gentle voice by her side, and, on
looking up, Eliza beheld the grave, sympathetic face of her mother,
who had just entered the room without being heard by her. Eliza
sprang up and embraced her mother with passionate tenderness.
"Dearest mamma," she whispered, "I am afraid."
"Afraid of what?" asked her mother, in a low voice. "Are you afraid
the Austrians may not come, and the Bavarians may then imprison your
dear father, because they have found out that he has instigated the
people to disobey their behests?"
"No," said Eliza, blushing with shame, "no, that is not what I am
afraid of. They will not dare to arrest my dear father, for they
know full well that the people of the whole district are greatly
attached to him, and that the men of the whole Puster valley would
rise to deliver Anthony Wallner. It is something else, dearest
mother; come with me into the chamber; there I will tell you all."
She drew her mother hastily into the chamber adjoining the bar-room
and closed the door after her.
"Mother," she said, tremblingly and breathlessly, "listen to me now.
I am sure the Austrians are coming, and if the men outside hear of
it, they will kill all the Bavarians."
"Let them do it," said her mother composedly; "the mean, sneaking
Bavarians have certainly deserved to be killed after the infamous
treatment we have endured at their hands."
"But, mother, there are also good men among them," exclaimed Eliza.
"You know very well I am a loyal Tyrolese girl, and love my emperor
dearly, for you have taught me from my earliest youth that it was
incumbent on me to do so. But, mother, there are also good men among
the Bavarians. There is, for instance, Ulrich von Hohenberg up at
Castle Weissenstein. You know his cousin has always treated me as a
sister; we have grown up together, and I was allowed to participate
in her lessons and learn what she learned. We were always together,
and even now I have snot ceased going to Castle Weissenstein,
although it is garrisoned by a detachment of Bavarian soldiers.
Father himself wished me to go to the young lady as heretofore, for
he said it would look suspicious if I should stay away all of a
sudden. Therefore I went to see my dear friend Eliza von Hohenberg
every day, and I always met there her cousin, the captain of the
Bavarian soldiers. He is a very kind-hearted and merry gentleman,
mother, and it is no fault of his that he is a Bavarian. His father,
our castellan's brother, has lived for thirty years past down at
Munich, and his son entered the Bavarian service long before he knew
that we people of Windisch-Matrey desire to become Austrian subjects
again. Now his general sent him hither with his soldiers for the
purpose of helping the officers to collect the taxes and enroll the
names of our young men. Is he to blame for the necessity he is under
of obeying the orders of his general?"
"No, he is not," said her mother, gravely.
"But when the Austrians come now, and my father and the other men
rise, and expel and kill the Bavarians, they will kill Ulrich von
Hohenberg too, although it is not his fault that he is a Bavarian.
Oh, dearest mamma, he is such a good, kind-hearted young man! he is
my dear Eliza's cousin and our castellan's nephew, and you know how
well Eliza and her father have treated me, and that they take care
of me, whenever I am at the castle, as though I were the castellan's
own child. Dearest mamma, shall we permit our men to kill the nephew
of our excellent castellan?"
"No, we will not, Lizzie," said her mother, resolutely. "Quick, run
up the footpath leading to the castle. Tell the young officer that
the Tyrolese are going to deliver themselves from the Bavarian yoke,
and that he had better effect his escape while there is time."
"Mother, he will not do it, for he is a brave young man!" sighed
Eliza; "and then--I cannot betray father's secret to him. If the
Austrians did not come after all, and I had told Ulrich von
Hohenberg what father and the other Tyrolese intend to do, would I
not be a traitress, and would not father curse me?"
"True, true, that will not do," said her mother musingly; "your
father would never forgive you. But I know what you must do. Just
run up to the castle and act as though you wished only to pay a
visit to your friend Eliza; no one knows as yet what is going to
occur. None of your friends have disclosed the secret; and the
castellan too, though I think he is a good Austrian at heart, does
not yet know any thing about it. Your father told me so this very
morning. You will remain at the castle, and so soon as you hear the
report of a rifle on the market-place here, you will know that the
insurrection is breaking out. There is father's rifle; when it is
time, I will step out of the back gate with it and shoot. You will
hear the report, and tell the young officer that the Tyrolese are
going to rise, and that he had better conceal himself until the
first rage of the insurgents has blown over."
"Yes, I will do so," exclaimed Eliza; "I will run up to the castle
now. Good-by, dearest mamma."
She imprinted a kiss on the hand of her mother, and then sped away
as gracefully as a young roe.
"She is a very good girl," said her mother, looking after her
smilingly, "and has a soft and compassionate heart. She wishes to
save the castellan's nephew merely because she pities the young man
who is exposed to such imminent danger. It is very kind of her! It--
But, Holy Virgin! what is the matter outside? Is the outbreak to
commence already? I believe it is my Tony who is talking outside in
so loud a voice. I must go and hear what is the matter."
She hastened through the bar-room to the street-door opening upon
the market place.
Yes, it was Anthony Wallner-Aichberger who was gesticulating so
violently yonder. Round him stood the men of Windisch-Matrey,
looking with gloomy faces at the three Bavarian revenue officers who
were standing in front of Wallner.
"I repeat, sir," exclaimed Anthony Wallner at this moment with an
air of mock gravity, "that we are all very loyal and obedient
subjects, and that it is wrong in you. Mr. Tax-collector, to call us
stubborn, seditious fellows. If we were such, would we not, being so
numerous here, punish you and your two officers for speaking of us
so contemptuously and disrespectfully?"
"You know full well that, at a wave of my hand, the company of
soldiers will rush down from Castle Weissenstein and shoot you all
as traitors and rebels," said the tax-collector haughtily.
"Well, Mr. Tax-collector," exclaimed Wallner, smilingly, "as for the
shooting, we are likewise well versed in that. We are first-rate
marksmen, we Tyrolese!"
"What!" cried the tax-collector, furiously, "do you speak again of
Tyrolese? Did I not forbid you to call yourselves so? You are no
Tyrolese, but inhabitants of South-Bavaria, do you hear? His majesty
the King of Bavaria does not want any Tyrolese as subjects, but only
Southern Bavarians, as I have told you twice already." [Footnote:
See "Gallery of Heroes; Life of Andreas Hofer," p. 15.]
"Very well; if his majesty does not want any Tyrolese as subjects,
you need not tell us so more than once," exclaimed Anthony Wallner.
"He prefers Southern Bavarians, does he? Bear that in mind,
Tyrolese; the King of Bavaria wants only Southern Bavarians."
"We will bear that in mind," shouted the Tyrolese; and loud,
scornful laughter rolled like threatening thunder across the market-
place.
"You laugh," exclaimed the tax-collector, endeavoring to stifle his
rage; "I am glad you are so merry. To-morrow, perhaps, you will
laugh no longer; for I tell you, if you do not pay to-day the fine
imposed on you, I shall have it forcibly collected by the soldiers
at daybreak to-morrow morning."
"We must really pay the fine, then?" asked Anthony Wallner, with
feigned timidity. "You will not relent, then, Mr. Tax-collector? We
really must pay the heavy fine, because we had a little fun the
other day? For you must say yourself, sir, we really did no wrong."
"You did no wrong? You were in open insurrection. On the birthday of
your gracious master the king, instead of hanging out Bavarian
flags, as you had been ordered, you hung out Austrian flags
everywhere."
"No, Mr. Tax-collector, you did not see right; we hung out none but
Bavarian flags."
"That is false! I myself walked through the whole place, and saw
every thing with my own eyes. Your flags did not contain the
Bavarian colors, blue and white, but black and yellow, the Austrian
colors."
"Possibly they may have looked so," exclaimed Anthony Wallner, "but
that was not our fault. The flags were our old Bavarian flags: but
they were already somewhat old, the blue was faded and looked like
yellow, and the white had become quite dirty and looked like black."
"Thunder and lightning! Wallner is right," exclaimed the Tyrolese,
bursting into loud laughter. "The flags were our old Bavarian flags,
but they were faded and dirty."
The young lads, who had hitherto stood in groups around the outer
edge of the market-place, now mingled with the crowd to listen to
the speakers; and a young Tyrolese, with his rifle on his arm, and
his pointed hat over his dark curly hair, approached with such
impetuous curiosity that he suddenly stood close to the tax-
collector. However, he took no notice of the officer, but looked
with eager attention at Wallner, and listened to his words.
But the grim eyes of one of the two bailiffs noticed with dismay
that this impudent fellow dared to place himself close by the side
of the tax-collector without taking off his hat.
Striking with his fist on the young fellow's hat, he drove it deep
over his forehead.
"Villain!" he shouted, in a threatening voice, "do you not see the
tax-collector?"
The young fellow drew the hat with an air of embarrassment from his
forehead, and crimsoning with rage, but in silence, stepped back
into the circle of the murmuring men.
"That is just what you deserve, Joe," said Anthony Wallner. "Why did
a smart Tyrolese boy like you come near us Southern Bavarians when
we were talking about public parlour?"
At this moment a lad elbowed himself hastily through the crowd. His
dress was dusty, his face was flushed and heated and it seemed as
though he had travelled many miles on foot. To those who stood in
his way he said in a breathless, panting voice: "Please stand aside.
I have to deliver something to Anthony Wallner-Aichberger; I must
speak with him."
The men willingly stood aside. Now be was close behind Wallner, and,
interrupting him in his speech, he whispered to him: "I come from
Andreas Hofer; he sends you his greetings and this paper. I have run
all night to bring it to you."
He handed a folded paper to Wallner, who opened it with hands
trembling with impatience.
It was Andreas Hofer's "open order."
Wallner's face brightened up, he cast a fiery glance around the
place filled with his friends, and fixed his flashing eyes then on
the hat of the bailiff who had rebuked the young Tyrolese in so
overbearing a manner. At a bound he was by his side, drove the
bailiff's round official hat with one blow of his fist over his
head, so that his whole face disappeared in the crown, and exclaimed
in a loud, ringing voice:
"Villain! do you not see the Tyrolese?"
A loud outburst of exultation greeted Wallner's bold deed, and all
the men crowded around him, ready to protect Anthony Wallner, and
looking at the tax-collector with flashing, threatening eyes.
The latter seemed as if stunned by the sudden change in Wallner's
demeanor, and he looked in dismay at the audacious innkeeper who was
standing close in front of him and staring at him with a laughing
face.
"What does this mean?" he asked at length, in a tremulous voice.
"It means that we want to be Tyrolese again," shouted Anthony
Wallner, exultingly. "It means that we will no longer submit to
brutal treatment at the hands of your Bavarian bailiffs, and that we
will treat you now as you Boafoks have treated us for five years
past." [Footnote: Boafok, the nickname which the Tyrolese gave to
the Bavarians at that time. It signifies "Bavarian pigs."]
"For God's sake, how have we treated you, then?" asked the tax-
collector, drawing back from the threatening face of Anthony Wallner
toward his bailiffs.
"Listen to me, Tyrolese," shouted Anthony Wallner, scornfully, "he
asks me how the Bavarians have treated us! Shall I tell it to him
once more!"
"Yes, yes, Tony, do so," replied the Tyrolese on all sides.
"Tell it to him, and if he refuses to listen, we will tie him hand
and foot, and compel him to hear what you say."
"Well, Mr. Tax-collector," said Wallner, with mock politeness, "I
will tell you, then, how you Bavarians have treated us for four
years past, and only when you know all our grievances will we settle
our accounts. Listen, then, to what you have done to us, and what we
complain of. You have behaved toward us as perjured liars and
scoundrels, and I will prove it to you. In the first place, then, in
1805, when, to our intense grief and regret, our emperor was obliged
to cede the Tyrol to Bavaria, the King of Bavaria, in a letter which
he wrote to us, solemnly guaranteed our constitution and our ancient
privileges and liberties. That is what your king promised in 1805.
To be sure, we did not put much confidence in what he said, for we
well knew that when the big cat wants to devour the little mouse, it
treats the victim at first with great kindness and throws a small
bit of bacon to it; but no sooner does the mouse take it than the
cat pounces upon its unsuspecting victim and devours it. And such
was our fate too; the cat Bavaria wanted to swallow the little mouse
Tyrol; not even our name was to be left to us, and we were to be
called Southern Bavarians instead of Tyrolese. Besides, our ancient
Castle of Tyrol, the sacred symbol of our country, was dismantled
and destroyed. You thought probably we would forget the past and the
history of the Tyrol, and all that we are, if we no longer saw the
Castle of Tyrol, where the dear Margaret Maultasch solemnly
guaranteed to her Tyrolese their liberties, great privileges, and
independence, for all time to come. But all was written in our
hearts, and your infamous conduct engraved it only the more
lastingly thereon. You took from us not only our name, but also our
constitution, which all Tyrolese love as their most precious
treasure. The representative estates were suppressed, and the
provincial funds seized. No less than eight new and oppressive taxes
were imposed, and levied with the utmost rigor; the very name of the
country, as I said before, was abolished; and, after the model of
revolutionary France, the Tyrol was divided into the departments of
the Inn, the Adige, and the Eisach; the passion plays, which formed
so large a part of the amusements of our people, were prohibited;
all pilgrimages to chapels or places of extraordinary sanctity were
forbidden. The convents and monasteries were confiscated, and their
estates sold; the church plate and holy vessels were melted down and
disposed of; the royal property was all brought into the market. New
imposts were daily exacted without any consultation with the estates
of our people; specie became scarce from the quantity of it which
was drawn off to the royal treasury; the Austrian notes were reduced
to half their value, and the feelings of our people irritated almost
to madness by the compulsory levy of our young men to serve in the
ranks of your army. In this manner you tried to crush us to earth.
But I tell you, we shall rise again, the whole Tyrol will rise and
no longer allow itself to be trampled under foot. You say the king
does not want any Tyrolese as subjects. He shall not have any, for
the Tyrolese want to become again subjects of their dear Emperor
Francis of Austria. Men of the Tyrol, from Pusterthal, Teffereck,
and Virgenthal, you wish to become again subjects of the Emperor
Francis, do you not?"
"We do, we do!" shouted the men, uttering deafening cheers. "Our
dear Francis is to become again our lord and emperor! Long live the
Emperor Francis!"
"Silence!" cried the tax-collector, pale with rage and dismay;
"silence, or I shall send for the soldiers and have every one of you
arrested, and--"
"Be silent yourself!" said Anthony Wallner, seizing him violently by
the arm. "Sir, you are our prisoner, and so are the two bailiffs
yonder. Seize them, my friends, and if they shout or resist, shoot
them down. And if you utter a cry or a word, Mr. Tax-collector, so
help me God if I do not kill you for a Boafok, as you are! Keep
quiet, therefore, be a sensible man, and deliver your funds to us.
Come, men, we will accompany this gentleman to the tax-collector's
office; and now let us sing a good Tyrolese song:"
"D'Schoergen and d'Schreiber and d'Richter allsammt,
Sind'n Teufel auskomma, druck'n ueberall auf's Land,
Und schinden Bauern, es is kam zum sog'n,
Es waer ja koan Wunder, wir thaeten's allsammt erschlog'n."
[Footnote: Song of the Tyrolese in 1809.--See Mayr, "Joseph
Spechbacher," p. 22.
"The pushing--the writers, and magistrates all,
Possessed by the devil, our country enthrall,
And grind the poor peasants; alas, 'tis a shame!
No wonder if we too share ruin the same."]
He concluded with a long and joyous Jodler, and shouted
triumphantly: "Dear brethren, Andreas Hofer sends you his greetings,
and informs you that the Austrians have invaded the Tyrol. Hurrah,
'tis time!"
"Yes, 'tis time," murmured Anna Maria, Anthony Wallner's wife, to
herself; "'tis time for me to give Lizzie the signal, for the
insurrection has broken out." She hastened into the house, took her
husband's old rifle from the chamber, ran with it out of the back-
door of the house, and fired the signal for her daughter.
"There," she said, returning quietly into the house, "she will have
heard the report, and there is time yet to save him. I will do now
what Tony asked me to do. When he sings the song, I shall take the
paper-balls from the table-drawer in the back-room, give a package
to each of the two boys and two servant-girls, and tell them to go
with it into the mountains and circulate the paper-balls everywhere,
that the inhabitants of the whole Pusterthal, from one end to the
other, from the Gross-Glockner to the Venediger and Krimler Tauern,
may learn this very day that it is time, and that the Boafoks are to
be expelled from the country. Halloo, boys, come here! Halloo,
girls, your mistress wants to speak to you!"
CHAPTER XI.
THE DECLARATION OF LOVE.
Eliza Wallner, after leaving her mother, had sped with the utmost
rapidity through the back-door, across the yard, through the garden,
out of the small gate leading to the meadow, down the foot-path, up
the mountain-road, jumping from stone to stone, courageous and
intrepid as a true daughter of the Tyrol. Now she stood at the
portal of the castle, in front of which some of the Bavarian
soldiers were lying in idle repose on a bench, while others in the
side-wing of the castle allotted to them were looking out of the
windows, and dreamily humming a Bavarian song, frequently
interrupted by loud yawns.
Eliza walked past them with a slight greeting and entered the house.
The old footman sitting in the hall received her kindly, and told
her, in reply to her inquiry, that the castellan, old Baron von
Hohenberg, had set out early in the morning for Salzburg to attend
court, but that his daughter and her cousin, Captain Ulrich von
Hohenberg, were lunching in the small dining-room up-stairs.
This was all the information Eliza needed; she nodded to the
footman, and ascended the staircase quickly. The old footman did not
follow her; he knew that it was unnecessary for him to announce
beautiful Lizzie to his mistress, but that she always was welcome to
her. He therefore sat down again quietly, and took up the wood-work
with which he had been occupied before.
Eliza reached the dining-room and threw open the door with a hasty
hand; a blissful smile then overspread her flushed face, for on the
balcony yonder, behind the open glass door, she beheld the tall
slender form of Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg. She heard him chatting
and laughing gayly; and through the door she also saw her friend
Elza von Hohenberg, who was listening to her cousin's words in
smiling repose. Scarcely touching the floor with her feet, she
hastened through the room.
"I assure you, cousin," said Elza at this moment, in her clear,
distinct voice, "I believe at times that she is the resuscitated
Maid of Orleans, and that she will perform heroic deeds one day. Oh,
I know my dear beautiful Eliza Wallner, and--"
"Don not speak of me, for I am listening to you," exclaimed Eliza,
entering the balcony.
"Ah, my Lizzie," exclaimed Elza, rising and tenderly embracing her
friend. "Have you come at length, my merry, beautiful lark?"
"Yes, I have, and I am glad that I am here," said Eliza and her
large hazel eyes turned for a moment smilingly to the young officer,
who, like his cousin, had risen on beholding Eliza Wallner. He did
not utter a word of salutation; nevertheless, Eliza blushed on
meeting his glance, and averted her eyes timidly from him, turning
them toward the distant summits of the glaciers which were
glittering around the horizon yonder in wonderful majesty.
"You are glad that you are here, my sweet child? Why did you not
come at an earlier hour?" asked Elza. "You are always expected. My
dear silent cousin, she is always expected, is she not? "
"Most assuredly she is," said the young captain, with a smile; "and
she is as welcome as the first rose of May."
"How impudent you are!" exclaimed Miss Elza, laughing; "you bid my
Lizzie welcome as the first rose of May, and yet I was here before
her!"
"He means only the wild hedge-rose, Elza," said Eliza, smiling
archly, "for you know very well that the beautiful and aristocratic
roses do not yet bloom in May."
"Well, tell me, cousin, did you really intend to compare my darling
here with a wild hedge-rose?" asked Elza.
"Do not answer, sir," exclaimed Eliza, eagerly. "You have blundered
in trying to flatter me, and that is good. You will see at length
that fine phrases amount to nothing, and that they are colors that
fade in the sunshine. You had better speak frankly and honestly to
me, for I have often told you I am a stupid daughter of the Tyrol,
and do not know what to reply to such fine city phrases."
"But for all that you are not stupid, my beautiful Eliza," said
Ulrich von Hohenberg. "In truth, I who compare you with a rose am
not a liar, but he would be who should charge you with stupidity."
"But if I should, nevertheless, assert that I am stupid, whom would
it concern?" asked Eliza, defiantly.
"Ah, there they are quarrelling again," exclaimed Elza, laughing.
"Come to me, sweet Lizzie; sit down by my side on this bench and
give me your hand. I am so glad that you are here, for it always
seems to me as though I were a lonely orphan when my dearest Lizzie,
with her pretty face and her merry laughter, is absent from me. But
here, Lizzie, you must look upon me with due awe to-day, for to-day
I am not only your friend and sister, but I am the castellan! My
father will be absent four days, and I represent him here. He
delegated his whole power to me, and intrusted me with all the keys.
Treat me, therefore, with great respect, Lizzie."
"That is what I always do, Elza," said Lizzie, tenderly, pressing
the slender white hand of her friend to her lips. "You are always my
better self, and I obey you because I love you, and I love you
because I obey you so gladly!"
"Well, then, I command you, Lizzie, to be our guest all day and stay
with us until nightfall. Oh, no objections, Lizzie; if you love me,
you must obey!"
"And I obey you willingly, Elza; only when my father sends for me, I
must go, for you know we must not violate the fourth commandment;
our worthy priest would never forgive us."
"When your father sends for you, Eliza, I shall myself go down to
him and beg him to leave you here. Well, then, you belong to us for
the whole day, and we will consider now how we shall spend this day.
Cousin, do not stand there in silence all the time, staring at the
glaciers, but look at us and propose quickly some excursion for us
to make to-day."
"What could I propose?" asked the young officer, shrugging his
shoulders.
"I submit rather silently and obediently to your proposals, for Miss
Eliza would certainly reject all my proposals merely because I make
them."
Eliza burst into merry laughter. "Elza, dearest Elza," she
exclaimed," he calls me 'Miss Eliza!' No sir, let me tell you, a
poor Tyrolese girl like me is no 'miss,' no aristocratic lady;
people call me Lizzie, only Lizzie; do not forget that!"
"People here call her 'beautiful Lizzie,'" said the officer in a low
voice, casting an admiring glance on the young girl.
"That does not concern you, sir," she replied, blushing like a
crimson rose; "you do not belong to the people here, and you must
not call me anything but Lizzie, do you hear? I think the notions
which city folks entertain about beauty are different from those of
peasants like us. We consider the daisy and the Alpine rose
beautiful; though they are but small flowers, yet they suit us.
However, the city folks laugh at our taste, and step recklessly on
our flowers. They consider only the proud white lilies and the large
gorgeous roses beautiful flowers. I do not belong to them, I am only
a daisy; but my Elza likes this daisy and fastens me to her bosom,
and I rest there so soft and sweetly."
She encircled Elza's neck with her arms, leaned her head against her
breast, and looked tenderly up to her with her hazel gazelle eyes.
Elza bent over her and kissed her eyes and white forehead. Ulrich
von Hohenberg looked at them both with a tender, ardent glance; then
he averted his head to conceal the crimson glow suffusing his
cheeks.
At this moment the door opened, and the castellan's overseer entered
with an air of hurry and self-importance.
"Miss Elza," he said, "the wood-cutters have brought wood and are
waiting for a receipt. Besides, the head dairy-woman wishes to see
you about the butter which she is to send to town; and the cattle-
dealer has arrived, and--"
"I am coming, I am coming," exclaimed the young lady, laughing. "Do
you see, Lizzie, what an important person I am? But for me the whole
machine would stand still and sink in ruins. Fortunately, I am equal
to the occasion; and set the wheels in motion, and the machine can
go on. You may stay here and consider how we are to amuse ourselves
to-day. In the mean time I shall regulate our domestic affairs a
little, and when I come back, you will inform me what pleasure you
have devised for us to-day."
"No, Elza, let me go with you," begged Eliza, almost anxiously, "I
shall assist you--"
"You cannot help me outside, Lizzie," said Elza, laughing; "but here
you can take my place and be my cousin Ulrich's companion. Be merry,
my dear children, until I come back!"
She nodded pleasantly to them, took the large bunch of keys from the
table, and swinging it noisily in her hand, skipped through the room
and out of the door.
Lizzie had followed her a few steps; then, as if arrested by a
sudden thought, she paused and returned slowly to the balcony. She
cast a quick glance on the officer, who was leaning against the wall
on one side of the balcony, and, with his arms folded on his breast,
did not avert his eyes from her.
Eliza gave a start and withdrew to the other side of the balcony.
There she sat down on the bench like a timid little bird, and
allowed her eyes to wander dreamily and thoughtfully over the
landscape. And, indeed, the view which they enjoyed from the,
balcony was wondrously beautiful. On one side extended the splendid
valley, with its meadows clad in the freshest verdure of spring, its
foaming white mountain-torrents, its houses and huts, which
disappeared gradually in the violet mists bordering the horizon. On
both sides of the valley rose the green wooded heights, interspersed
here and there with small verdant pastures and clearings, on which
handsome red cows were grazing or lying in majestic repose. Behind
the clearings black pines and firs dotted the slopes, which,
however, in their more elevated portions became more and more bare;
where the trees ceased, appeared here and there again green
pastures, and on them, gray and small, like birds' nests, the huts
of the mountain cow-keepers, who, the most advanced sentinels, as it
were, were guarding the frontiers where the war between nature and
man commences, the frontiers of the snowy region and the world of
glaciers. Behind the cow-keepers' huts flashed already masses of
snow from several mountain-gorges; farther above, the snow had
spread its white silver veils far and wide over all the mountain-
peaks, so that they glittered and sparkled with indescribable beauty
in the bright morning sun, and loomed like swans' necks up to the
azure sky.
Below, in the foreground of the valley, at the foot of Castle
Weissenstein, lay the village of Windisch-Matrey, with its
scattering groups of handsome houses, from whose midst arose the
church, with its tall, pointed steeple. From the standpoint which
she occupied, Eliza was able to distinctly survey the market-place
and its crowds of men, which, in the distance, resembled busy black
ant-hills. She gazed upon them fixedly, and the small specks seemed
to her practised eye like human forms; she thought she could
distinguish several of them, and, among others, the tall and
powerful form of her father; she thought--
"Eliza," said all at once a low voice by her side--"Eliza, you do
not want to see me, then? You are still angry with me?"
She gave a start, and crimsoned, when, on looking up, she saw young
Ulrich von Hohenberg standing close in front of her, and gazing at
her with ardent and beseeching eyes.
"No, sir," she said, "I really did not see you."
"That is to say, Eliza, you are still angry with me?" he asked,
eagerly. "You are silent, you avert your head. My God! Eliza, what
did I do, then, to incur your anger?"
"Not much, perhaps, for city folks, but by far too much for a poor
peasant-girl," she said, with eyes flashing proudly. "You told me
you loved me, you tried forcibly to embrace and kiss me, and begged
me to go up early in the morning to the yellow grotto, where you
would wait for me. You told me further not to say a word about it to
anybody; it should remain a secret between you and me, and I should
not even mention it to the priest at the confessional. That was not
honest of you, sir; nay, it was bad of you to try and persuade me to
such mean things. It showed me that you cannot be a good man, and
that your friendship for me is prompted by evil intentions."
"I do not feel any friendship for you, none whatever," said the
young man ardently, seating himself by her side, seizing her hand in
spite of her resistance, and pressing it to his heart. "I do not
want to be your friend, my sweet, beautiful, wild Alpine rose; no,
not your friend, but your lover. And I commence by loving you with
intense ardor, by desiring and longing for nothing, and thinking of
nothing but you alone. Oh, Eliza, believe me, I love you intensely--
by far more than Elza, more than your parents, more than all your
friends together."
"More, perhaps, but not better," she said, shaking her head, and
gently withdrawing her hand from him.
"No, let me keep your hand!" he exclaimed hastily, seizing it again;
"let me keep it, Eliza, for I tell you I love you better too than
all the others; I love you with my soul, with my heart, with my
blood, with my life! Oh, believe me, sweet, lovely child; believe me
and give me your heart; follow me, and be mine--mine forevermore! I
will give you a happy, brilliant, and beautiful existence; I will
lay at your feet all the pleasures, enjoyments, and charms of this
world--"
"Sir," interrupted Eliza, hastily, jumping up, and fixing her eyes
upon him with a strange, ardent expression, "I hope I understand you
right, and my ears do not deceive me? You offer me your hand? You
want to marry me and make me your wife?"
The young man gave a slight start and dropped his eyes. Eliza saw
it, and a sarcastic smile played round her lips. "Why do you not
speak?" she said. "Reply to me. Did I understand you? Did you make
serious proposals of marriage to me? Will you go down to my father
this very day and say to him: 'Listen, sir. I, the aristocratic
gentleman, I, Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg, want to marry your
daughter Lizzie. I think this country girl, with her manners, her
language and bearing, is well fitted to associate with my
aristocratic and distinguished family, and my parents in Munich
would be overjoyed if I should bring to them this Tyrolese girl as
their daughter-in-law, and a brown cow and a white goat as her
dower.' Tell me, sir, will you go down to my dear father, the
innkeeper of Windisch-Matrey, and say that to him?"
"But, Eliza," sighed the young man, mournfully, "if you loved me
only a little, you would not immediately think of marriage, but
would forget every thing else, allow your whole past to sink into
oblivion behind you, and think of nothing but the fact that I love
you intensely, and that you return my love."
"But I do not admit at all that I love you," said Eliza, proudly;
"on the contrary, you alone say and swear that you love me, and I
reply that I do not believe you."
"And why do you not believe me, cruel, beautiful girl?"
"Because you utter so many fine phrases which amount to nothing at
all. You tell me that you are very fond of me, but I think if you
love any body with all your heart, you must be anxious to preserve
him from misfortune, and do all you can to make him happy, even
though it were at the expense of your own happiness. But you, sir,
do not intend to make me happy; on the contrary, you are bent on
plunging me into misery and disgrace, and that is the reason why I
contend that you do not love me."
"Then you have a heart of stone," cried Ulrich von Hohenberg,
despairingly; "you will not see what I am suffering, nor how
intensely I love you."
"Sir," said she, smiling, "if I cannot comprehend it, pray explain
to me how you love me."
"I love you as the most beautiful, lovely, and charming creature I
have ever known and admired. I love you as a girl whose innocence,
naturalness, and goodness, fill my heart with ecstasy and profound
emotion; by whose side I should like to spend my whole life, and
united with whom I should wish to seek for a lonely island of
happiness to dream there--remote from the world, its prejudices and
follies--a sweet, blissful love-life, from which only death would
arouse us."
"Sir, if you really love me in this manner, you need not run away
with me to seek elsewhere in foreign lands the 'lonely island of
happiness,' as you call it, for in that case you would have it round
you wherever we might be, and, above all things, here in our
mountains. But, look, it is just as I said; you are desirous to find
a 'lonely island of happiness'--that is to say, nobody is to find
out that the aristocratic gentleman loves the poor Tyrolese girl,
and that is the reason why you want us to hide in the mountains or
elsewhere, and see if we can be happy without the blessing of the
priest, our dear parents, and all other good men."
"Oh, Eliza, have mercy on me. I swear to you that I love you
intensely; that I would be the happiest of men if I could marry you
publicly and make you my wife in the face of the whole world, that--
"
Eliza interrupted him by singing with a smiling air, and in a merry,
ringing voice:
"Und a Bisserle Lieb' und a Bisserle Treu'
Und a Bisserle Falschheit ist all'zeit dabei!"
[Footnote:
"And a bit of love, and a bit of truth,
And a bit of falsehood, make life, forsooth!"]
"No, no falsehood," cried Ulrich, "only the irksome, terrible
necessity, the--"
The loud crash of a rifle, finding an oft-repeated echo in the
mountains, interrupted him. Eliza uttered a cry of dismay and jumped
up.
"Jesus Maria!" she murmured in a low voice, "it is the signal. It
has commenced!"
"What! What has commenced?" asked the young man, in surprise.
Eliza looked at him with confused and anxious eyes. "Nothing, oh,
nothing at all," she said, in a tremulous voice. "Only--I mean"--she
paused and looked with fixed attention down on the large place. She
distinctly saw the groups moving rapidly to and fro, and then
pouring with furious haste through the streets.
"They are coming up here," she murmured; and her eyes turned toward
the wing of the castle on the side of the balcony, where the
Bavarian soldiers had their quarters. The latter, however,
apparently did not suspect the imminent danger. They were sitting at
the windows and smoking or cleaning their muskets and uniforms.
Eliza could hear them chatting and laughing in perfect tranquillity.
"Well, Eliza, beautiful, cruel girl," asked Ulrich von Hohenberg,
"will you tell me what has suddenly excited you so strangely?"
"Nothing, sir, oh, nothing," she said; but then she leaned far over
the railing of the balcony and stared down; she beheld four young
Tyrolese sharpshooters running up the castle-hill at a furious rate,
and the host of their comrades following them. The four who led the
way now entered the court-yard, and reached with wild bounds the
large door forming the entrance of the wing of the building occupied
by the soldiers. With thundering noise they shut it, turned the
large key which was in the lock, and drew it immediately out.
Two sharpshooters now ran up from the opposite side.
"We have locked the back-gate," they shouted exultingly.
"That door is locked too," replied the others, jubilantly. "They are
all prisoners in the castle!"
"Sir," cried Eliza, drawing Ulrich von Hohenberg back from the
balcony, "you may come with me into the dining-room; I must tell you
something."
"No," he said, "I shall stay here and see what is the matter."
"What does this mean? More than fifty Tyrolese are entering the
court-yard; and why did those mad young fellows lock the door upon
my soldiers?"
"I suppose it is some mad freak of theirs, that is all," said Eliza,
trembling. "Come, dear sir, leave the balcony and follow me into the
room. I wish to tell you something--quite secretly, sir,--oh, come!
I do not want heaven and God and the snow-clad mountains yonder to
hear a word of it."
"Eliza," he exclaimed, transported, "how you smile, how you blush!
Oh, my God, what do you wish to say to me?"
She encircled his arm with her hands and drew him into the room.
"Listen," she said, looking at him with imploring eyes, "if it is
true that you love me give me a proof of it and swear that you will
do what I shall request of you!"
"I love you, Eliza, and will prove it to you. I swear, therefore, to
do what you shall request of me."
"Thank you, thank you," she exclaimed, joyfully. "Now come with me;
I will conduct you under the roof; I know of a hiding-place there
where no one will find you, and you will swear to me to stay there
until I come to you with a suit of clothes which you will put on.
Thereupon I shall conduct you in the dead of night into the
mountains, and thus you will escape."
"Escape? Never! And why, then?"
"Sir, because the peasants will assassinate you if you remain."
The young officer burst into loud laughter. "They will assassinate
me? Ah, I have my soldiers and my own arms, and am not afraid of the
peasants. My soldiers would soon put down the insurgents if they
should really rebel to-morrow."
"Sir, they will not wait until to-morrow; they have already risen;
the insurrection has commenced this very hour. Oh, thank God, you
did not find out what was going on; you felt so secure in your pride
and despised the Tyrolese so much that you did not fear them.
[Footnote: The Tyrolese kept the secret of their intended
insurrection so well, and the Bavarians were so overbearing and
careless, that they did not know anything about the plans of the
insurgents until the day of the rising, and on that day they tried
to levy contributions by force of arms.--See "Gallery of Heroes:
Andreas Hofer," p. 50.] But I tell you now, the insurrection has
broken out; the whole Tyrol is rising; all our people are in
commotion from Innspruck down to Salzburg. You can no longer prevent
or stifle it. You must submit. Save yourself, then, sir; you have
sworn to grant my request, and you must keep your word."
"No, I cannot and will not! I must do my duty. Let me go, Eliza! I
must go! I must go to my soldiers!"
"You can no longer reach them, for they have locked them up. Come,
you must save yourself!"
She seized his arm with superhuman strength, and tried to draw him
away, but he disengaged himself and rushed toward the door. But
Eliza was quicker than he; she bounded forward like an angry
lioness, and just as Ulrich was about to seize the knob, she stood
before the door and pushed him back.
"I shall not permit you to leave the room," she cried. "You must
kill me first; then you may go."
"Eliza, I cannot stay. I implore you, let me go out. My honor, my
good name, are at stake. You say the peasants have risen in
insurrection, my soldiers are locked up, and you think I could be
cowardly and miserable enough to conceal myself and surrender my
name to well-deserved disgrace? Let me go out, Eliza; have mercy
upon me! Do not compel me to remove you forcibly from the door!"
"Ah," cried Eliza, with scornful laughter, "you think I will step
back from the door and let you go to kill my father and my brothers?
Listen, sir; you said you loved me. Give me a proof of it. Let me go
out first, let me speak with my father only three words! Perhaps I
may persuade him to release your soldiers and go home with his
friends."
"Very well, I will prove to you that I love you. Go down, Eliza,
speak with your father. I give you ten minutes' time; that is to
say, I sacrifice to you ten minutes of my honor."
Eliza uttered a cry of joy; she encircled Ulrich's neck impetuously
with her arms and imprinted a glowing kiss on his forehead.
"Farewell, sir," she whispered, "farewell, and God bless you!"
Then she pushed him back, hastened to the door, threw it open, and
sprang out. She closed the door carefully behind her, locked it with
a firm and quick hand, drew the key from the lock, and concealed it
in her bosom.
"Holy Virgin, I thank Thee!" she exclaimed, joyfully. "He is saved,
for the room has no other outlet, and the balcony is too high for
him to jump down."
CHAPTER XII.
FAREWELL!
She sped as gracefully and quickly as a gazelle down the corridor.
In the large hall into which it led stood Elza, surrounded by more
than twenty Tyrolese sharpshooters, with whom she was talking in a
loud, animated voice. Her cheeks were very pale, her lips were
quivering, but her eyes flashed courageously, and, notwithstanding
the paleness of her face, it did not betray the least anxiety or
terror.
"Have you considered well what you are going to do, men of the
Puster valley?" she asked, in a clear, full voice. "Do you know that
you are about to rebel against your government and your king, and
that the rebels will be judged and punished with the full rigor of
the law? "
"But the Bavarians will not judge us, for we shall drive them from
the country," shouted the Tyrolese. "We do not want a king nor a
Bavarian government; we want to get back our Emperor Francis and our
old constitution."
"But you will not succeed," said Elza; "you are too weak against
them. There are too many of them and too few of you; they have
cannon, and you have nothing but your rifles, and there are many of
you who have not even a rifle."
"But we have our God and our emperor, and those two will help us.
The Austrians, as Andreas Hofer has written to us, are already in
the country, and all the people are rising to drive the French and
Bavarians from the country."
"It is so, Elza," said Eliza, encircling her friend's neck with her
arm. "I know you--I know that you are a loyal daughter of the Tyrol,
and you will be glad to see our dear country delivered from the
foreign yoke and restored to the good Emperor Francis."
"But, Lizzie, think of my poor cousin Ulrich," whispered Elza to
her. "He will defend himself to the last drop of his blood."
"He is unable to do so," whispered Lizzie, with a cheerful smile. "I
have locked him up in the dining-room, and the key is here in my
bosom. Ulrich cannot get out, therefore, and though he is furious
and grim, he must remain in the room like a mouse in a trap."
"That reassures me," said Elza, smiling, "and I understand now, too,
why my father acted in the manner he did. He doubtless suspected
what would occur here, and got rid of all responsibility, leaving me
entirely free to choose between my Bavarian relative and my Tyrolese
countrymen. Here is my hand, Anthony Wallner; I am a loyal daughter
of the Tyrol, and shout with you, 'Long live our Emperor Francis!'"
"Hurrah, long live our Emperor Francis!" shouted the Tyrolese. "Long
live Miss Elza, the loyal daughter of the Tyrol!"
"Thank you," said Elza, smiling. "I think I shall prove my loyalty
when dangers and war beset us. I shall establish here in the castle
a hospital for our wounded, and the women of Windisch-Matrey will
assist me, scrape lint, and help me to nurse the wounded. For
without wounds and bloodshed we shall not recover our independence,
and the Bavarians will not suffer themselves to be driven from the
country without offering the most obstinate resistance. Have you
considered that well, my friends?"
"We have; we are prepared for every thing," said Anthony, joyously.
"We will suffer death rather than give up our emperor and our dear
Tyrol. We do not want to become Southern Bavarians, but we will
remain Tyrolese, and defend our constitution and our liberty to the
last drop of our blood. Will we not, my friends?"
"Yes, we will," shouted the Tyrolese.
"And as for the Bavarians, we are not afraid of them," said Wallner,
firmly. "All the functionaries have already humbly submitted to the
freemen of the Tyrol. They have surrendered with their wives and
children, delivered their funds at our demand, and are now guarded
in their official dwellings by our men. And as for the Bavarian
soldiers at the castle here, we need not be afraid of them either,
for we have locked them up, like badgers in their holes, and they
cannot get out of the door."
"But if they cannot get out of the door, they will jump out of the
windows," said Elza, "and offer the most determined resistance."
"We shall see if they can," exclaimed Wallner, energetically. "We
must get through with them right away. Come, men, we must see to the
Boafoks."
And Anthony Wallner, followed by his sharpshooters, hastened out
into the court-yard. Large numbers of armed men had assembled there
in the mean time; even married women and young girls, carried away
by the universal enthusiasm, had armed themselves and came to take
an active part in the struggle for the fatherland and the emperor.
All shouted and cheered in wild confusion, all swore to remain true
to the fatherland and the emperor to their last breath. The soldiers
looked on wonderingly, and watched in breathless irresolution for
their captain from the windows.
At this moment, Anthony Wallner and a number of courageous
sharpshooters took position in front of the windows.
"Soldiers," he shouted, in a thundering voice, "surrender! you are
our prisoners! Surrender, throw your muskets and fire-arms out of
the windows, and we will open the door of your prison and allow you
to return to Bavaria."
The soldiers made no reply, but leaned far out of the windows and
shouted: "Captain! Where is our captain?"
"Here I am!" shouted a powerful voice above the heads of the
Tyrolese; and, looking up in great surprise, they beheld on the
balcony young Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg, with a pale face, his
features distorted with rage and grief, and stretching out his right
arm, with his flashing sword menacingly toward the Tyrolese.
"Great God!" murmured Eliza, clinging anxiously to Elza's arm, "If
he resists, he is lost."
"Here I am, my brave soldiers!" shouted Ulrich von Hohenberg a
second time. "Come to me, my brave lads! I have been locked up here;
hence, I cannot come to you. Come up to me, then. Knock the doors
in, and deliver your captain."
"First, let them deliver themselves, sir," shouted Wallner up to
him. He then turned once more to the soldiers. "Listen to what I am
going to say to you in the name of my countrymen, in the name of the
whole Tyrol," he shouted. "For four long years you have oppressed
and maltreated us: you have insulted, humiliated, and mortified us
every day. But we are Christians, and will not revenge ourselves; we
want only our rights, our liberty, and our emperor. Therefore, if
you submit willingly and with good grace to what cannot be helped,
we will let you depart without punishing or injuring you in any way,
and allow you to return to your accursed Bavaria. But first you will
have to do two things, to wit: throw all your muskets out of the
windows, and swear a solemn oath that you will no longer bear arms
against the Tyrolese."
"You will never swear that oath, soldiers," shouted Ulrich von
Hohenberg from his balcony. "You will keep the oath which you swore
to your king and commander-in-chief. You will not incur the disgrace
of surrendering to a crowd of rebellious peasants."
"No, no, we will not," shouted the soldiers to him; and thereupon
they disappeared from the upper floor, and soon reappeared in dense
groups at the windows of the lower story. These windows were only
five feet above the ground, and they were therefore able to jump out
of them.
"Shoot down the first soldier who jumps out of the window!" cried
Anthony Wallner to his sharpshooters.
The soldiers took no notice of his threats; a soldier appeared in
each of the windows ready to risk the leap. One of them, more agile
and intrepid than the others, was the first to jump down. Scarcely
had his feet touched the ground, when a rifle crashed and a cloud of
white smoke enveloped every thing for a moment. When it disappeared,
the Bavarian soldier was seen to writhe on the ground in the agony
of death, while one of the Tyrolese sharpshooters was quietly
reloading his rifle.
But now crashed another shot, and the Tyrolese rifleman, pierced
through the heart, reeled back into the arms of his friends with the
last groan of death.
"Soldiers," cried Ulrich von Hohenberg, raising his discharged gun
triumphantly, "I have avenged the death of your comrade. Now
forward, jump down! Forward for your honor and your king!"
"Yes, forward for our honor and our king!" shouted the soldiers, and
one of them jumped out of each of the windows.
Another shot was fired from the balcony, and wounded one of the
Tyrolese sharpshooters.
Wild cries of rage filled the court-yard, all eyes turned menacingly
to the balcony. But Ulrich von Hohenberg had stepped back into the
room, and nobody saw that he was reloading his fowling-piece, which,
with his hunting-pouch and powder-horn, had hung in the dining-room.
"I shall defend myself until my soldiers come to deliver me," he
said courageously to himself. Thereupon he moved the large table
from the room to the balcony, placed it on its side, and leaned it
against the railing; on the other side of the balcony he placed the
bench in the same manner, and, protected behind this three-cornered
barricade from the bullets of the Tyrolese, he pushed his gun into
the aperture between the bench and the table, and fired again.
Furious cries again filled the court-yard, for the captain's shot
had disabled another Tyrolese. The women wailed and lamented loudly,
the men uttered fierce imprecations, and lifted their clinched fists
menacingly toward the balcony. The soldiers had withdrawn from the
windows, and were deliberating with their officers as to the course
which they were to adopt. A defence was almost impossible, for,
although they had their side-arms and carbines, they could not do
any thing with the former before reaching the ground and engaging in
a hand-to-hand fight with the peasants; and the carbines were
utterly useless, as no ammunition had been distributed among them,
the cartridges being in the captain's room in the main part of the
castle.
"Ten of you will enter the castle," commanded Anthony Wallner now.
"You will take the captain prisoner, and if he refuses to surrender,
shoot him down as he has shot three of our brethren."
Ten of the most courageous sharpshooters stepped from the ranks and
rushed into the castle.
"He is lost!" murmured Eliza Wallner, with pale lips, and she sank
on her knees by the side of her friend Elza.
Now were heard resounding in the castle the thundering blows which
the Tyrolese struck with the butt-ends of their rides against the
door of the room where Ulrich von Hohenberg was locked up.
"The door is old and worm-eaten, it will give way," sighed Elza, and
she hastened resolutely toward Anthony Wallner, who was just calling
again on the soldiers with cool intrepidity to surrender to him.
"Anthony Wallner," she said, in a soft, suppliant voice, "you will
not stain your great and sacred cause by cowardly murder. You will
never think of killing in my father's own house his relative and
guest?"
"Let him surrender: no harm will befall him then," cried Anthony
Wallner, in a harsh, stern voice. "He has shed the blood of our men,
and if he is killed, it will be done in a fair fight. Leave us now,
miss; the struggle between the Tyrolese and the Boafoks has
commenced; look at the corpses yonder, and say for yourself whether
we can retrace our steps, and--"
A loud, thundering crash, followed by triumphant cheers, resounded
in the castle.
"They have opened the door," murmured Eliza, still on her knees.
"Holy Virgin, protect him, or he is lost!"
A shot crashed in the dining-room, a cloud of white smoke issued
from the open balcony doors, and a loud cry, accompanied by wild
imprecations, was heard.
"He has shot another Tyrolese, you will see that he has!" shouted
Wallner, raising his clinched fists menacingly toward the balcony.
The cries drew nearer and nearer, and now Captain Ulrich von
Hohenberg, his features pale and distorted with rage, rushed out on
the balcony.
"Surrender!" shouted the Tyrolese, pursuing him.
"Never!" he cried. "I will die sooner than surrender to a rabble of
peasants like you."
And forgetful of the dangers besetting him, and in the despair of
his rage and grief, the captain jumped from the balcony into the
midst of the crowd in the court-yard.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BRIDEGROOM.
Wild shouts were heard now, and a great commotion arose among the
Tyrolese. The bold deed of the Bavarian had surprised and confused
them; they had forgot the soldiers for a moment, and riveted their
whole attention on the captain.
He was uninjured, for, in jumping down, he had fallen on the backs
of two Tyrolese, dragged them down with him, and thus broken the
violence of the fall.
Before the two men, stunned by their sudden fall, had recovered from
their surprise, Ulrich was again on his feet, and, drawing his
sword, cleared himself a passage through the quickly-receding crowd.
"Come to me, my soldiers, come to me!" he shouted, in a panting
voice.
"Here we are, captain," cried twenty soldiers, driving the crowd
back with powerful strokes. They had profited by the favorable
moment when the windows had not been watched, and had jumped to the
ground.
Now followed a hand-to-hand struggle of indescribable fury. Nothing
was heard but the wild imprecations and shouts of the fighting, the
shrieks and groans of the wounded and the screams of the women and
children.
But amidst the struggle and the general confusion Anthony Wallner
did not lose his presence of mind. He had posted twenty
sharpshooters in front of the windows, behind which the soldiers
were standing, and, with rifles raised, they threatened death to all
who should dare to approach the windows. Hence, the soldiers bad
retired into the back part of the rooms, and were deliberating on
the course which they were to pursue. But their faces were anxious
and irresolute, and they whispered to each other: "If our captain
should fall, nothing remains for us but to surrender."
But their captain had not yet fallen; he still lived and defended
himself courageously, surrounded by his soldiers, against the
Tyrolese, who attacked him furiously and parried the sabre-strokes
with the butt-ends of their rifles, but had no room, and did not
dare to shoot at him, for fear of hitting in the wild melee one of
their own men instead of their enemy.
But the odds were too great; six of the soldiers had already been
knocked down by the butt-ends of the Tyrolese rifles. The Tyrolese
had wrested the sabres from the hands of the fallen soldiers, and
had rushed with them upon their comrades. Then followed a furious
hand-to-hand struggle. The fumes of the blood flowing on the ground,
the shouts of the combatants, the hatred and fury with which the
enemies stood face to face, had filled their hearts with boundless
ferocity. Nobody gave, nobody asked quarter. Under the butt-end
blows of the Tyrolese, the Bavarians sank to the ground with a
glance of hatred; pierced by the swords of the Bavarians, the
Tyrolese fell, with an imprecation on their lips.
Ulrich von Hohenberg was still holding his ground; his sword had
spread destruction and death around him; he was still encouraging
his soldiers with loud shouts, but his voice was beginning to grow
faint, and his blood was running from a terrible wound in his
shoulder.
"To the rescue, soldiers?" he shouted now with a last effort, "do
not suffer your captain to be slain by miserable peasants. To the
rescue! help me or shoot me, that I may die an honorable death, and
not be assassinated by the traitors."
"I will comply with your wishes," cried Anthony Wallner, rushing
into the midst of the bloody melee close up to the captain; "yes,
you shall die; I will put an end to your life!"
And his arm, brandishing the sword of a fallen Bavarian, rose
threateningly above Ulrich's head, while two other Tyrolese rushed
upon him from behind with furious shouts.
At this moment two hands clutched Wallner's arm convulsively, and a
loud, anxious voice exclaimed:
"Father, do not kill him! He is my bridegroom!"
"Her bridegroom!" echoed the Tyrolese, starting back in surprise.
"Your bridegroom?" asked Anthony Wallner, casting a look of dismay
on his daughter Eliza, who was standing in front of her father,
pale, with flashing eyes, encircling Ulrich's neck with one arm,
lifting up the other menacingly, and staring at her father with a
resolute and defiant expression.
"Away from him, Lizzie!" cried Wallner, furiously; "I cannot believe
that my child will inflict on me the disgrace of loving a Bavarian."
"Yes, I love him," exclaimed Eliza, with glowing cheeks. "If you
wish to kill him, you must kill me first, for we have sworn to live
and die together. He is my bridegroom, father, and shall become my
husband, so help me God!"
"No, never!" cried Ulrich von Hohenberg, trying to disengage himself
from Eliza. "Never can the peasant-girl become my wife! Begone,
Eliza, I have nothing further to do with you."
"And still you swore a few minutes ago that you loved nothing on
earth more dearly than me alone," said Eliza, in a loud voice, "and
you implored me to go with you and remain always by your side?"
"But never did I say that I would marry you," exclaimed Ulrich, pale
with rage, and still trying to disengage himself from Eliza's arm.
"You would not marry her!" cried Anthony Wallner; "you intended only
to dishonor her, my proud Bavarian gentleman? You thought a Tyrolese
peasant-girl's honor an excellent pastime, but you would not marry
her?"
"Father, father," cried Eliza, beseechingly, clinging firmly to
Ulrich's side, "father, I love him and cannot live without him. He
is my bridegroom!"
"No, no!" shouted Ulrich, and a wild imprecation against Eliza burst
from his lips.
The Tyrolese in the mean time had long since overpowered the few
soldiers, and, attracted by the strange scene, crowded around the
curious group; only the twenty sharpshooters were still standing
with rifles raised in front of the windows of the imprisoned
soldiers, and watching them with threatening eyes.
Anthony Wallner had dropped his arm and looked down musingly; on
hearing the captain's insulting words, he gave a shout and lifted up
his face flushed with pride and indignation.
"Just listen to the traitor, brethren!" he said in the cold, quiet
tone which only the most profound exasperation imparts to the human
voice. "First he turned the girl's head and heart by the
protestations of his love, causing her even to forget her father and
her Tyrol; and now he insults her and refuses to marry her!"
"He said it only in his rage, father, but he loves me after all,"
exclaimed Eliza, clinging to the captain notwithstanding his
resistance, and trying to wrest his sword from him.
"Begone, Eliza!" cried Ulrich, "or--" He pushed her violently from
him, and quickly raised his sword against her. But two Tyrolese
prevented him from carrying out his fell design by rushing upon him,
seizing his arm with Herculean strength, wresting the sword from his
hand, throwing the weapon tar away, and exclaiming triumphantly:
"Now surrender, Bavarian! You are our prisoner."
" Then shoot me at least," shouted Ulrich, beside himself with rage;
"shoot me, I say; death is preferable to the disgrace of being a
prisoner of such miserable rabble."
"Hush, beloved, for God's sake, hush!" said Eliza, clinging to him
tenderly.
He pushed her violently from his side. "Begone, hypocritical wench!"
he shouted in a paroxysm of fury; "I do not want to have any thing
to do with you!"
"But you shall have something to do with her," said Anthony Wallner,
with proud calmness. "The girl says that she loves you, and that you
promised to marry her. It was bad in you to persuade her behind the
backs of her parents and infatuate her poor heart, and you shall be
punished now for your infamy. You shall marry Lizzie. The proud and
wealthy baron who despises the Tyrolese peasants so much shall now
marry the Tyrolese peasant-girl."
"Yes, yes, that is right," exclaimed the Tyrolese exultingly; "the
proud baron shall marry the Tyrolese peasant-girl."
"Let us go down to the village, then," said Anthony Wallner; "our
curate shall marry them immediately at the church; and then let the
two leave the place as quickly as possible, and beware of ever
returning to Windisch-Matrey; for never shall the wife of the
Bavarian Captain Ulrich von Hohenberg dare to say that she is Eliza
Wallner, daughter of the Tyrolese Anthony Wallner-Aichberger, the
innkeeper of Windisch-Matrey. I have no longer a daughter--I tear
her from my heart, as she tore honor, righteousness, and faith from
hers."
Eliza called two Tyrolese with an impetuous wave of her hand to her
side. "Hold him," she said, pointing to Ulrich, who, pale and
tottering, exhausted from his superhuman efforts and loss of blood,
was scarcely able to stand on his feet; "hold him, I must speak to
my father."
She hastened to him, seized both his hands despite his resistance,
and drew his face so close to hers that his hot, panting breath
touched her cheek; but he averted his eyes with a gloomy expression
and avoided meeting her fiery glances.
"You do not want to know me, father!" she asked mournfully. "You
avert your eyes from your Lizzie, whom you called only yesterday
your dear, brave Tyrolese girl?"
"You are no child of mine, you are no Tyrolese girl," exclaimed her
father, angrily and mournfully. "You want to marry the Bavarian, and
become an aristocratic lady."
"It is all the same to me whether Ulrich yonder is an aristocratic
gentleman or not," said Eliza, shaking her head proudly; "I love him
only because he pleases me so well, and because he loves me so
fondly and ardently. But, father, you must not say that I am no true
daughter of the Tyrol, and do not love the fatherland. I will prove
to all of you that I do love it; and to Ulrich yonder, who wished to
persuade me to run away with him secretly, and who must marry me now
to atone for it, I will prove likewise that I am no baroness
although I love him, and that I do not love his king and his
brilliant uniform, but that I will remain loyal to my emperor alone.
Listen to me, therefore, father, and all of you: Ulrich von
Hohenberg is my bridegroom, and therefore you shall not kill him,
nor do him any harm, but convey him as a prisoner to my father's
house, not for the purpose of being married to me, but to be kept
and nursed as a wounded prisoner. I swear by the Lord God and the
Holy Virgin, I will not marry him till we have conquered, till all
Bavarians have been driven from the country, and the Emperor Francis
is once more sovereign of the Tyrol. Nor shall I stay at home to
nurse my bridegroom and speak with him of love and marriage, but I
will go and fight with you for our Tyrol and our emperor. I will
fight with my father and my countrymen, and prove that I am a true
daughter of the Tyrol. When you have nothing to eat, I will cook for
you; and when you go to fight the Bavarians, I will fight with you.
My father's lame porter, our faithful Schroepfel, shall have my
bridegroom in his custody, and protect him until we return to our
homes. But we shall not return before our dear Tyrol is free and
restored to the Emperor Francis, and then, father, when your Lizzie
has bravely fought for our dear Tyrol, you will permit her to marry
the man whom she loves, and you will no longer say that she is not
your daughter, will you?" "No, Lizzie, then I shall no longer say or
think so," cried Wallner, folding his daughter to his heart,
overcome by his emotion. "Yes, you are a brave child of the Tyrol;
you shall march to the field with us, and when we return to our
homes, you shall marry your Bavarian. Say, my dear friends, shall it
be so?"
"Yes, it shall," shouted the Tyrolese. "Her wedding shall take place
when we return to our homes, and when the Tyrol is free."
"No, no," cried Ulrich, raising himself up with a last effort:
"never will my father's son dishonor himself so deeply as to marry a
peasant-girl--"
He said no more; a stream of blood rushed from his mouth, a mortal
pallor overspread his cheeks, his eyes closed, and he sank to the
ground with a groan of pain.
"He is dying! he is dying!" cried Eliza, despairingly. She rushed to
him, knelt down by his side, and encircled him firmly with both her
arms, so that his head reposed on her breast.
A cry, a loud, painful cry, resounded above her in the air; all eyes
turned toward the balcony, but no one was there; only for a moment
it seemed to them as though a female form glided through the dining-
room.
"Elza, it was Elza!" murmured Eliza. "Why does she not come to me?
why--" At this moment Ulrich opened his eyes again, and fixed a look
of proud hatred full upon Eliza's face, which was tenderly bent over
him.
"I do not love you, I detest you!" he hissed, between his firmly-
compressed teeth.
"He lives, thank God, he lives!" cried Eliza; "now all is well, and
I am no longer afraid of anything. Schroepfel, come here; take him
on your shoulders, dear Schroepfel, or let John help you to carry
him to my chamber, where you will lay him on my bed. You swear to me
by the Holy Virgin that you will watch over him faithfully?"
"I swear by the Holy Virgin," said Schroepfel, lifting his heavy
fists to heaven, and then fixing his small, flashing eyes on Ulrich,
as a watch-dog eyes the bone he fears may be taken from him.
"And now let us settle that affair with the soldiers yonder," said
Anthony Wallner, going to the windows, in front of which the
sharpshooters were still drawn up in line.
"Soldiers in the rooms," he shouted in a powerful voice, "surrender!
The fight is at an end; your captain is our prisoner. Surrender, or
you are lost; we will set fire to the house, and shoot down
whosoever jumps out of the windows. if you wish to save your lives,
surrender."
One of the sergeants appeared at the window.
"We are locked up and surrounded," he said; "we have no ammunition,
and our captain is a prisoner. Therefore, we will surrender if you
will allow us to evacuate the castle."
"Yes, but without arms," said Anthony Wallner, imperatively. "You
will all come in squads of four to the windows and hand out your
carbines and side-arms. There are yet a hundred of you in the rooms.
As soon as we have got a hundred carbines and a hundred sabres we
shall open the portal and let you out. You may return then to
Bavaria, and tell your government that no Southern Bavarians, but
true Tyrolese, live in the Pusterthal, the Vintschgau, and the
Passeyrthal."
"We accept your terms," replied the sergeant; "come, therefore, and
receive our arms."
The Tyrolese stepped up to the windows, at each of which squads of
four soldiers made their appearance, and silently and sullenly
handed out their arms, which the Tyrolese took and stacked in the
middle of the court-yard.
"Now I will go and see where my Elza has concealed herself,"
murmured Eliza to herself; and she glided hastily through the ranks
of the Tyrolese into the castle.
No one was to be seen in the large hall, and, unnoticed by anybody,
Eliza ascended the staircase, hastened down the corridor, and
entered the dining-room.
The instinct of her heart had guided her rightly; yonder, in the
most remote corner of the room, sat Elza, groaning aloud in bitter
woe, her hands clasped on her knees, her head bent on her breast,
and not perceiving in her agony that Eliza came in, that she
hastened rapidly, yet noiselessly and on tiptoe through the room,
and stood still now close in front of her.
"Why do you weep, dearest Elza?" asked Eliza, kneeling down before
her friend.
Elza gave a start, and quickly raised her face, over which were
rolling rivers of scalding tears. "I do not weep at all, Eliza," she
said, in a low voice.
"Eliza?" she asked, wonderingly. "You call me Eliza? Then I am no
longer your darling, your Lizzie? You did not assist me when I had
to save your cousin Ulrich below in the court-yard? You uttered a
loud cry when he lay more dead than alive in my lap, and you did not
come to help him and me? And now you call me Eliza?"
"What should I have done there?" asked Elza, in a bitter, mournful
tone. "He reposed well on your breast; he did not need me. I am only
his cousin, but you, you are his affianced bride."
"But formerly, I suppose, Elza, he was to be your affianced
bridegroom?" asked Eliza, in a low, tremulous voice. "Oh, I always
thought so; I knew it all the time, although you never told me so. I
always thought Elza and Ulrich would be a good match; they are
suited to each other, and will love each other and be happy. Elza,
Ulrich was to be your bridegroom, was he not?"
"What is the use of talking about it now?" asked Elza, vehemently.
"He is YOUR bridegroom, he has sworn eternal fidelity to you, and I
shall not dispute him with you. Marry him and be happy."
"And would your Lizzie be happy if her Elza were not content with
her?" asked Eliza, tenderly. "Tell me only this: your father and his
parents thought you were a good match--did they not?"
"Yes, they did," whispered Elza, bursting again into tears.
"My father told me yesterday that it was his wish, as well as that
of Ulrich's parents."
"And Ulrich told you, too, that he loved you and would marry you?
Tell me the truth, Elza. Never mind what I said in the court yard
about Ulrich being my bridegroom. Remember only that I am your
Lizzie, who loves you better than she can tell you, but who will
prove it to you if the good God will permit her to do so. Tell me
therefore, my darling, Ulrich said to you he loved you and wished to
marry you?"
"No, he did not say so, Lizzie, but--but I thought so, I believe,
and he thought so, too; and, O God! I believe I love him. It seemed
to me as though a dagger pierced my heart when you said that he was
your bridegroom. I could not hear it, and hastened into the house in
order not to see and hear any thing further. I meant to seat myself
quietly in the dining-room here and submit to all that might happen;
and yet I was drawn irresistibly toward the balcony, and orb rushing
out I saw you holding him in your lap and pressing his dear pale
head to your bosom. I felt as though the heavens were falling down
on me; I had to cry out aloud in my anguish and despair. I hurried
back into the room, fell on my knees, and prayed that death might
deliver me from my pains. O God, God! it did not; I must carry on
life's dreary burden and cannot die!"
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed aloud.
While Elza was speaking, Eliza had turned paler and paler; a slight
tremor passed through her whole frame, and she compressed her lips
firmly, as if to restrain the cry oppressing her bosom.
Now she laid her hand gently on Elza's head. "You love him, Elza,"
she said mildly. "I understand your heart, dearest Elza, you love
him. And now dry your tears and listen to what I have to say to you.
But first you must look at me, Elza, and you must show me your dear
face; otherwise I won't tell you the good news I have got for you."
Elza dropped her hands from her face, and looked, smiling amid her
tears, into Eliza's countenance, which seemed now again entirely
calm and serene.
"Now listen, Elza," she whispered, hurriedly; "Ulrich is not my
bridegroom, and he never told me that he loved me."
Elza uttered a cry of joy, and a sunbeam seemed to illuminate her
face.
"I merely said so in order to save him," added Lizzie; "that was the
reason why I uttered that impudent lie, which God Almighty, I hope,
will forgive me. I saw that my father was just about to hill him and
my heart told me I ought to save him at all hazards. I hastened to
my father, and the words escaped my lips, I myself do not know how.
I said I loved him, he would marry me, and was my affianced bride-
groom; and this saved him, for he was intent on dying rather than
fall alive, as he said, into the hands of the peasant-rabble. That
was the reason why he was so bold, abused the Tyrolese so violently,
and would not cease resisting them. Therefore, I had to save him not
only from my father, but from his own rage; and I did it."
"But do you not love him?" asked Elza smiling.
"Do you not know that Joseph Thurmwalder has been courting me for a
year past? My father will be glad to have me marry him; for he is
the son of rich parents and the most skillful and handsome hunter in
the whole Puster valley."
"But you have often told me that you did not love him?"
"Have you not often told me likewise that you did not love Ulrich,
Elza? We girls are queer beings, and never say whom we love!"
"But Ulrich! He loves you! Yes, yes, I know he loves you. I have
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