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Title: The little cap
Or, The lost heir of Sternfelden
Author: Louisa Maria Dundas
Release Date: June 6, 2023 [eBook #70921]
Language: English
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LITTLE CAP ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: Full of hope and thankfulness, the good soldier and
his family took possession of their new home.]
THE
LITTLE CAP
OR
The Lost Heir of Sternfelden
BY
HON. MRS. DUNDAS.
London:
GALL AND INGLIS, 25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE;
AND EDINBURGH
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I. THE CALL TO BATTLE.
II. THE BIRTHDAY GIFT.
III. ADVERSITY.
IV. GASPARD AND HIS FAMILY LEAVE THEIR HOME.
V. THE CHRISTENING.
THE LITTLE CAP.
CHAPTER I.
THE CALL TO BATTLE.
IN the year 1552, Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Germany, the
celebrated son of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, laid siege to the
town of Metz, famous then as now for its fortifications, and for its
cathedral, which is one of the finest in Europe. It had lately been
taken possession of by the French, and the Emperor vainly endeavoured
to regain it. It was at the time above-named defended by Francis Duke
of Guise, one of the most illustrious warriors of France, who, by his
military career, as well as his high personal advantages, added not a
little to the lustre of the House of Lorraine. His defence of Metz was
amongst his most distinguished military exploits.
Amongst the German troops—who, not less brave than those of Spain and
Italy, far surpassed them in discipline and humanity—was serving, at
the time our story commences, a soldier of the name of Gaspard
Stettele, a native of Munderkingen, a town of Suabia, seated on the
Danube. Gaspard was not only remarkable for his courage and the
diligence with which he discharged his military duties, but also for
his honesty and kindness of heart, which, together with other good
qualities, had secured for him the approbation and esteem of his
superiors, as well as the goodwill and respect of his fellow-soldiers.
A sincere piety, somewhat rare amongst men of his calling, regulated
his life and conversation. Gaspard never went into action without on
his knees imploring protection from One whom he well knew could
preserve him in every danger.
Before the war of which we are speaking, Gaspard had married a young
village girl, Katherine Stiess, and the union had been a happy one
for both. Katherine was industrious, frugal, and devoted to her
husband; and by the economy and order with which she managed her
little family, she had kept them free from want. This was not always
easy, as her husband would not, like other soldiers, enrich himself
by pillage, and would no more have robbed a fallen and helpless enemy
than he would a countryman or a friend.
Then, as now, soldiers scrupled not to appropriate all that the
chances of war threw in their way;—not so Gaspard. He, on the
contrary, grieved at the rapacity and unfeeling cruelty with which his
comrades too often despoiled those who could offer no resistance, and
daily returned from the scene of strife with only the approbation of
his own conscience, whilst many of his comrades were loaded with
booty, but too frequently cruelly obtained.
If Katherine was sometimes tempted to regret that she was not as well
off as those who were thus enriched, she quickly checked the feeling,
and recollected with thankfulness that no act of cruelty or dishonesty
could be laid to her husband's charge, and that their fare, however
poor, was honestly obtained. Three children had been born to gladden
the little home. The two eldest, in health and strength, were all
their parents could desire; the third, too tender to stand the life
its parents were obliged to lead, was early taken from them, and they
had deeply sorrowed at its loss—the only event that had clouded their
happiness during the eight years of their married life. At the same
time, both Gaspard and his good wife knew too well from whom the trial
came to murmur under it, and perhaps there were even moments when they
might think with thankfulness that their darling was safe from the
various trials and troubles from which they could not have shielded
it, had it been spared to them.
It had been the custom of Gaspard and his wife to observe their
respective birthdays as days of pleasure and rejoicing, and to offer
such little tokens of affection as it was in their power to bestow.
Gaspard especially, according to the custom of all foreign countries,
had never omitted presenting his wife with some small gift, varying
with the means he had at his command. Katherine's birthday, or rather
fête-day, was now approaching, and Gaspard feared lest he should for
the first time be obliged to forgo this pleasure. The soldiers had
been three weeks without their pay, in consequence of which Gaspard
and Katherine had found it difficult to provide for their daily wants,
and had been forced to take what little they had saved by strict
economy to enable them to get on. Gaspard felt sad, as the day drew
near, to think he should be unable to offer his beloved Katherine
his customary gift.
Meantime, he found that his regiment had received orders to join a
part of the Spanish army, for the purpose of endeavouring to take
by assault a post of some importance about two leagues from Metz,
occupied by the French. As soon as Gaspard was informed of this,
he hastened back to the hut occupied by his family. In those days
the huts, or cabins, in which soldiers were obliged to live during a
campaign were miserable enough. Four strong stakes or poles served
to support a thin roofing of planks, which was roughly covered over
with moss or straw, the sides being formed of branches of trees,
interlaced with each other, and plastered over with clay, through
which the rain and light equally penetrated. Gaspard's little dwelling
in no respect differed from those of his comrades, save in the
neatness and cleanliness of its interior.
In the centre of this temporary home was a cask, on which was laid a
board that served as a table, and which, though rude and rough, was
clean and decent; around were small beds of chaff and straw, with
coarse woollen bedclothes. That of the good soldier was ornamented
with a large bear-skin, bequeathed to him by his grandfather, who had
killed a bear of unusual size in Hungary. Above these humble beds hung
a large cross, which had been given to Gaspard's good and pious mother
by the superior of a convent in Strasburg, and which her son held in
great veneration. Near the cross hung the soldier's armour—his helmet,
sword, and cuirass.
When Gaspard entered this humble dwelling, Katherine was busy
preparing the evening meal. His two children ran eagerly to welcome
his return;—Michael, the eldest, impatient to display a sword he had
ingeniously cut out of a piece of wood, and the youngest, John,
no less so to show a helmet he had made of gilt paper, and adorned
with a few feathers he had picked up.
The father readily praised his children's work, and then, laying
aside his arms, he seated himself, calling his wife to his side.
"Katherine," said he, with ill-disguised emotion, "to-morrow by
daybreak we march; there is to be an encounter with the French
about two leagues from Metz."
The smiles with which Katherine had greeted her husband's return
gave place to tears, and putting her hand in his, she exclaimed,
"Oh! Gaspard, the day after to-morrow is my birthday; must I pass it
without you?"
"Our General tells us it may not be more than a day's work," replied
Gaspard; "so with God's blessing I may be with you, and may bring you
yet a birthday present."
"Only return safe and well yourself," said poor Katherine; "and I
shall want nothing else."
"God has protected us so far, dear wife," returned her husband; "let
us put our trust in Him."
These words helped to restore Katherine's composure, and, wiping away
her tears, she said more cheerfully—
"Now you must want your supper, Gaspard, as well as the children."
So saying, she placed what she had prepared on the rude table, and
enjoyed seeing her husband and little ones make a hearty meal. Soon
after which the two boys knelt and said their evening prayer, and sang
their little hymn of praise. They were soon asleep, equally
unconscious of the hardships of the present, or the dangers of the
future.
It was late ere their parents retired for the night. Gaspard was busy
cleaning his arms and accoutrements, and Katherine worked by his side.
By an early hour the following day Gaspard was ready, and after a
hasty breakfast he took a tender farewell of his wife and children,
though he well knew they would follow him to where the troops were
to assemble. Katherine could only look with dread at the military
display before her; but the two little boys clapped their hands with
delight, and eagerly watched their father, as he fell into his place
in the regiment to which he belonged. The order to march was soon
given, and the bands struck up an enlivening strain. Katherine
witnessed their departure with a heavy heart, and when she could no
longer see them, she returned, sad and sorrowful, to her now desolate
home.
On joining the Spaniards, the Germans found they were under the orders
of the Spanish General, Don Leva, who had taken the command of the
combined force.
They were soon before the fortress, which was well protected by high
and massive walls, deep moats, and strong and lofty towers. Judging
from the outward appearance of the fort, it might be thought capable
of holding out for at least a time against any attack. It was,
however, not prepared for the one about to be made.
Having drawn up his troops in readiness for an assault, Don Leva
despatched a summons to the French general to surrender. A disdainful
answer was returned; the Spanish chief in consequence vowed no quarter
should be granted to those who had thus defied him. He ordered an
immediate attack, promising, the soldiers, in the event of victory,
that all should be given up to them that the fort and castle
contained.
The German detachment was ordered to form the column of attack;
Gaspard was soon foremost amongst the combatants. His regiment
performed prodigies of valour: they swam the moat, scaled the walls,
and after pursuing the French garrison to the furthest limits of the
fortress, they returned with the purpose of taking possession of the
place thus evacuated. Don Leva arrested their triumphal return, and
was guilty of an unpardonable act of injustice to the German soldiers.
The Spaniards, unfairly claiming the honour of the day's success, laid
claim to the booty resulting from it; their commander yielded it to
them, wholly setting aside the joint right of the Germans to share the
spoil. They had borne the first dangers of the assault, and had
carried all before them; and whilst engaged in pursuing the enemy,
the Spaniards entered the castle, laid hands on all they could find,
and spent the time in plundering and destroying.
On the return of the Germans, they were ordered by Don Leva to guard
the different approaches to the castle, as if to protect those who
were so shamelessly pillaging it. They obeyed, but with mingled
feelings of anger and indignation, not only at the injustice shown
to them, but at the excesses and rapacity of the Spanish soldiers.
Gaspard was amongst these, and saw, with vexation, many pass him
loaded with spoil, some of which he would gladly have had to take
to his wife and children.
The Spaniards were carrying on the work of plunder, whilst the
Germans, fatigued and disappointed, were gloomily looking on, when
suddenly all parties were startled by clouds of dense smoke arising
from the castle within the fortress, quickly followed by flames, which
soon burst forth, and rose high above the smoke. Whether from some
carelessness on the part of the Spaniards, or from a premeditated act
on that of the vanquished garrison, it was clear that the castle was
on fire. The terrible element soon lit up the whole horizon. Don Leva,
knowing the place to be of some importance as a place of refuge,
at once ordered the Germans to endeavour to arrest the progress of the
fire. With the spirit of discipline and fidelity for which they were
remarkable, these brave soldiers, led by their own officers, rushed
to obey the order. Their efforts were unavailing. The devastating
element made rapid progress; they soon found it was hopeless to
attempt to check its course; some fled from the burning place, others
lingered, hoping they might snatch something from the conflagration,
whilst some few advanced into the doomed building to see if there were
any in it whom they might be able to rescue from a terrible death.
Amongst the latter was Gaspard!
Smoke and flames met him as he advanced—still he pressed on. After
passing through several apartments, which had apparently been lately
stripped of all that once adorned them, he came to a smaller one,
which had not yet been touched by the fire, nor by the rude hands of
the plunderers, by whom it had probably been overlooked. It was,
however, richly furnished.
Gaspard looked hastily around. What was his amazement on beholding,
on a couch, a child sleeping soundly, unconscious of the danger which
threatened it.
"May God, who has guided me here, enable me to save this little
innocent!" exclaimed the good-hearted soldier. "Who can have been
cruel enough to leave it?"
The infant appeared scarcely a year old. Its remarkable beauty struck
Gaspard, even in that moment of danger. He raised it gently from the
couch without awaking it, then hastily wrapping it in a large mantle,
which had been thrown over it, he fastened it securely to his back
as he would have done a knapsack; he then set to work to retrace his
steps, anxious to escape ere surrounded by the devouring element,
which, he was well aware, was gaining rapidly upon him. As he retraced
his way dense smoke threatened to suffocate him; his knees shook under
him, and more than once he was forced to stop to recover himself.
All around, he heard the crash of falling beams, succeeded by fresh
bursts of flames, which threw a fearful glare on the surrounding
objects. His situation was one of extreme peril. A short prayer
for help burst from his lips, which was scarcely uttered ere,
on turning suddenly round, he perceived a window opening on to a stone
balcony. Gaspard rushed to it, and found it was no great height from
the ground. Had he been alone, he would at once have leaped from it;
as was, he proceeded more cautiously, and having his arms free, he was
able to swing himself from the stone balustrade, and thus diminish the
height he had to fall.
Great was his thankfulness on finding himself safe with his little
charge, the more so that he now perceived that the fire was gaining
rapidly on the part of the building from which he had just escaped.
A few minutes more, and he might have been unable to gain the window
from which he had just alighted. As he raised himself from the ground,
the little infant uttered a faint cry, having been probably awakened
by the fall. The good soldier hastened to disencumber it of its
wrappings, so that it might breathe more freely. The little creature
looked at its preserver, and smiled, seeming in no way alarmed at its
new position. Gaspard having opened his flask of light wine, in order
to moisten his own parched lips, ventured to give a few drops to the
child, feeling sure it must have been sometime without nourishment.
He then again carefully folded it in the mantle, and looked around
to see how he could best find his way back to his comrades.
At this moment he heard the trumpet of recall, and the well-known and
welcome sound guided him in which way to direct his steps. Gaspard
hastened to obey the summons. On rejoining his brave companions
in arms, he found it somewhat difficult to recognise them; they,
like himself, were disfigured and blackened with smoke and dirt,
their hair and beards singed and scorched. Gaspard was amongst the
last of the stragglers, and his appearance was heartily welcomed,
some fears having been entertained for his safety.
Presently a cry from the infant he had rescued attracted the notice
and excited the curiosity of his fellow-soldiers. Gaspard quietly
undid the bundle he carried, and displayed to the astonished gaze
of those who stood around the beautiful child he had saved. A shout
of laughter was the result, followed by such exclamations as—"Was that
all you could find to bring away?"—"I would have had something better
than that for my trouble."
There were others, however, who did silent justice to the courage and
humanity of the good soldier, amongst whom was his captain, the young
Baron Otto of Helfenstein. He approached the group, and listened with
interest to Gaspard's short and simple account of his finding the
child, whom, it was easy to perceive belonged to some one of high
birth. Its clothes were of the finest texture and richly embroidered;
whilst the fairness of its complexion and the beauty of its golden
curls showed plainly that it had been carefully tended.
The young Baron summoned some of the French prisoners, in the hope
that they might be able to give some information that might enable him
to discover to whom the poor little infant belonged; but he could
learn nothing respecting it.
"The little one must then remain with its preserver," said the Baron,
addressing Gaspard, "till we can trace its parents; but you have
already a wife and children. This will be another to provide for;
you must let me help you and your good wife, if she is willing to take
charge of this poor little one."
Gaspard thanked his captain with tears in his eyes; he felt more
grateful for his approbation than for his promise of assistance,
and with a light heart he resumed his precious charge.
The order to march was soon given; the wearied soldiers gladly obeyed,
though somewhat dispirited and dissatisfied with the day's work.
Gaspard, however, far from murmuring, was thankful for his
preservation, as well as for that of the little being who, he now
hoped, might, through the Baron's kindness, be a help rather than a
burden to himself and his wife. He pleased himself by imagining the
surprise with which Katherine would receive such a gift for her
birthday. Knowing her tenderness of heart, he felt sure of a welcome
for the little foundling, and that she would readily take the deserted
one to her heart. The day was drawing to a close when the regiment
reached its quarters; orders for the morrow having been issued, the
soldiers were at liberty to return each to his own hut.
CHAPTER II.
THE BIRTHDAY GIFT.
GASPARD was hastening away with the rest, when recalled by his
captain, who, placing three pieces of gold in his hand, said as
he did so,—
"My friend, take these to your good wife, with the new charge you are
taking to her, and tell her you shall never want a friend whilst I
live."
"May God bless you, my noble captain!" exclaimed Gaspard, now more
impatient than ever to reach his home. He lost no time in repairing
thither, and entered it with a light heart.
Katherine flew to meet him. "Gaspard!" she cried, in a terrified tone,
"Gaspard, what has happened? You are all black,—your hair and clothes
burnt;—are you hurt?—tell me, tell me quick?"
"It is nothing, dear wife; I am not hurt, but I have had to defend
myself, not only against the enemy, but a terrible fire, by which
at one time I was almost surrounded, and which scorched my face and
hands, as you see, and blackened me from head to foot; but I brought
away a birthday present for you, Katherine, which I hope may bring
a blessing with it." So saying, he unfolded the mantle, and displayed
to his wife's astonished eyes the lovely infant he had so wonderfully
and humanely rescued.
"Dear husband," she exclaimed, "whose is it, and where did you find
it?" Then taking it in her arms, she tenderly kissed it, and smoothed
its fair, glossy curls. Gaspard shortly related all that had occurred—
the danger he had been in, in the midst of the burning castle—the
finding the child—the merciful escape he had had—and, finally, the
kind promise made by the young Baron Otto de Helfenstein.
"God be praised!" said Katherine, when her husband ceased speaking,
"for having thus preserved you and this little one from such fearful
peril."
She then hastened to attend to the poor little infant who had been
so cruelly abandoned. She undid its wrappings, washed the smoke and
dust from its face and hands, and then prepared some food for it of
bread and goat's milk. Whilst thus engaged, her two boys rushed into
the hut with shouts of joy, having heard of their father's return—
Michael, who was first, eagerly asking if he had brought them
anything. Gaspard, smiling, pointed to the child on his mother's lap.
"John, John!" cried the boy, "father has brought back our little
brother!"
John, having embraced his good father, ran to look as Michael desired.
"Yes, yes," said he, "our little Francis is come back; the good God
has given him to us again. Oh, what pretty blue eyes and curling
hair!"
The two boys kissed the child, thus offering to it the love they had
for their little brother. Poor Katherine's tears fell fast as the loss
of her little one was thus recalled to her.
Gaspard suppressed the emotion he himself felt at this little scene,
and, seating himself by his wife, he said,—
"Yes, my boys, this little one shall be a brother to you, and your
good mother will adopt it in the place of the dear one we lost."
Katherine wiped away her tears, and laying her now charge on one
of their rude beds, with the two boys to watch it, she hastened
to prepare the meal she was sure her husband much needed. The evening
passed happily away. The little stranger slept as soundly on
Katherine's humble bed as on the rich couch on which Gaspard had found
it. John and Michael soon followed its example, and then Katherine had
leisure to seat herself by her husband's side, and talk over the
events of the day.
"How I pity that poor little infant's parents," said she. "Their
sorrow must be greater than ours when we lost our little Francis.
We knew he was safe with God, whilst they cannot know what has become
of their little one. I wonder if any marks on its clothes could lead
to any trace of who are its parents; but though its linen is of the
finest sort, I can see no mark. But look, Gaspard," she suddenly
added, "at this cap; is it not an uncommon one?"
It was, in truth, remarkable, not only for the fine Brussels lace
of which it was made, but more so from there being a star embroidered
in silver on the right side. "Look at this star," continued Katherine;
"I wonder what it means."
"It looks as if the child is of noble birth," said her husband.
"I will take this little cap to-morrow to the Baron; by means of it
he may be able to help us in trying to discover to whom this poor
little one belongs."
"We must keep it carefully," replied Katherine; "some day or other
it may lead to some discovery."
The husband and wife were long in talking over the past and the
future, till fatigue at last compelled them to seek that rest which
Gaspard especially much needed. The exciting events of the day,
however, kept the weary soldier for a time from sleeping, but at last
he slept soundly.
It was late the following morning ere he awoke. When he did so,
Katherine had already been up some time, busily occupied in her
household work. It was the birthday so much thought of!
When Gaspard joined his wife outside their little dwelling, he took
both her hands in his, saying as he did so,—"Dear wife, we must thank
God that we are permitted to spend this day together, and ask Him to
continue to protect us and our three children. Look," he continued,
showing her the pieces of gold he had received from his captain.
"I kept them till to-day, that I might be able to give you some little
help, as well as pleasure, on your birthday."
He then told her that the Baron had given him this money, as a pledge
of what he would do for the little foundling which had been so
singularly thrown on their hands.
"God is indeed good," said the happy Katherine, her heart overflowing
with joy and thankfulness; "it was but yesterday that I changed our
last piece of money to procure a dinner for to-day. I felt sad
to think we had nothing left; and now God has provided for us."
"Well, dear wife, you may now prepare a good dinner. I shall be back
in time for it, but I must hasten away now, as I am on guard this
morning. Help me to get my things in order, for they are sadly the
worse for yesterday's rough work. It is well that I am not the worse
myself," he added, with a smile, as he affectionately kissed his good
wife.
Katherine quickly left what she was doing to help her husband, and
whilst so engaged, she asked him by what name they should call their
adopted child.
"Shall we call it 'Francis,' after our little one," said he, "and try
to look upon it as indeed our own?"
The good woman, with tears in her eyes, readily assented; and taking
the infant in her arms, she tenderly kissed it, saying as she did
so,—"Poor little one! I will love you for my little Francis' sake."
Gaspard was soon ready, and hastened away to his post, desiring his
two boys to help their mother in his absence. The day so happily begun
did not pass without yet further cause for rejoicing. The good
soldier, on his return, surprised Katherine with the intelligence
that he was promoted to the rank of corporal, and that his captain
had, before the whole regiment, expressed approbation of his conduct
during the previous day, not only when engaged in the assault, but for
the forbearance and humanity he had displayed afterwards, and which
redounded no less to his credit than his courage in action. He ended
by holding up his example as one deserving to be followed by his
fellow-soldiers. Katherine rejoiced almost more over this tribute
to her husband's worth than she did at the step he had gained.
The men had also received their arrears of pay, so that the good
couple now felt they had wherewithal to provide for the future for
some time to come. They retired to rest that night with hearts filled
with gratitude for the mercies they had received. In this world,
however, unalloyed happiness is the lot of none. The following day
Gaspard returned from his duty sad and cast down, the cause of which
was the sudden disappearance of his young captain, Otto de
Helfenstein. It was not known whether he had been killed by some
skirmishing party of the enemy's, or made prisoner, all search
for him having, as yet, proved fruitless.
The whole regiment deplored the event, as he was deservedly beloved
by the men under his command. Gaspard not only felt deeply the loss of
his good and kind captain, but he also felt that in him their little
foundling would lose a good benefactor. The child would now be thrown
wholly on their care. The poor man looked anxiously at his wife,
fearing she might regret this additional burden. She did not leave him
long in doubt. "Gaspard," said she, "this child has been given to us;—
we will look upon it as our own;—we will trust to God to provide
for it as well as for us. The good Baron may yet be alive; but if not,
we will do our best. Yes," she added, clasping the little one in her
arms, "you shall be in the place of my little Francis."
"Dear wife!" exclaimed Gaspard, interrupting her, "I ought not to have
doubted you; but I felt half-afraid I had added to your cares and
troubles by bringing this poor little one to you."
"No, no," cried Katherine, "we must never repent of doing a good
action;—our adopted child may yet bring us a blessing."
Time passed on, Gaspard and Katherine faithfully fulfilling the duties
of the humble position in which God had placed them, and bringing up
their children to follow their example. In the midst of the disasters
and disturbances of war, they lived in peace and happiness in their
little home.
The good soldier had vainly endeavoured to trace the parents of the
little Francis, and had at last given up the search.
Nothing had been heard of the young Baron Otto de Helfenstein.
The siege of Metz still continued, the Emperor, Charles V., being
determined to regain it at any price. It was, however, useless.
The town was strongly fortified, and well garrisoned, and was bravely
defended by the Duke of Guise. The approach of winter, and the
increasing scarcity of provisions, together with sickness and
mortality amongst the troops, at last induced the Emperor
to abandon the enterprise; and accordingly the army was withdrawn
in January, 1553.
Gaspard was sent with his regiment to Anvers, and from thence to the
beautiful town of Strasburg. The good soldier and his family stood
greatly in need of rest and quiet; they bail suffered much from the
hardships and privations of a campaign, though they had been spared
all serious illness.
Gaspard had served eighteen years, and had fought in many battles in
Germany, Italy, and Hungary: he now longed for repose. Katherine was
still more anxious than her husband for a quiet home; she urged him
to leave the army, and to adopt some other means of obtaining
a livelihood.
They often pictured to themselves the happiness of being able
to settle in their beloved Suabia, where so many happy years had been
passed, and which seemed to them as a haven of rest; but, alas! with
all their care, they had been unable to save enough to purchase even
the smallest piece of land, or the poorest cottage, so that Gaspard
still remained undecided as to the future.
It was, however, provided for by One who overrules every event,
and orders all for the best.
Gaspard received the unlooked-for intelligence of a small property
being left him, by a distant, relation of his wife's, sufficient,
from what he heard, to maintain his family in honest comfort.
Great was the joy and thankfulness of the good soldier and his wife
at being thus provided for. Gaspard applied immediately for his
discharge, which was readily granted; he retired from the army,
in which he had served so many years, with many tokens of approbation
from those who had witnessed, not only his courage in action, but his
uniform steadiness and good conduct.
Gaspard was not long in making the necessary preparations for the
journey. He bought a tilted cart, and horse, to convey the little
party, and such articles of furniture as they were unwilling to part
with, the arms he had so long borne with honour, his favourite
bear-skin, and the cross before which they had so often knelt
in prayer.
On a beautiful morning in the month of May, Gaspard, Katherine, and
their three children quitted Strasburg—Katherine seated in the cart,
with Francis on her lap, Michael and John by her side, whilst Gaspard
drove.
The weather continued fine, and the travellers reached Suabia without
an accident of any kind. All was new to the two boys, and they were
delighted with the many towns and villages through which they passed.
The small property left to Gaspard was near Feldsberg, seated on the
river Joya. The castle and large domain around was the property of one
of those rich and powerful nobles who, in those days, exercised almost
sovereign sway, not only over those actually dependent on them, but on
all who were unable to dispute their will, or resist their tyranny.
The Count de Sternfelden, the rich possessor of the castle and domain
of Feldsberg, seldom visited it, having other and apparently more
attractive places of residence.
The management, therefore, of this vast estate was entrusted to a
steward; who had made himself feared, as well as hated, by his pride,
injustice, and avarice, and the harshness with which he treated all
over whom he had any power.
Gaspard troubled himself little about the character given him by the
neighbours of the man under whom he was to hold his little property.
He had served for the last six years under one of the strictest
colonels in the army, and had never incurred his displeasure.
He believed, therefore, that by honestly paying the taxes, and
conducting himself as a good vassal of the lord of the domain,
he would have nothing to fear.
The little farm left to Gaspard was pleasantly situated at a short
distance from the village of Feldsberg; the house was small but
comfortable, surrounded by a garden well stocked with fruit-trees.
Near the house, or rather cottage, ran a clear stream, which bounded
some meadows, also belonging to Gaspard.
Full of hope and thankfulness, the good soldier and his family took
possession of their new home. With the little money Gaspard had saved,
a cow was bought; the horse was likely to be too useful to be parted
with.
Michael and John were old enough to help their father in cultivating
the land and garden, whilst Katherine undertook the care of the
poultry-yard, an occupation in which the little Francis was her
constant companion. A blessing seemed to attend their labours, so that
the good couple hoped, after a time, to be able to give their boys
some education, contenting themselves for the present with such as
they were themselves able to give in their hours of leisure.
Four years passed happily away, and in that time Gaspard and his
family had gained the respect and goodwill of their neighbours, whom
they were ever ready to help in any way in their power.
The steward had never troubled them, though the overbearing insolence
of his manner towards all who were in any way dependent on him had
occasionally tried Gaspard's patience and forbearance.
CHAPTER III.
ADVERSITY.
DAYS of trial were now approaching. A bad season caused the produce
of the land and garden to fail. Poor Gaspard was obliged to sell the
cow to pay the taxes. This sacrifice was made without a murmur. He and
his wife knew from whom the trial came, and patiently submitted,
still putting their trust in One who had never yet forsaken them.
This trouble was followed by another. Gaspard fell ill, and was unable
to work. Katherine's time was taken up in attendance on her husband,
so that the poultry-yard was neglected, and want and distress
threatened to take the place of the ease and comfort in which the
little family had hitherto lived.
Poor Katherine was forced to incur debts to procure what was necessary
for her husband. The winter season was approaching, and there appeared
to be but little prospect of their being able to pay the taxes, which
they knew would be rigorously exacted.
Gaspard and his wife endeavoured to cheer and encourage each other;
but at times their hearts ached, and their spirits sank at the
prospect before them.
It was now the month of October, and for the first time for many many
months Gaspard was able to go in the little tilted cart to the
neighbouring town for some things of which his family stood in need.
Michael and John accompanied their father, the little Francis
remaining alone with Katherine, who devoted the day to washing and
repairing such things as she had not had leisure to attend to during
her husband's illness. On opening a press to take out some articles
of linen which had lain by some time, Francis' little cap caught her
eye; it had become somewhat discoloured by, lying by, though the star
retained its lustre. She took it out and placed it apart on the table,
with the intention of getting rid first of such articles as would
require more time and care.
Whilst thus busily occupied, Katherine was startled by a loud clap
of thunder, which was quickly followed by another, and then the rain
came down in torrents, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning.
Poor Katherine trembled for her husband and children, and was
anxiously watching for any sign of the storm abating, when the door
of the cottage was hastily opened, and a lady richly dressed entered.
Katherine perceived at once that it was the wife of the dreaded
steward.
"Will you give me shelter till the storm is over?" she asked.
"Willingly, madam," replied Katherine; "I wish I had been better
prepared to receive you." She then hastened to offer her best chair
to her visitor, and carefully wiped the wet from her dress and mantle.
The little Francis soon attracted the lady's attention.
"Is that beautiful child yours?" she inquired; "he is not a bit like
you. But what have you there?" she added, addressing the boy, who was
playing with the little cap, his attention having been caught by the
star. Katherine desired the child to go and show it to the lady.
"The lace is beautiful," she observed; "where did you get it, and what
this silver star mean?"
Katherine was by no means pleased at being thus rudely questioned,
nor was she inclined to satisfy her visitor's curiosity. She therefore
replied shortly that it had come into her husband's possession during
the siege of Metz, and that he had given it to her.
"Well," said the lady, "it can be of no use to you; I should like it
for my youngest child. I will give you any price you like to ask
for it."
"Madam," replied Katherine, "we value this little cap, and cannot part
with it; indeed, we ought not to do so."
"My good woman," interrupted the lady angrily, "this cap can be of no
use to you,—I desire to have it; you will do well to consider before
you refuse me."
She was well aware of the troubles which had lately come upon Gaspard
and his family, and believed that they would in consequence be afraid
of offending her.
Poor Katherine was now much distressed; she knew full well the power
the steward possessed of injuring them, and yet she was firm in her
determination of not parting with the cap.
"Madam," said she, clasping her hands, as if in entreaty, "I will do
anything else to oblige you; but I cannot part with that cap;—pardon
me for refusing?"
The lady rose angrily, and throwing the cap on the ground,
she said,—"You shall pay dear for this insolence;" and without
giving Katherine time to reply, indignantly left the cottage,
in spite of the rain which still fell heavily.
Katherine sank on a seat, and covering her face with her hands wept
bitterly. She knew she had acted rightly, but naturally feared the
consequences. If only her husband had been at home, she would have
felt less cast down. Poor little Francis clung to her, endeavouring
by his childish caresses to comfort her, though unable to comprehend
the cause of her grief. He picked up the little cap and laid it on her
lap, and then laid his own fair head upon it. Katherine placed her
hand fondly on the bright curls, though her tears still fell fast.
It was not long before Gaspard and his two boys returned; they had
luckily obtained shelter during the storm.
On learning the cause of his wife's distress, the poor man, though
equally fearing the consequences which might result from what had
occurred, at once re-assured her by saying,—
"Dear wife, whatever may happen, you have done right; we must keep
that cap. It alone can ever lead to any discovery of the parents
of our little Francis. We should do wrong to part with it."
Gaspard knew well they had little to hope from the steward's clemency;
still he would not seek to please him or his wife at the risk of
injuring their adopted child.
Time passed on, but a few days remained in which to make up the amount
of the taxes, and Gaspard had not a third of the sum required, he knew
not how to obtain it.
Meanwhile the steward's wife exerted all her influence to exasperate
her husband against Gaspard, relating what had occurred when she was
driven to take shelter in his cottage, and falsely accusing Katherine
of insolence and rudeness. She wickedly resolved to wreak her
vengeance on the unhappy family, and to obtain by force what she could
not possess herself of in any justifiable way.
She succeeded but too well,—her husband, ever ready to exercise his
arbitrary power, summoned Gaspard to pay the taxes due, threatening
at the same time to seize his goods if he did not pay at the given
time.
The day before the one appointed arrived, and at the last moment poor
Gaspard set out to endeavour to borrow even a part of the sum required
from a farmer with whom he had had some dealings. He went with a heavy
heart, and with but faint hopes of success; still he would not leave
a chance untried.
Night came, and Gaspard did not appear!
Poor Katherine knew not what to think.
Had he met with any one likely to help him, or had he fallen ill
whilst seeking for assistance?
The night was passed in too great anxiety for the poor woman to be
able to sleep, and she anxiously watched for the return of day.
Alas! it only brought fresh trouble to the once happy home! The
steward himself appeared, peremptorily demanded the money due to his
lord, overwhelmed the terrified Katherine with reproaches for her
conduct to his wife, and refused in consequence to grant any delay,
or even to await Gaspard's return.
He failed not to carry out his cruel purpose. He had scarcely left
the cottage ere a bailiff and his men entered it;—they were plainly
at hand ready to do the steward's bidding. These men at once laid
a distress upon all the house contained, in the name of the Count
de Sternfelden. The unhappy Katherine was too much frightened and
overcome by this barbarous violence to offer the slightest resistance.
She saw herself and family suddenly and unjustly despoiled of all that
had been acquired by years of labour and economy.
Pale and trembling, she leant against the wall, watching the road
by which Gaspard would return with Michael and John, who had
accompanied him. Little Francis clung to her, asking why their beds,
tables, and even clothes were being taken away. The poor little fellow
cried bitterly when he saw his own little cap seized upon with the
rest. The little cap, which had been so carefully treasured, in the
fond hope that it might some day benefit their adopted child, if not
themselves, seemed to be one cause of the heavy calamity which had
now come upon them.
In the midst of this sad scene Gaspard and his two boys entered their
hitherto quiet home.
The poor man had been unable to obtain any assistance, but returned
with the hope that he might, at least, be granted a little longer time
in which to raise the sum required. Great, therefore, was his dismay
and surprise at finding his home half-stripped of its contents, and
Katherine and the little Francis weeping bitterly.
The sight of her husband seemed to arouse Katherine from the state
of terror and despair in which he found her. Leaning on his arm for
support, she related to him all that had occurred during his absence.
The poor man gave way to a burst of anger and indignation.
"Katherine," he exclaimed, whilst tears started from his eyes, "such
wickedness cannot go unpunished. I will seek the Count, were it even
to the end of the world, and demand justice I will denounce the man
who so cruelly oppresses all over whom he has any power."
Poor Katherine wept silently on her husband's shoulder.
"Oh, Gaspard," said she, "what will become of us, without a home,
without bread, almost without clothes, winter approaching, and no one
to befriend us?"
Gaspard was now more composed.
"Dear wife," said he, putting his arm fondly around her, "take
courage; we must not despair. Amidst the dangers and horrors of war,
God has always protected us. He will do so still. He will not forsake
those who trust in Him."
The unhappy couple then seated themselves on one of the few seats left
them, to consider what they could do to alleviate their present
destitute condition, and to provide for the future; they had never
before found themselves without a home, or the means of subsistence.
Gaspard was firmly resolved to seek the Count, and proposed that his
eldest boy should accompany him, whilst Katherine, with the two other
boys, might endeavour to obtain a temporary shelter with a sister of
his, who, he believed, was settled at Ponnering, a town at no great
distance from Feldsberg. Whilst considering this project, some one
knocked at the door of the now desolate dwelling. On opening it,
Dame Christine, a good and kind neighbour, for whom Katherine had done
many kind services, entered.
"God of mercy!" she cried, as she cast a look of dismay around the
half-dismantled room; "It is then true, and that bad man has done this
cruel deed."
Katherine was unable to reply.
"Yes, good neighbour," said Gaspard, "it is indeed true; he has
deprived us of everything,—we cannot remain here."
He then explained to Christine his project of seeking the Count,
to inform him of the steward's harsh conduct towards himself, as well
as the oppression complained of by all on the estate.
Dame Christine listened with much interest, and warmly approved
of Gaspard's intention, saying it was time the Count should be made
aware of the frequent acts of oppression and injustice committed
in his name.
The good woman then insisted on Gaspard and his family taking shelter
in her cottage, cordially offering to share all she had with them.
She was sure they required, not only food, but rest, and would take
no denial.
Katherine clasped the kind woman's hands to express her gratitude,
whilst Gaspard said, with tears in his eyes—
"You see we are not forsaken; go with our good neighbour. I will
follow you quickly, but I will see the steward first."
Katherine would have dissuaded her husband from this; but he was firm
in his purpose, and at once started for the castle.
On arriving there, he was shown into the presence of the steward;
he was sitting in an apartment as richly furnished as if it had been
occupied by the Count himself.
"What is your business?" he haughtily inquired, as Gaspard entered.
"I come to demand justice," said Gaspard sternly; "you are placed here
to protect the noble Count's rights and property, not to commit acts
of cruel injustice. You have seized my goods, my land, and dwelling.
They are worth ten times the sum I owe. Neither the tears nor the
prayers of my wife moved you to show us any mercy. You have deprived
us of food, clothes, and shelter. All this you have done to show your
power, and to gratify your wife's desire for revenge. I now tell you
that I go to seek the Count, your lord as well as mine. If necessary,
I will follow him from place to place, till I can tell him not only
of your treatment of me, but of many others, who have been hardly
dealt with."
So saying, and without awaiting a reply, Gaspard quitted the room.
The steward had listened in mute astonishment; no one had ever so
addressed and threatened him before. He was half inclined to summon
an attendant, and to desire that Gaspard should be recalled. His
pride, however, forbade that; he would not condescend to dispute with
one who had so braved and outraged him. At the same time, he dreaded
lest Gaspard should put his threat into execution, and make his
conduct known to the Count. For some time he paced the room, uncertain
how to act, but at last quieted his fears with the belief that Gaspard
would not carry out his purpose. "And if he does," he exclaimed aloud,
"I need not fear; he will not be believed. My wife's sister, who was
one of the Countess's women, will be there to deny any tale against
me."
Meanwhile poor Gaspard rejoined his wife and children at the good
Christine's, who had done what she could for the comfort of those whom
she had so hospitably sheltered.
After the trying events of the day, all were glad to retire early
to rest. Gaspard and Katherine decided, ere they did so, on setting
out the next day, so as not to trespass longer than necessary on their
good neighbour's kindness.
CHAPTER IV.
GASPARD AND HIS FAMILY LEAVE THEIR HOME.
THE following morning they were up by daybreak, in order to prepare
for their sad journey. Gaspard fortunately recollected that one thing
which might now be of essential service to them had either been
overlooked, or not considered of sufficient value to have been taken;
this was a donkey which his boys used for such small jobs as they were
able to do about the place; and a day seldom passed without Pedro,
as they called it, having his full share of labour, and by the boys
Pedro was as much prized as anything they possessed. Great was their
joy when their father said he would gladly take it with them; he knew
it would spare much fatigue to his wife and boys.
It will easily be believed that it cost our little party many a pang
to leave their home, and to part with all they cared for. The cross
alone remained to them, and this Gaspard committed to the care of the
good Christine, with the hope that he might one day be able to reclaim
it.
For the last time he and his little family knelt before it, and
implored from God the help and protection they so much needed, as well
as strength to enable them to submit with resignation to whatever
might be appointed for them.
In some measure cheered and comforted by this act of devotion, the
poor soldier, accompanied by his family, set out on their sorrowful
pilgrimage, well provided by their kind hostess with such provisions
as she was able to spare, as well as with a small sum of money, which
Gaspard accepted in the hope of being able some day to repay it.
He could not but believe that his little property would be restored
to him.
They now found themselves wandering they scarce knew whither. Very
different was this journey to the last. They were then going joyfully
to take possession of a home unexpectedly given to them; they were now
turned adrift from that same home, and knew not whether they should
ever behold it again.
Gaspard knew that the Count de Sternfelden had two or three other
estates, and that he resided sometimes at one, and sometimes
at another. He learnt that he had lately been residing at his castle
of Sternfelden, near Mayence, and it was there that Gaspard hoped
to find him.
Gaspard's first object was to reach the town of Ponnering, about four
days' journey from Feldsberg, and where he believed he had a sister
living, but of whom he had heard nothing for some years, save that,
during the time he was actively engaged with the army, she had married
and settled in Ponnering. He was ignorant of her present name, as no
letter from her had ever reached him, though he had accidentally
learnt that she had married a cabinet-maker, and was in good
circumstances; he hoped, therefore, that by personal inquiries he
might be able to make her out, feeling sure that, could he do so,
he would be readily welcomed, believing that neither time nor silence
would in any way have diminished the affection that once subsisted
between them.
To Ponnering, therefore, the little party directed their steps.
The hope of finding a friend there cheered them on their way, and
helped to lighten the fears and anxieties which Gaspard and his wife
could not but feel at the undertaking before them. Had our brave
soldier been alone, he would have feared nothing; he only dreaded
fatigue and hardship for the dear ones who were accompanying him;
he therefore clung to the hope that, if he could but discover his
sister, they might obtain shelter under her roof, whilst he pursued
his way for the purpose of seeing the Count, and putting before him
his sad case, and the cruel injustice with which he had been treated,
and which he well knew the Count would never otherwise be informed of.
The poor travellers, on first starting, trusted to the well-known
hospitality of their countrymen, and neither food nor shelter were
ever denied them; such kind help, in some measure, lightened the
fatigue and hardship of their weary journey.
On reaching the small town of Ponnering, Gaspard resolved without
delay to seek his sister; but not caring to take his wife and children
with hire, or to subject them to wandering about the streets of a
strange town, he entered a barn in a field adjoining the road, and
ventured to leave them in it whilst he went to see if he could obtain
tidings of his sister—hoping, if he did so, soon to fetch them to a
temporary home. With some trouble, and no little difficulty, Gaspard
obtained the information he wanted, and proceeded at once to where he
trusted to find a sister, from whom, by circumstances, he had been
long parted. What, then, was his consternation on finding that she had
been left a widow, and had lately died, and that, having had no
children, the property and business had gone to her husband's brother!
On learning this sad news, poor Gaspard's heart sank within him. He
felt not for himself, but for his wife and children, the eldest barely
twelve years old. Winter had now set in, snow was already whitening
the ground, and he knew not where or how to provide a shelter for
them. He returned with a heavy heart to Katherine. The poor woman bore
the intelligence better than he expected; she had dreaded being
separated from her husband, and, but for her children, would never
have consented to being so. There seemed now no alternative; and in
reply to her husband's inquiry as to what was to be done, she said,
firmly and resolutely—"Dear Gaspard, I will go with you; we will not
be separated; we have shared every danger, we will share this one."
With tears the poor man thanked her for this fresh proof of love and
devotion; he had much disliked parting from her and his boys; he felt
that with them, and for their sakes, he could brave anything, and
willingly encounter any hardship.
The day was now too near its close for the poor travellers to think
of resuming their journey. Gaspard therefore sought the owner of the
barn, to ask leave to occupy it for the night; this was readily
granted, and the weary ones thankfully accepted the rude shelter.
All was, however, clean; heaps of straw and piles of sacks half-filled
the barn; and of these they made use; and found they made no bad beds.
Poor Pedro was safely tethered outside. After a meal of such
provisions as they had, with the addition of some milk kindly given
them by the farmer's wife, they sought the repose so much needed, and
soon slept as soundly as they would have done on softer couches.
The next day, however, brought a fresh trouble; John was too unwell
to admit of the journey being resumed. The poor little fellow could
scarcely raise his head from the rude couch on which he lay. In this
unlooked-for difficulty, Gaspard again sought the farmer, who not only
gave ready permission for them to remain where they were, saying he
had no present use for the barn, but promised to send such little
assistance as they might require. His good wife was readily interested
in the little party, and felt for their distress; so sure it is that
help, in some shape or other, comes, when most needed, from One who
never wholly forsakes those who are His.
Gaspard gratefully endeavoured to repay the good farmer's kindness
by doing such work as he was capable of, and he and Michael were daily
helping at the farm, whilst Katherine tended the sick child and the
little Francis.
A few days rest and care sufficed to restore the boy, and with
grateful and heartfelt thanks the poor soldier and his family prepared
to leave the kind friends and that shelter which had been so readily
afforded them; and, though pressed to remain, they dared not delay,
as the season was getting daily more inclement, and they were,
therefore, anxious to press on ere it became more severe.
The following day Gaspard and his family resumed their toilsome
journey. Snow now covered the mountains, and already lay deep in the
valleys. The sky was overcast, and a keen wind blew, against which the
clothing of the poor travellers but ill protected them. They were
sometimes unable to obtain shelter at night, save what a miserable
barn or shed afforded them.
Added to these hardships, it was not always that they could get
sufficient food; and the effects of hunger, cold, and fatigue were now
being severely felt, especially by poor Katherine, whose strength was
daily diminishing, and which her husband noticed with no little
anxiety, the more so that the poor donkey had fallen lame, and was,
therefore, but of little use to them; and this materially retarded
their progress.
Being now in a part of the country but thinly inhabited, they could
no longer meet with the hospitality which had lightened the trials
of the first part of their journey.
The evening of the ninth day, when the snow was falling fast around
them, and the hearts of the poor wanderers sank within them at the
prospect of passing the night without food or shelter, a peasant
overtook them as he was going to call in his goats from the hills.
Too thankful were they to accept the good man's ready offer of shelter
for the night in his humble cottage.
Help was thus once again sent at their utmost need, and fervently did
they return thanks for it ere they retired to rest that night. To poor
Katherine it was most welcome. Their spirits were still further
revived by learning from their kind host, who had not only afforded
them shelter, but such food as he was able to supply, that they were
only two leagues from Sternfelden, and that the Count was at his
castle there.
There was still a weary walk for the exhausted party, as they resolved
to leave Pedro with the good peasant. He was too lame to be of any
further use to them, and it would have been cruel to use the poor
beast further. They were, therefore, glad to leave it in good hands.
The peasant promised to take every care of it, which in some degree
reconciled the boys to the loss of their favourite.
Cheered and encouraged by the prospect of reaching Sternfelden, they
started early the following day. They were told they had a valley and
mountain between them and their journey's end, but they did not now
despair of reaching it.
The fatigue, however, seemed almost beyond poor Katherine's strength,
and ere they had reached the summit of the mountain, by the rugged
path which led over it, she sank exhausted on the ground.
"Gaspard," she said, "I can go no further. Leave me, and go on with
the children."
"My poor wife!" said he, whilst tears ran down his pale, wan face,
"we are near our journeys end. Rest for a while; we will then try
to go on. Oh, surely our troubles will soon end!"
Katherine seemed unable to reply, but leant against her husband,
who had seated himself by her, as if to support her; whilst poor
little Francis put his cold hands round her neck, and kissed away
the tears which now fell fast, saying as he did so, "Do not cry, dear,
good mother; we shall soon get home. God will lead us there."
"Yes, yes, dear child," exclaimed Gaspard, raising his eyes to heaven,
"you are right. It is six years this very day since I saved you from
death. To-morrow is your poor mother's birthday. Oh let us still hope
that God will be merciful to us now, as He was then."
He had scarcely uttered these words when the distant sound of church
bells struck on the ears of the little party.
"Listen, listen, father!" exclaimed the boys, almost with one voice.
"They sound like the bells at Feldsberg, only louder and prettier."
"They are doubtless the bells of Sternfelden church," replied their
father, with joy. "Take my arm, dear wife; you can lean on Michael
too. We will go to the church, and pray to God to help us, and to
incline the Count's heart towards us."
They rested yet awhile, listening to the welcome sound of the bells;
and after partaking of the little supply of food given them by the
good peasant, Katherine was once more able to proceed, and, taking
her husband's arm, soon reached the summit of the mountain, from
whence a glorious prospect met their gaze. A rude cross marked the
summit. Sternfelden, with its beautiful church, lay at no great
distance from them, and near it the princely castle of the Count.
At this welcome sight our little party fell on their knees, and
offered their thanks to God for having brought them through so many
perils and trials to their journey's end. They knelt, regardless of
the snow, their eyes raised to heaven, and their sad, wan faces once
more lit up with hope.
CHAPTER V.
THE CHRISTENING.
IT was with no common feelings of thankfulness that our little party
entered the church of Sternfelden. It was to them as a haven of rest,
and they felt more immediately under the protection of the Most High.
So long homeless, they were now in that home from which none could
cast them out. So long houseless, they had now entered that house,
the doors of which are open to all.
The light, the warmth, the pealing music, all seemed to cheer the
weary ones; even the marble pavement felt warm to their feet, benumbed
as they were by the snowy paths they had so lately trodden.
They were presently aroused by the entrance of a woman bearing an
infant enveloped in a white and flowing mantle, with which she
approached the baptismal font, where a priest awaited her.
A lady, evidently of high rank, was already there; she was richly
dressed in a robe of black velvet, bordered with ermine, whilst her
fine hair, over which a long veil was thrown, was braided with jewels.
Two attendants stood behind. The lady was apparently going to stand
sponsor for the infant about to be baptised. Gaspard and Katherine
watched the ceremony at a respectful distance, but the three boys drew
nearer, partly to gaze at the lady, whose appearance and beauty were
well calculated to attract their attention, and partly to look at a
ceremony they had never before witnessed.
When the priest was ready to receive the infant, the nurse withdrew
the mantle in which it had been carefully wrapped to protect it from
the severe cold. Had Gaspard and Katherine been nearer, neither the
sacred edifice in which they stood, nor the holy service which was
going on, would scarce have prevented an exclamation at the sight
of the little cap with the silver star which the infant wore!
None, however, seemed to notice it, unless it was that that caused
the deadly paleness of the lady, as she raised her eyes to answer
for the child.
On the conclusion of the ceremony, the nurse presented the infant
to the Countess. It was the Countess de Sternfelden herself who had
stood for it, to receive her blessing.
To the astonishment of all present, she exclaimed, in a voice
trembling with emotion, "For the love of heaven, tell me where this
cap came from?"
All were silent; apparently no one could answer the question.
The priest alone ventured to address the Countess, asking the cause
of her agitation.
"Father," she said, as she laid her hand on the cap the infant wore,
"this cap belonged to the child we lost; with my own hands
I embroidered the silver star, the badge of our house. O God!"
she cried, sinking on her knees, "may it lead to the discovery of our
lost darling."
The priest gently raised the Countess, looking around as he did so for
some one who could give any information respecting the mysterious cap.
The little Francis had now advanced close to the party around the
baptismal font, eager with childish curiosity to see the infant
just baptised.
He at once recognised the little cap he had been accustomed to look
upon with peculiar veneration. His joy at again seeing it overcame
his timidity. He exclaimed with delight—
"That cap is mine; I wore it when I was little."
All eyes were now turned on our little Francis. The priest approached
him, and taking him kindly by the hand, led him to the Countess.
She gazed for a moment as if in admiration of the face now raised
to hers, then said, in a trembling voice—
"Oh! tell me if this cap was really yours; how it came here; who are
your parents, and where are they?"
"Yes, yes, lady, the cap is mine; the wife of the wicked steward
at Feldsberg took it. She made him take everything we had; we have
come all the way from Feldsberg, and my father and mother are here."
"Fetch them, fetch them quickly," said the Countess, "that they may
tell me about this child, and this cap. Good father," she added,
turning to the priest, "may I not hope to have found my child? Do you
not see a likeness to my noble husband?"
The good man feared to encourage hopes which might not be realised,
but was spared answering the question by the approach of Gaspard and
his wife. The Countess advanced towards them, holding Francis by
the hand.
"Tell me, my friend, is this child yours?"
"No, lady," replied Gaspard, "he is only our adopted child."
"But," interrupted Katherine, "he is as dear to us, as if he was our
own."
The Countess then pointed to the cap, saying, as she did so—"How came
this cap into your possession? He says it was his. I emplore you
to tell me all you know about it."
"I will tell you everything, lady," replied Gaspard. He then shortly
related how he had found and rescued the boy, how carefully he and his
wife had treasured the little cap, of their settling at Feldsberg,
and, lastly, of the treatment they had met with in consequence
of their refusal to part with the cap. How it came to be where he now
saw it he could not tell.
The Countess's tears fell fast during the recital; when it was ended,
she turned to one of her women.
"Agatha," said she, "go and fetch the Count and my brother; tell them
our child is restored to us." Then, clasping Francis in her arms,
she said, as she tenderly embraced him, "I am indeed your mother;
God has heard my prayers, and has restored you to me, my child! It was
near Metz that you were taken from us. You wore this little cap the
day we lost you. Oh! you will try and love us, now you are restored
to us."
Then, taking the astonished child by the hand, the Countess approached
the altar, and, kneeling on the steps, appeared to be engaged
in silent prayer. Gaspard and his wife followed her example at a
little distance; their hearts were also overflowing with thankfulness.
On rising from this act of devotion, the Countess turned to the good
soldier, saying, as she did so—
"May heaven reward you, and your good wife! I cannot; only say what we
can do to show our gratitude."
She was interrupted by the little Francis, who, leading Michael and
John to her, said—
"These are my brothers. Do not take them from me?"
"No, no, dear child," replied the Countess, as she took a hand
of each. "They shall stay with you, and you will not leave your
adopted child?" she added, turning to Gaspard and Katherine.
The Count and Countess de Sternfelden had thus restored to them
their lost and only child, the only heir of their noble house,
for whom they had so deeply mourned. Our good soldier and his family
were as unexpectedly rescued from want and misery, and assured
of kindness and protection for the rest of their lives. One more cause
of rejoicing was in store for Gaspard. As our happy party were about
to leave the church, the Countess's brother advanced towards him.
"Gaspard," said he, as he held out his hand to him, "my old and brave
comrade in arms, do you not know me?"
Gaspard at once recognised the young Baron Otto de Helfenstein.
"My captain, my noble captain!" he said, "I never thought to see you
again; we could never hear anything of you, and feared you were either
killed or taken prisoner."
"I was taken prisoner by the French," returned the Baron; "and, when I
got my exchange, I joined our army in Spain, and went with it
afterwards to Italy. I only returned to my own country two days ago,
when I saw my sister for the first time since her loss. I little
imagined that the child you so bravely rescued was hers."
The Count interrupted further explanations by proposing that all
should go to the castle, where they could, at leisure, hear and relate
all that would be deeply interesting to the whole party.
The news had spread rapidly through the village, the inhabitants
of which hastened to meet the little procession, and to testify
their joy at the happy event. The Count was universally beloved by his
dependents, and now received heartfelt congratulations from all on the
recovery of his lost child.
On reaching the castle, he gave orders for a day of general rejoicing,
in which all classes should join, promising, at the same time,
that every year the anniversary of the day on which his son was
restored to him should be kept as a holiday amongst his people.
The remainder of the day on which the little Francis was restored
to his parents was spent in relating the various events which had led
to his loss and recovery.
It appeared that, shortly before the disappearance of the little heir
of the house of Sternfelden, a keeper of the Count's had been
dismissed for repeated acts of gross misconduct and treachery, which
had as often been pardoned by the Count. After his final disgrace,
this man had been heard to threaten that he would have his revenge.
On the disappearance of the child, this man was suspected, the more
so that he was nowhere to be heard of, though every effort was made
to trace him, and to obtain some eke that might lead to discovering
what had become of the infant. The unhappy and bereaved parents learnt
after a while that the wretch had crossed the Rhine, and it was
supposed he had joined the French army near Metz.
Hither they followed, in the hope of gaining some tidings of their
lost treasure. The search was fruitless; nothing could be heard
of either. The unhappy Count and Countess returned heartbroken
to their own childless home. On hearing Gaspard's account, it was easy
to imagine that the wretch had carried the child with him when he
joined the French, that he had been with those who had defended the
fort the day it was attacked and taken by the Germans, and had
probably met with the fate he so well merited, whilst the little
Francis fell into the hands of the brave soldier and his kind-hearted
wife.
The Countess learnt from Katherine why they had given their adopted
child the name of "Francis," which, by a singular chance, was the name
he had received from his own parents.
Little now remained to be told or learnt, save that the "little cap,"
which had so providentially led to the recovery of the lost child,
had been sent by the wife of the steward of Feldsberg to her sister
at Sternfelden, as a gift to her firstborn. That which the unfeeling
woman had so eagerly coveted, and which she had obtained by such
unjustifiable means, may possibly have become a source of trouble
instead of gratification to her. She could, it may be supposed,
scarcely look at the little cap, so prized by those from whom she had
torn it, without some feelings of self-reproach; and may have been
glad to have got rid of it, by bestowing it on one wholly unacquainted
with its history, and who had, therefore, no scruple in accepting and
making use of it. She may have quieted her conscience by thus removing
from her sight that which reproached her, but she could not escape the
punishment she so well merited; and that which seemed but a trifle was
the means of bringing to light the steward's misconduct, as well as
his wife's, and the ruin they sought to bring on others, who had never
injured them, fell upon themselves.
All was now joy and thankfulness in the Castle of Sternfelden, and our
poor wanderers had found the relief and rest they so greatly needed.
They were not suppliants, but honoured guests in the Count's castle,
with every comfort provided for them, and receiving that respect and
regard they so well deserved.
The day following, ere the public rejoicings commenced, the little
Francis de Sternfelden entered the apartment in which were Gaspard and
Katherine. He had not forgotten that it was Katherine's birthday.
Putting his arms round her neck, and kissing her affectionately,
he said—
"Dear, good mother, your little Francis has brought you a birthday
present." So saying, he put into her hands a paper, which proved to be
a deed, giving to Gaspard and his wife a farm on the Count's estate
at no great distance front the castle. With tears of grateful joy did
the good couple recall the day on which Gaspard had presented the
little Francis to his wife, and it was now through him that they
received a gift which they looked upon as far beyond their deserts,
and which more than repaid them for all their trials and anxieties.
The Count would scarcely receive any thanks; he felt he could never
repay all they had done for his child, and that to them, under
Providence, he owed his present unlooked-for happiness, and that
of the Countess, whose health had seriously suffered from her terrible
loss. By another deed, the Count restored to Gaspard his little
property at Feldsberg, where he also appointed another steward in the
place of one who had so cruelly abused the power entrusted to him.
Gaspard had the satisfaction of offering the little cottage and land
at Feldsberg, at a nominal rent, to their kind neighbour, Christine
and her son—an offer which was gladly accepted.
Peace and plenty and comfort, greater than any they had ever before
enjoyed, were henceforward the portion of the good and brave soldier
and his family; and above all, they had the approbation of their own
consciences, and could feel that, by their honest endeavours to do
what they believed to be right, they had secured the respect and
goodwill of all who knew them. They lived to see their two sons grow
up, receiving, by the Count's help, such an education as fitted them
for respectable situations—Michael hoping one day to obtain that of
steward to his patron. They had also the happiness of seeing the young
Francis grow up in every way worthy of his high station, whilst he
ever treated them with the tenderest regard and affection, which the
good Count and Countess afforded him every opportunity of showing.
The history of this good couple may remind our readers of the words
of the Psalmist: "Put thou thy trust in the Lord, and be doing good:
dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed."
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