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The cottage of Lottchen, the mother of Berchthold,
was distinguished from the other habitations of
the hamlet, only by its greater neatness, and by that
air of superior comfort which depends chiefly on
taste and habit, and of which poverty itself can
scarcely deprive those who have been educated in the
usages and opinions of a higher caste. It stood a
little apart from the general cluster of humble roofs;
and, in addition to its other marks of superiority, it
possessed the advantage of a small inclosure, by
which it was partially removed from the publicity
and noise that rob most of the villages and hamlets
of Europe of a rural character.

We have had frequent occasions to allude to the
difficulty of conveying accurate ideas of positive
things, or even of moral and political truths, while
using the terms which use has appropriated to the
two hemispheres, but which are liable to so much
qualification in their respective meanings. What is
comfort in one country would be thought great discomfort
in another, and even the two higher degrees
of comparison must always be understood subject
to a right knowledge of their positive qualities. Thus
most beautiful conveys nothing clear, unless we
can agree on what is beautiful; while neatness and
elegance, and even size, taken in their popular significations,
become purely terms of local

[figure description] Page 006.[end figure description]

convention. Were we to say that the cottage of Lottchen
Hintermayer resembled, in the least, one of those
white and spotless dwellings, with its Venetian
blinds and pillared piazzas, its grassy court in front,
and its garden teeming with golden fruit in the rear,
its acacias and willows shading the low roof, and
its shrubbery exhaling the odors that a generous
sun can extract, we should give such a picture to
the reader as Europe nowhere presents—nowhere,
because in those regions in which nature has been
bountiful, man has been held in mental duress; and
in those in which man is sufficiently advanced and
free to require the indulgences we have named, nature
denies the boons so necessary to their existence.
Here, and here only, do those whom fortune has
not smiled upon, possess the union of comfort, space,
retirement, and luxury, which depend on the causes
named, for it is only here that are found the habits
necessary to their production, in conjunction with
the required climate and a cheapness of material
and land, to place the whole within the reach of
those who are not affluent. We wish, therefore, to
be understood as speaking, at all times, under the
consciousness of this difference in the value of terms,
for, without such an understanding, there will be
little intelligence between us and our countrymen.

We have made this explanation, lest the reader
might fancy some affinity between the hamlet of
Hartenburg and one in the older settlements of the
Union. The remoteness of the period might indeed
give some reason to suspect such a resemblance,
but were the tale one of our own times, it would be
scarcely probable. The Germans, like all the more
northern nations, are neat, in proportion to their
several degrees of civilization; and the great frequency
of the little capitals which dot its surface,
and which have all been, more or less, beautified by
their respective princes, has caused it to possess a

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greater number of spacious and cleanly towns, in
proportion to its population, than are to be met with
in most of the other countries of the European continent;
but, as elsewhere in that quarter of the world,
the poor are poor indeed.

The little cluster of houses that were grouped beneath
the salient bastions of Hartenburg, had the
general character of poverty and humility which
still belongs to nearly all such hamlets. The buildings
were constructed of timber and mud, with
thatched roofs, and openings to which, in that age,
glass was a stranger. In speaking of the comfort
of the dwelling of Lottchen, we wish to say little
more than that it was superior to its fellows in these
particulars, and that it had the additional merit of
faultless neatness. The furniture, however, gave
much stronger evidence of the former condition of
its tenant. Enough of this description of property
had been saved from the wreck of her husband's
fortunes, to leave before the eyes of its mistress these
traces of happier days—one of those melancholy
consolations in adversity which are common among
those whose fall has been broken by some light circumstances
of mitigation, and which, as monitors
to delicacy and tenderness, make touching appeals
to the recollections of the spectator. But Berchthold's
mother had still better claims to the respect
of those who came beneath her humble lintel. As
we have already said, she had been the bosom friend
of Ulrike in early youth, and, by education and
character, she was still every way worthy of holding
so near a trust with the wife of the Burgomaster.
The allowance of her son was small in money,
but the Count permitted his forester to use the game
freely; and, as German frugality left her mistress
of the wardrobes of several generations, the respectable
matron had never known absolute want,
and was at all times able to make such a personal

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appearance as better suited her former than her
present means. In addition to these advantages,
Ulrike never visited the Jaegerthal without thought
of her friend's necessities; and full often, at times
and seasons when this sacred duty could not be
performed in person, was Ilse dispatched to the hamlet
as the substitute of her considerate and affection
ate mistress.

The cavalcade from the Abbey had, of necessity,
passed the door of Lottchen, and she was fully
aware of the intended visit. When, therefore, Meta,
blooming and happy, entered the cottage, attended
by the warder's daughter, and accompanied by
Berchthold, though secretly rejoicing in what she
saw, the pleased and watchful matron neither expressed
nor felt surprise.

“Thy mother?” were the first words which
passed the lips of the widowed Lottchen, after
she had kissed the glowing and warm cheek of the
girl.

“Is closeted with the Herr Emich, my father
says; else would she be sure to be here. She has
sent me to say this.”

“And thy father?” added Lottchen, with emphasis,
glancing an uneasy eye from Meta to her son.

“He drinks of rhenish with the castle wassailers.
Truly, my mother Lottchen, thou must find the
hamlet unquiet with these graceless spirits in the
hold. Our Limburg monks are scarcely so thirsty;
and for idle discourse, I know not their equal in
Duerckheim, town of vanities and folly though it be,
as good Ilse is apt to say.”

Lottchen smiled, for she saw by the playful eye
of her young visitor, that nothing unpleasant had
occurred; and giving Gisela welcome, she led the
way within.

“Does Heinrich know of this visit?” asked the

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widow, when her young guests were seated, and
with a painful interest in the answer.

“I tell thee, Lottchen, that my father quaffs with
the strangers. Here is Berchthold, thy son—the
restless, impatient Berchthold—he can tell thee,
mother, into what goodly company the Burgomaster
of Duerckheim hath fallen!”

As Meta said this, she laughed, though, in very
sooth, she scarce knew why. The more experienced
Lottchen saw little else in the mirth of her young
visitor than one of those buoyant impulses of youth
which lead equally to gaiety and sorrow, without
sufficient cause; but she watched the countenance
of her own child with solicitude, to note how far he
sympathized with the merriment of Meta. Berchthold,
by speaking, was the interpreter of his own
thoughts.

“Since thou appealest to me,” he said, “my answer
is, that Heinrich Frey consorts at present
with two as hopeless idlers as ever darkened door
in Hartenburg. Truly, Brother Luther needs bestir
himself for the Church, when such as these go forth
in its garments!”

“Say what thou wilt, Master Berchthold,” cried
Gisela, “of the prating half-shaven Abbé, but respect
him of Rhodes, as a soldier in evil fortune, and one
that is both gentle and gallant.”

“As gallant as thou wilt,” cried Meta, with warmth.
“Thy humor for mild discourse must be formed
by the rude company of the bold, if thou stylest these
gentle!”

Lottchen had examined each face earnestly, and
her countenance brightened with the frankness and
fervor of the last speaker. She was about to say
something in guarded commendation of her judgment,
when a light step was heard before the outer
door, and Ulrike herself entered. Notwithstanding
the early departure of the young people from the

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castle, and the trifling distance between its walls
and the hamlet, so much leisure had been wasted in
idle laughter by the way, or in culling flowers on the
hill-side, that she had sufficient time to exhaust all
that old Ilse had to recount concerning the manner
in which she had disposed of her charge, and to
follow them to the cottage, ere the discourse had
gone farther. The meeting between the friends
was, as wont, warm and happy. When the usual
inquiries were exhausted, and a few unmeaning
observations had been made by the girls, the younger
part of the company were gotten rid of, under
pretence of conducting Meta to witness the manner
in which Berchthold had arranged the nests for some
doves, which had been a present from herself to
his mother. The two parents saw the departure of
their children, always accompanied by Gisela, with
satisfaction; for each had need of a secret conference
with the other, and both knew how apt
youth and inclination were to prolong their absence,
by means of those thousand little delays
which form the unconscious and innocent coquetry
of love.

When left to themselves, Ulrike and Lottchen
sat, for some time, with hands interlocked, regarding
one another earnestly.

“Thou hast borne the trying season of the spring
time well, good Lottchen,” said the former, with
affection. “I have no longer any fear that thy
health might suffer in this damp abode.”

“And thou lookest youthful and fair as when we
strolled, like thy Meta there, laughing and thoughtless
girls, on the heath of the Heidenmauer. Of all I
have known, Ulrike, thou art the least changed by
time, either in form or heart.”

The gentle pressure, before they released each
other's hands, was a silent pledge of their mutual
esteem.

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“Thou findest Meta blooming and happy?”

“As she meriteth to be—and Berchthold—I think
him fast growing into the comeliness and form of
his sire?”

“He is all I could wish—one qualification excepted,
my friend; and that, thou well knowest, I do not
wish him for any other reason than to satisfy Heinrich's
scruples.”

“For my child, that qualification is hopeless.
Berchthold has too much generous indifference to
gold, ever to accumulate, were the means his. But
what hope is there for an humble forester, who travels
his range of chase, follows his lord to ceremonies,
or attends him in battle?”

“The Herr Emich values thy son, and I do think
would fain do him favor. Were the Count earnestly
to reason with Heinrich, all hope would not yet be
lost.”

Lottchen dropped her eyes to the work on which
her needle was employed, for necessity had rendered
her systematically industrious. The pause was
long and thoughtful. But while Ulrike pondered on
the chances of overcoming her husband's love of
money and his worldly views, a very different
picture had presented itself to the mind of her
friend. The eye-lids of the latter trembled, and a
hot tear fell upon the linen in her lap.

“I have thought much of late, Ulrike,” she said,
“of the justice of burthening thy happiness and
golden fortunes with the load of our adversity.
Berchthold is young and brave, and there seems as
little necessity as there is right, in weighing thee
and Meta down to our own level. I have anxiously
wished for the means of counselling with some
friend less interested than thou, on the fitness of
what we do; but it is difficult to speak of so delicate
a subject without wronging thy daughter.”

“If thou wouldest have the most disinterested and

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wisest of all advisers, Lottchen, take counsel of thine
own heart.”

“That tells me to be just to thee and Meta.”

“Dost thou know aught of Berchthold's manners
or mind, that may have escaped the observation of
an anxious mother, who desires to match her own
child with none but the deserving?”

Lottchen smiled through her tears, and gazed at
the mild features of Ulrike with reverence.

“If thou wouldest hear evil of the youth, do not
come to her who hath no other hope, for the tidings.
The orphan is the sole riches of his widowed mother,
and thou mayest not get the truth from one that regards
her treasure wth so much covetousness.”

“And dost thou fancy, Lottchen, that thy son in
poverty is dearer to thee than is Meta to her mother,
though Providence may have left us wealth and
consideration? Misfortune hath indeed changed
thee, and thou art no longer the Lottchen of my
young days!”

“I will say no more, Ulrike,” answered the
widow, in a low voice, speaking like one rebuked;
“I leave all to heaven and thee! Thou art certain
that were Berchthold Count of Leiningen, his and
my desire would be to see Meta his bride.”

A nearly imperceptible smile played upon the
sweet mouth of Ulrike, for she bethought her of
the recent discourse with Emich; but there was
neither suspicion nor discontent in the passing
thought. She was too wise to put human nature
to very severe tests, and much too meek to believe
all who fell short of perfection unworthy of her
esteem.

“We will think of things as they are,” she answered,
“and not dwell on impossible chances. Wert
thou Ulrike and I Lottchen, none can believe more
fervently than I, that these opinions would undergo
no change. Of Meta thou art sure, my friend; but

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truth bids me say, that I fear Heinrich will never
yield. His mind is much occupied with what the
world deems its equality of interests; and it will be
hard, indeed, to bring him to balance virtues against
gold.”

“And is he so wrong? Of what excellence is
Berchthold possessed, that does not find at least its
equal in Meta?”

“Happiness cannot be bartered for, as we would
look into the value of houses and lands. He is wrong;
and I could weep—oh, how bitterly I have wept!—
that Heinrich Frey should be thus bent on casting
the happiness of that artless and unpractised child,
on the rude chances of so narrow calculations. But
we will still hope,” added Ulrike, drying her tears,
“and turn our thoughts to the more cheerful side.”

“Thou saidst something of the power of my boy
with the Count, and of his wish to do us service?”

“I know no other means to move Heinrich's mind.
Though kind and yielding to me, in all matters that
he believes touch my state, he believes that no
woman is a fit judge of the world's interests; and, I
fear I should add, that, from too much familiarity
with my poor means, he places his wife lowest
among her sex in this particular: there is no hope,
therefore, that any words of mine can change him.
But the Lord Emich has great hold on his judgment,
for, Lottchen, they who prize the world's smiles,
ever yield reverence to those that chance to possess
them largely.”

The widow dropped her eyes, for rarely, in their
numerous and friendly conferences, did her friend
allude to the weaknesses of her husband.

“And the Herr Emich?” she asked, desirous to
change the discourse.

“The Count is much disposed to aid us, as I
have said; for I have laid bare to him our wishes

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this morning, and have much entreated him to do
this kind act.”

“It is not wont for thee to be the solicitor with the
Herr von Hartenburg, Ulrike!” rejoined Lottchen,
raising her eyes again to the countenance of her
friend, across whose cheek there passed a flush so
faint as to resemble the reflection of some bright
color of her attire, while a still less obvious smile
dimpled the skin. The looks that were exchanged
told of recollections that were both joyous and
melancholy, being, as it were, hasty but comprehensive
glances into the pregnant volume of the past.

“It was the first request,” resumed Ulrike; “nor
can I say the boon was absolutely refused, though
its gift was coupled with a condition impossible to
grant.”

“If it were too much for thy friendship, it must
have been hard indeed!”

Lottchen spoke under the influence of one of
those sudden and keen impulses of disappointment,
which sometimes make the strong in principle momentarily
forget their justice; and Ulrike perfectly
understood the meaning of her words. The difference
in their fortunes, the hopelessness of the future
with the fallen Lottchen, and all the bitterness of
unmerited contumely and poverty, the severe judgments
which a thoughtless world inflicts on the unlucky,
passed quickly through the mind of the latter,
amid a tumult of regrets and recollections.

“Of this thou shalt judge for thyself, Lottchen,”
she answered calmly; “and when thou hast heard
me, I require thy unconcealed reply, conjuring thee,
by that long and constant friendship across which
no cloud has ever yet passed, to lay bare thy soul,
shading no thought, nor desiring to color even the
most latent of thy wishes!”

“Thou hast only to speak.”

“Hast thou never suspected, that all this warlike

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preparation in the hold, in the presence of the men-at-arms
in Limburg, tends to no good?”

“Both speak of war; but the Elector is sore pressed,
and it is now long since our Germany was at
perfect peace.”

“Nay, thy surmises must have gone beyond these
general causes.”

The look of surprise assured Ulrike she was
mistaken.

“And Berchthold? Has he said naught of his
Lord's intentions?” continued the latter.

“He talks of battles and sieges, like most of his
years, and he often essays the armor of his grandfather,
which lumbers yon closet; for thou knowest,
though not of knightly rank, we have had soldiers
in our race.”

“Is he not angered against Limburg?”

“He is, and yet is he not. There is a little flame
of resentment, I regret to say, in all of the Jaegerthal
against the monks, which is much fanned in my
son by his foster-brother, Gottlob, the cow-herd.”

“This flame hath descended to the hind from
his Lord. All that Gottlob says, Emich hath more
than hinted.”

“Nay, there was revelling in the hold, between
Bonifacius and the Count, no later than the night
past!”

“Too much blindness to that which passeth
before thy eyes, dear Lottchen, is a virtuous feeling
of thy nature. The Count of Hartenburg plots the
downfall of the Abbey-altars, and he has this day
sworn to me, that if I will win Heinrich to his
wishes, no influence or authority of his shall be
wanting to make Berehthold and Meta happy.”

Lottchen heard this announcement with the silent
amazement with which the unsuspecting and meek
first hearken to the bold designs of the ambitious
and daring.

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“This would be sacrilege!” she exclaimed with
emphasis.

“'Twould be to disgrace the altars of God, that
our desires might prevail.”

There was a pause. Lottchen rose from her
chair, with so little effort, that, to the imagination
of her excited friend, it seemed her stature grew by
supernatural means. Then raising her arms, the
widowed mother poured out her feelings in words.

“Ulrike, thou knowest my heart,” she said: “thou,
who art the sister of my love, if not of my blood—
thou, from whom no childish thought was hid, no
maiden feeling concealed—thou, to whom my mind
was but a mirror of thine own, reflecting every
wish, all impulses, each desire—and well dost thou
know how dear to me is Berchthold! Thou canst
say, that when Heaven took his father, the yearnings
of a mother alone tempted me to live; that for
him, I have borne adversity with contentment,
smiling when he smiled, and rejoicing when the
buoyancy of youth made him rejoice; that as for
him I have lived, so that for him would I die.
Thou canst say, Ulrike, that my own youthful and
virgin affections were not yielded with greater delight
and confidence than I have witnessed this
growing tenderness for Meta; and yet do I here
declare, in the presence of God and his works, that
before a rebel wish of mine shall aid Count Emich
in this act, there is no earthly sorrow I will not
welcome, no humility that I will dread!”

The pious Lottchen sank into her seat, pale, trembling,
and exhausted with an effort so unusual. The
widowed mother of Berchthold had never possessed
the rare personal attractions of her friend, and those
which were left by time, had suffered cruel marks
from sorrow and depression. Still, where she now
sat, her face beaming with the inspiration of the
reverence she felt for the Deity, and her soul charged

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to bursting, Ulrike thought she had never seen one
more fair. Her own eyes brightened with delight,
for at that moment of spiritual elevation, neither
thought of any worldly interests; and her strongest
wish was that the Count of Hartenburg could be a
witness of this triumph of principle over selfishness.
Her own refusal, though so similar in manner and
words, the natural result of their great unity of
character, seemed destitute of all merit; for what
was the simple denial of one of her means, compared
to this lofty readiness to encounter a contumely
that was already so bitterly understood.

“I expected no less,” answered Ulrike, when
emotion permitted speech: “from thee, Lottchen,
less would have been unworthy, and more could
scarcely come! We will now speak of other things,
and trust to the power of the dread Being whose
majesty is menaced. Hast thou yet visited the Heidenmauer?”

Notwithstanding the excited state of her own
feelings, which were, however, gradually subsiding to
their usual calm, Lottchen took heed of the change
of manner in her friend as she uttered the last
words, and the slight tremor of the voice with which
her question was put.

“The kindness of the anchorite to Berchthold, and
his great reputation for sanctity, drew me thither.
I found him of mild discourse, and a recluse of great
wisdom.”

“Didst note him well, Lottchen?”

“As the penitent regards him who offers consolation.”

“I would thou hadst been more particular!”

The widow glanced towards her friend in surprise,
but immediately turned her eyes, that were still filled
with tears, to her work. There was a moment of
musing and painful pause, for each felt the want of
their usual and entire confidence.

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

“Dost thou distrust him, Ulrike?”

“Not as a penitent, or one willing to atone.”

“Thou disapprovest of the deference he receives
from the country round?”

“Of that thou mayest judge, Lottchen, when I
tell thee that I suffer Meta to seek counsel from him.”

Lottchen showed greater surprise, and the silence
was longer than before, and still more embarrassing.

“It is long since thou hast named to me, good
Lottchen, one that was so much and so warmly in
our discourse when we were girls!”

The amazement of the listener was sudden and
marked. She dropped her work, and clasped her
hands together with force.

“Dost thou believe this?” burst from her lips.

Ulrike bowed her head, apparently to examine
the linen, though really unconscious of the act, while
the hand she extended trembled violently.

“I have sometimes thought it,” she answered,
scarce speaking above a whisper.

A merry laugh, one of those joyous impulses which
spring from the gaiety of youth, was heard at the
door, and Meta entered, followed by Berchthold and
the warder's daughter. At this interruption the
friends arose, and withdrew to an inner room.

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