The Fate of Castle Löwengard: a story of the days of Luther ... With illustrations, etc

Front matter

BY TEE SAME AUTHOR. AN OUT-OF-THE-WAY PLACE. ISABEAU'S HERO. BELFRY OF ST. JUDE. MIMI. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. THE WHITE CHAPEL. THE LITTLE BROWN GIRL. ADE. VANDA. OVERTAKEN BY THE TIDE. MASTER TRIM'S CHARGE. GOOD OLD DAYS. Etc. THE FATE OF CASTLE LOWENGARD. (21DE83 I ON THE WAY TO THE DIET. Page 234. THE FATE OF CASTLE LOWENGARD : A STORY OF TEE DAYS OF LUTHEB. BY ESME STUAET, AUTHOR 0F."ISABEAU'S HERO," "CAUGHT IN A TRAP," "THE BELFRY OF ST. JUDE," "MIMI," ETC. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY C. J. STANILAXD. LONDON : SUTTABY & CO., AMEN CORNER. 1884. LONDON : PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. The Baron and his Family ... ... ... 1 II. The Monastery ... ... ... ... 15 III. Ghita's Knight ... ... ... ... 26 IV. A Secret Meeting ... ... ... 39 V. Hans' Cousin ... ... ... ... 59 VI.

Peasant and Noble ... ... ... 68 VII. Questionings ... ... ... ... 79 VIII. Christm as-tide ... ... ... ... 89 IX. The Oath ... ... ... ... ... 101 X. The Good Elector ... ... ... 114 XL The Little Monk of Wittenberg ... ... 130 XII. Hedwig's Black Eyes ... ... ... 144 XIII. A Strange Charcoal-burner... ... ... 154 XIV. Hedwig versus the Diet ... ... 169 XV. Engel's Jealousy ... ... ... ... 187 XVI. Luther's Entry ... ... ... ... 199 XVII. A Crowd at Worms ... ... ... ... 211 XVIII. Treachery ... ... ... ... 223 XIX. Yes or No 234 XX. Despair... ... ... VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XXI. News of the Absent ... ... ... 254 XXII. How to saye Luther ... ... ... 264 XXIII. The Ruse ... ... ... ... ... 276 XXIV. Repentance ... ... ... ... 287 XXV. His Ladye-Love ... ... ... ... 298 XXVI. The Lowengard Dungeon ... ... 311 XXVII.

Making Ready ... ... ... ... 322 XXVIII. The Fugitives ... ... ... 335 XXIX. The Attack ... ... ... ... 350 XXX. The Baron's Last Watch ... ... 365 XXXI. A Peaceful Death-bed ... ... ... 379 XXXII. What he sought ... ... ... THE FATE OF CASTLE LOWENGAED.

Chapter I. The Baron And His Family

Oh, white young souls, strain upward, upward still, Even to the heavenly source of purity ! Brave hearts, bear on and suffer ! strike for right, Strong arms, and hew down wrong. The world hath need Of all of you — the sensual, wrongful world." In one of the wildest and most beautiful parts of the Black Forest, the Lowengard, a strong fortified castle, reared its head on one of the hills, which at the beginning of the sixteenth century were even more thickly wooded than they are at present. The name of " Lowengard " was in every way applicable to the pile of building which, with its massive central tower, bore some resemblance to a B ■n crouching lion, just raising its head in expectation of a foe. The owner of the Lowengard was the Baron Reichhart von Helfenstein, descended from one of the daughters of Eberhard I. of the house of Wirtemberg, which descent, though it had become very complicated during the lapse of nearly two centuries, was still one of the themes that the Baron loved to expatiate upon daring one of the great hunting feasts at the Lowengard.

The great Freiherr was a man of much importance in his own eyes, and hardly less so in the estimation of the neighbourhood for many miles round; not, however, in consideration of his virtues or for any special quality he possessed, but because his daring courage and his disregard of all laws made him feared, and an object of terror to those who unwittingly offended him. And yet he was a man behind his time ; the pride of all his ancestors appeared to have accu mulated in his person, and, what was worse, their cruelty and obstinacy as well. Woe to the man, woman, or child who crossed his will when his fits of anger were upon him ! Many a terrible tale of the result was whispered among the inhabitants of the village that nestled at the foot of the Lowen gard, about a mile from the castle ; for these villagers, however prosperous they might appear to a casual observer, were nothing more than the baron's slaves.

Serfdom was one ofhis creeds ; the peasants were his goods and chattels, and what he did to them or with them was his own affair. Such was the Baron of the Lowengard, who, though clinging more firmly than most of his order to the traditions of his fathers, wras by no means a singular specimen of his class, yet at the time this story begins the nobles had already had a warning of what their tyranny might lead to. The peasant rising of 1515 had not immediately touched the Baron, but where it had spread it had been com pletely crushed, so that the feudal lords considered themselves safe from further attacks, and also justified in using greater severity than before. Those who now dwelt in the Lowengard never spoke of this rising of 1515 ; the elders because they hated the thought of it, and the young folk because they had never heard it mentioned.

It would perhaps have cost the servants or retainers their liberty had they related such tales to the Baron's children ; at all events, they took care never to do so. These children, who have now stepped on the sunny threshold of manhood and womanhood, are at this moment gathered in a large upstairs chamber of the castle, which room to our modern eyes would appear bare and comfortless, but to them, with its large open hearth, where the great pine logs hissed and crackled, was the very essence of happiness and comfort. Near the window of this same room a sickly looking lady is seated at a tapestry frame. She is not working very diligently, for the exertion seems almost too much for her, but at a little distance from her several serving maids are making up for the lady's idleness ; indeed, they hardly venture to lift their eyes from their frames.

These maidens have been chosen by the Freiherrin from amongst the peasant girls in the village, and their mistress keeps them in such strict order that their hearts — human hearts after all, though they beat in the breasts of serfs — often rebel against the Baroness' rule ; but they might as wrell try to loosen some of the foundation-stones of the Lowengard as to change the lady's ideas as to what is the requisite amount of work required of them. As they sit, silent and busy, they, however, derive some pleasure from the sound of the merry voices of the younger members of the family ; and when left alone they in their turn discuss the characters of the young Freiherr Engelbert and his half brother Maurice, and, moreover, express their de cided preference for the Lady Ghita, the Baron's ward, over the proud Berta, his daughter.

The delicate Freiherrin was the Baron's second wife ; he had married her because she was an heiress and her land lay near his estate. She had had no voice in the matter ; but, though much afraid of her husband, she was not unhappy. Her lord and master treated her with a kind of scornful pity, for he had never been able to solve the difficult problem how it was that a woman with no flaw in her pedigree could be such a weak, timid creature. On the other hand, he believed that nobly born women should be treated with a certain amount of indulgence, and that, as long as they did not oppose his wishes, they might be allowed to follow their own curious ways unmolested. This favour he extended to his daughter Berta, and to her companion, the pretty Ghita, daughter of the Freiherr's former friend, to whom he had promised on his death-bed to bring up his only child, and, further, to provide for her future in a manner which we shall hear about later on.

Ghita was a year older than Berta ; the latter, however, took the lead in everything, and never forgot she was her father's daughter, and never allowed the stranger to lord it over her. True, the Baron had promised that Ghita should be as his own child ; but he had not taken Berta into the compact, and she was by no means willing to ratify this promise. We have not yet described the Baron's eldest son and heir, though, as Engelbert stands by the hearth side by side with Maurice, he is well worthy of attention. He was the only child of the Baron's first wife, and was like her in face and character ; this, it must be added, differed in every respect from the Baron's temperament except as regards courage. The young Freiherr Engelbert was fear less, but withal gentle and quick of wit. His very sweetness, however, sometimes brought him into trouble, and was likely to lead him astray if he ever had to face the world, of which he now knew nothing.

Maurice was like his elder brother as to courage, but he had not the personal beauty which distinguished Engelbert. He was tall, stout, and hope lessly stupid when he opened a book, which he never did of his own free will. He had a great admiration for his clever brother and a great dread of his father, but in various degrees all the household shared this feeling, though Engelbert showed it the least, and could bear his father's anger without an outward sign of fear. Strange to say, Ghita was the one creature in the Lowen gard who least feared the Baron — perhaps because towards her he exhibited the only sign he ever showed of a softer nature, and also because Ghita was so little self-conscious that she never con sidered her own feelings. Besides the large body of retainers, some ser vants and some lanzknechts, the castle was the home of the Baron's chaplain.

His official duties met with so little gratitude, and his pay was so small, that had it not been for various reasons of his own, Father Herman would have found but little happiness at the Lowengard. As it was, he loved his pupils and was well content to teach them, but he also acted the part of doctor to the establishment, adviser to the Baroness, and em ployed the rest of his time in wandering about the neighbourhood, where he had many friends among the brothers of various monasteries. At times the worthy chaplain found it a difficult task to satisfy everybody, and he often despaired of knocking any book-learning into Maurice's head ; but he was too kind-hearted to appeal from Maurice to his father, who would have punished his son, not for his inattention, but for being the cause of the chaplain's complaints.

This evening the books were put away, Father Herman was in his room studying on his own account, and Maurice was relating to his mother the pleasure in store for him. " Mother, we shall have a glorious day to-morrow ; Engelbert and I are to be mounted on the horses father bought yesterday from those merchants. Hurrah ! how we shall gallop down the hills ! It is fortunate the snow has not yet set in." Maurice raised his head and tossed back his shaggy hair as if he himself were a young war horse ready for action, whilst Engelbert smiled at his brother's enthusiasm, as he added — "There will be some good sport, I fancy; but Father Herman will grumble at our leaving our studies all day long." " His crabbed Latin books, how I hate them ! " retorted Maurice. "Let him give extra time to Berta and Ghita.

Confess, Ghita, that you are a regular bookworm ; you and Engel agree well in that." Ghita for answer looked up at the tall, blue-eyed Engelbert, whose fair, curly hair was thrown back from his high forehead, and smiled at him. Be tween these two there had always been a deep though unacknowledged sympathy. It was be cause Engelbert was fond of learning that Ghita had resolutely set herself to follow his example, and give all her attention to Father Herman's teaching ; and on his side Engelbert confided to Ghita his thoughts of future glory, and his dreams of winning honour and fame. In his secret soul Engel bert called Ghita his "lady," and he promised himself that for her sake he would one day go forth in the world to seek adventures. The deeds of famous knights was his favourite theme, for though chivalry had seen its best days and was now drawing to an end, yet the chaplain liked to keep the picture of what it had been before the minds of his pupils.

"Father Herman's grandest stories do not come out of books," remarked Ghita, to excuse herself from the bookworm accusation. " I like to hear of the wonderful things he saw in Italy, and of the great people who have made a name. I should dearly love to go there." " I am sure I should not like it at all," cried Berta, who was sitting near her mother. " Father Herman says that every one there can play the lute and sing sweetly. I hate the stupid thing ; the strings are constantly breaking when I touch them." " And Berta knows but one song," laughed Maurice, " and that one she forgets in the middle. I mean no offence, sister ; you and I are the stupid ones of the family ; so let us leave the lute-playing to Engel and Ghita. But then Engel can ride better than any one, and last May he won the venture at the shooting festival. — Do you remember how black the Munich archer looked when you carried off the prize ?

" " That was nothing, Maurice. Wait till I go to some city prize shooting ; I should have no chance at Augsburg. They say that at the last tournament a marksman came all the way from Paris to compete, but it was the stranger from Silesia who won the gold ring." "Anyhow, even cross old Bock allows that you ride better than any knight he has ever "seen; " and Maurice firmly believed that this must be true U Bock said it. Bock was the Baron's steward, and performed, or helped his master to perfQrm, all the deeds of more than doubtful character which the Freiherr delighted in. He levied heavy imposts upon goods and travellers that had to cross the bridge over the river ; he insisted on merchants accepting an escort and paying highly for it, or else, if they refused this, he picked a quarrel with them and their city.

Besides this, Bock collected the tenth from the peasants of all their produce, and kept a strict look out that they did not evade the requisition. In short, the steward enjoyed himself most on those days when he had the most disagreeable work to do, and was in the best of humours when he had made some one or something suffer. The brothers especially disliked him, though Bock was most obsequious to them : it was only Berta who enjoyed his flattery, and she welcomed praise from any one who would give to her, and indulged in jealous feelings against Ghita, whose superior beauty and cleverness were a constant source of annoyance to her. How she disliked Father Herman when he praised Ghita, and how willingly she would have burnt all the books that caused her so many jealous pangs ! There was a quaint mixture of barbarous customs and also of great learning and elegance in the castle, for the arts and refinements of Italy had extended to Germany — at all events to its wealthy cities, thus preparing the way for reform.

The Roman Catholic faith, though it had become corrupt, had yet been able to extend a network of outward civilization among her children on account of her system of centralization. For ages all that went by the name of religion had looked towards Rome, and from Rome the priests had scattered Roman thought as well as Roman error ; but now a new era was coming in, a new influx of learning and a purer belief, which would sweep away a vast portion of the Roman power. At this very time, far north of the Lowengard, Luther was beginning his wonderful career ; already the little cloud had appeared, no bigger than a man's hand at present, but it was to grow till all Germany should feel its influence. Now, however, the old order still reigned in the castle, and the young Freiherr s still ignored the troubles that were coming, and thought more of the chase than of ought else.

Li the midst of the happy chatter the Baroness called out languidly — "Maurice, go and fetch your carving, and ask old Randolph to lend you his tools ; and you, Ghita, come and play me the last song you have learnt on your lute, whilst I teach Berta a new stitch." No need to find employment for Engelbert, for already he had fetched a large Latin book which Father Herman had borrowed from the neighbouring monastery, and was soon deep in it, except when now and then he paused to listen to Ghita's singing, thinking how sweetly her voice echoed through the large chamber, as she accompanied herself on the lute. Translated, her song was something like this : — '■' Sighing comes the gentle spring, Fearful of the wintry chill ; Creeping up each woodland hill, Calling flowers till they bring Her all their tokens for her king.

Laughing comes the summer king, Scattering golden beams of lights Ruling all with power and might, Making hearts their sorrow fling' Far away on raven's wrin°\ ' Russet-red comes autumn shy, Comes with warning to light heart, Bids it choose the better part, Pointing upward to the sky, Telling all they soon must die. " Till old winter here is led, Blustering, blowing, glad to fight Those who fear his angry might ; But he finds the flowers have fled To the garden angels tread." Engelbert clapped his hands as he cried out, " Ah, Ghita, what a pretty song ! Mother, don't you think Ghita sings better than any one in the world?" " That I cannot say ; but anyhow she is our little songstress," said the Baroness. At these words Berta started up, exclaiming, " Mother, would you not like to hear my song now?" and seizing the lute from Ghita's hands, she struck the strings so violently that one of them broke, sending forth a discordant clang, and in an angry fit of passion and jealousy Berta flung down the instrument and rushed out of the room.

Ghita, who stepped forward to pick up her beloved lute, could not prevent the tears gathering in her eyes. " Never mind, Ghita," said Engelbert, coming up to her; " Father Herman will mend it for you to morrow, and I dare say Berta did not mean to hurt your lute." The Freiherrin looked annoyed and troubled, but Berta's temper was more than she could cope with, so she left things alone, knowing Ghita would not continue the quarrel, This latter, having put away the poor broken instrument, went and seated herself at a small spinning-wheel, whilst Engel returned to his book, and Maurice made himself happy over a delicate piece of carving — his one talent, wdiich his mother was glad enough to encourage — and thus ended the evening at the Lowengard. ( is )

Chapter II. The Monastery

" For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main." Down below the Lowengard lay the village before mentioned belonging to the Baron, one of the most picturesque spots of that favoured district. A rushing stream divided it in two parts ; the mill, built across the stream, was ceaselessly turning its great wheel, for the Freiherr's corn had to be ground, and woe to the miller if his lord's flourbin ran short. Further on, near the church, was the carpenter's shop, and Hans, the owner, was kept well employed by the castle-folk. The church was served by the monks from the neighbouring monastery, and the Abbot Jhad also a right over another tenth of the peasants' produce, though in very hard times there was a struggle between the Abbot and the Baron as to which of them should carry off the lion's share of the spoil.

The rest of the cottages clustered round the church, not that they derived much comfort from it, but the general view was most picturesque. Beyond the village, and on the left side of the valley, a tract of healthy land spread itself out, on which grew only stunted firs and gorse, till further still the undulating hills, covered with forest trees, began again. Passing up the valley, however, and following the course of the stream, one reached another clearing, and here, nestling among its own pastures, lay the monastery. If the nobles chose the hill tops for their castles, the monks sought peaceful valleys and pleasant lakes, where fish was abundant for their lenten fare. This particular monastery was beautifully situated near to a small but intensely blue lake, on one side of which the pine-covered hill came down to the very edge, so that the tall trees cast wondrous dark shadows in the clear mirror.

The monastery was nearly an hour's walk from the Lowengard, but the Baron's children were often to be seen there, for from their very young days they had always been great favourites with the good-natured monks. The Abbot himself was a kind, genial man, who, though very lax as to the rules of his Benedictine founda tion, was yet free from many of the evils which pretty generally made the monasteries at this time anything but desirable abodes. There were now about twenty monks, who lived a happy, if perhaps a useless, life in their beautiful retreat. The Baron's sons were always made welcome by the old Abbot, who in summer would take them round his garden, pointing out his favourite flowers and fruits, as if the honour of the monastery de pended on their size and beauty; or else he would let Engel and Maurice row him on the lake, and enjoy some hours' fishing with them, or an occa sional shot with their crossbows at the wild fowl.

In the winter he would receive them in his parlour, and here, too, Berta and Ghita would come, accompanied by Father Herman, and listen to the old man's tales, which were chiefly the legends of the saints, or the deeds of famous nobles he had known before his cloister days. The girls were never ad mitted into the other parts of the monastery, but the Abbot considered himself and his parlour above all rules ; and, indeed, he was very easy-going with his monks, who led a peaceful existence, tilling then land, gardening, and living much like farmers. They had all of them a secret fear of the Baron, who did not scruple to abuse both monks and monasterie. but he was wise enough to keep on good terms with the Abbot, who had means of revenge, though too good-natured to use them unless driven to extremity.

C The day after the conversation related in the last chapter, the Abbot was sunning himself in the middle of the day, when he suddenly heard the sound of horns and bugles, and presently a young monk came hurrying towards him to warn him that the great Freiherr and his hunting party were riding towards the monastery. The Abbot hastened round to the front, and received the Baron most courteously. " How has the hunt fared to-day, noble lord ? " he asked, as he noticed Engelbert and Maurice both looking radiant with the healthy exercise. "Very ill," answered the Baron; "but these youngsters care nothing for results, so that they may gallop madly about on my best steeds. I fancied at one time Engelbert meant to break his neck. We have had a long morning's work, so, good Abbot, give orders that your best brew may be served to us."

"So it is to your thirst, then, that I owe the honour of this visit," laughed the Abbot, giving the required orders. " How now, young Maurice ? It is a long time since you have been to worry Brother Jacob about the carvino- " t_>" " It is Father Herman's fault," said Maurice in a low voice ; "he keeps me chained to those horrid books ; but it is to please Engelbert, whom, you know, loves all that rubbish. Is the lake frozen over yet, my lord Abbot ? " "It is hardly safe yet, I believe; but come to morrow, and bring your sisters." " Ghita is not my sister," retorted Maurice, glad, like all young people, to set their elders right. "As good as a sister, I fancy. And you, Freiherr Engelbert, what are the crabbed books your brother finds fault with ?" But at this moment the Baron, having quaffed his long draught of ale, interrupted the conversation.

" As to books, my good Abbot, I do not hold with them at all ; it is all the talk now, but I say it is nonsense, except for you priests. Hearken to me. I wager that this foolish learning will do away with the good old customs. If I ever found one of my serfs with a book, or for that much one who could read, I would hang him up for an example. I'll tell you what all this education does : it makes the peasants wish to rush off to those beggarly free towns ; and this law of freeing a man when he has been there a year and a day is nothing but robbery. However, my serfs would not get a chance of hiding for a year." " I hope nothing is wrong in the village," said the Abbot, cheerfully, for the Baron spoke with much heat, and also, we must add, with a good many oaths. "Well, not more than usual. Hans, the carpenter, has a strange man staying with him whom he calls his cousin; the fellow is an impudent rascal, and I wager comes from a town.

He finds himself, forsooth, too grand to doff his cap to me. Bock says he reminds him of one of those knaves of 1515. If I thought he spoke truly, I would hang him up over his cousin's own doorpost." "Indeed, father, Hans' cousin is a kind man; I spoke to him a few days ago." "You know nothing about it, Engelbert," said his father, angrily, " so hold your tongue." Engel coloured crimson and said nothing, though he thought, "Hans' cousin is not a common man; I shall take Ghita to see him. Besides, father is over strict." " What happened in 1515 ? " asked Maurice of a young monk who stood by, holding the great leathern jug, now quite empty ; but the remark was over heard by the Baron. "I'll thank you not to chatter in the presence of your elders, Sir Maurice ; come, we must ride home. By the way, Abbot, what news of the little Wittenberg monk ?

Some one told me that he was very severe on the monasteries, but I never read such trash. That is what comes of that abominable printing press. I won't have a printed book in my castle." Evidently the Baron had touched a sore subject, for the Abbot grew red as he exclaimed— " The little monk is a rascal — a low-born fellow who likes to hear his own praises, an ass who fancies his braying is melodious. Thank God we hear little of him here ; but they say he has made the Holy Father so angry that a papal bull is pre pared against him ! Ah, ah ! Luther will soon be silent when a papal bull is hurled at him." The Baron laughed too, little guessing that Luther was going to turn Rome, and Germany as well, upside down before long. " I wonder my relative, the Elector of Saxony, is so foolish as to support him ; however, that does not concern us."

Then the Baron, waving a condescending farewell to the Abbot, touched his weary horse with the spurs, and very soon the cavalcade could be seen winding its way down the valley. But to himself Engelbert was saying, " I must ask Father Herman who is the little Wittenberg monk, and what he has done which so displeases the good Abbot. What will Ghita say to our poor spoils ? " Then the youth tried to remember the words of Ghita's song, so that Maurice, who rode beside him, had to nudge him before he could get an answer out of him. "Engel, are you asleep? Tell me, would you not prefer hunting down the Turks rather than the wild boars? To-day, as we rode down the rocky cleft, I felt that I could fight any enemy. Give me a good horse and a good sword, and I know I could kill a fair number of the infidels."

"Then it is almost a pity the Turk has been driven out of Spain, for now we have a Spanish Emperor you could have gone to join his armies in that country." " I hope the Emperor Charles will soon under take a new war. Do you fancy father will let me go and win my spurs if he does ? " " I fancy the Emperor Charles will want better soldiers than we are. But hush ! father is stopping." They had now reached the village, and the horses' hoofs rang wearily on the stone bridge of the river, but just as the Baron reached the carpenter's shop he drew rein. " Holloa, fellow ! come here, I say." Hans hurried forward, looking scared out of his senses ; he had been busy in his workshop, and had not noticed the Baron's halt. " Bock says that you have not finished the work he ordered of you. What do you mean by it, you lazy dog ?