The Dove in the Eagle's Nest [57]
Indeed, his sobs were so piteous that his mother was relieved to hear only, "The wolf! the poor wolf!" and to find that he himself was unhurt; and she was scarcely satisfied of this when Dame Kunigunde came up also alarmed, and thus turned his grief to wrath. "As if I would cry in that way for a bite!" he said. "Go, grandame; you made me do it, the poor beast!" with a fresh sob.
"Ulrich shall get thee another cub, my child."
"No, no; I never will have another cub! Why did you let me kill it?"
"For shame, Ebbo! Weep for a spiteful brute! That's no better than thy mother or Friedel."
"I love my mother! I love Friedel! They would have withheld me. Go, go; I hate you!"
"Peace, peace, Ebbo," exclaimed his mother; "you know not what you say. Ask your grandmother's pardon."
"Peace, thou fool!" screamed the old lady. "The Baron speaks as he will in his own castle. He is not to be checked here, and thwarted there, and taught to mince his words like a cap-in-hand pedlar. Pardon! When did an Adlerstein seek pardon? Come with me, my Baron; I have still some honey-cakes."
"Not I," replied Ebbo; "honey-cakes will not cure the wolf whelp. Go: I want my mother and Friedel."
Alone with them his pride and passion were gone; but alas! what augury for the future of her boys was left with the mother!
CHAPTER X: THE EAGLE'S PREY
"It fell about the Lammas tide, When moor men win their hay,"
that all the serfs of Adlerstein were collected to collect their lady's hay to be stored for the winter's fodder of the goats, and of poor Sir Eberhard's old white mare, the only steed as yet ridden by the young Barons.
The boys were fourteen years old. So monotonous was their mother's life that it was chiefly their growth that marked the length of her residence in the castle. Otherwise there had been no change, except that the elder Baroness was more feeble in her limbs, and still more irritable and excitable in temper. There were no events, save a few hunting adventures of the boys, or the yearly correspondence with Ulm; and the same life continued, of shrinking in dread from the old lady's tyrannous dislike, and of the constant endeavour to infuse better principles into the boys, without the open opposition for which there was neither power nor strength.
The boys' love was entirely given to their mother. Far from diminishing with their dependence on her, it increased with the sense of protection; and, now that they were taller than herself, she seemed to be cherished by them more than ever. Moreover, she was their oracle. Quick-witted and active-minded, loving books the more because their grandmother thought signing a feud-letter the utmost literary effort becoming to a noble, they never rested till they had acquired all that their mother could teach them; or, rather, they then became more restless than ever. Long ago had her whole store of tales and ballads become so familiar, by repetition, that the boys could correct her in the smallest variation; reading and writing were mastered as for pleasure; and the Nuremberg Chronicle, with its wonderful woodcuts, excited such a passion of curiosity that they must needs conquer its Latin and read it for themselves. This World History, with Alexander and the Nine Worthies, the cities and landscapes, and the oft-repeated portraits, was Eberhard's study; but Friedmund continued--constant to Walther of Vogelweide. Eberhard cared for no character in the Vulgate so much as for Judas the Maccabee; but Friedmund's heart was all for King David; and to both lads, shut up from companionship as they were, every acquaintance in their books was a living being whose like they fancied might be met beyond their mountain. And, when they should go forth, like Dietrich of Berne, in search of adventures, doughty deeds were chiefly to fall to the lot of Ebbo's lance; while Friedel was to be their Minnesinger; and indeed certain verses, that he had murmured in his brother's ear, had left no doubt in Ebbo's mind that the exploits would be worthily sung.
The soft
"Ulrich shall get thee another cub, my child."
"No, no; I never will have another cub! Why did you let me kill it?"
"For shame, Ebbo! Weep for a spiteful brute! That's no better than thy mother or Friedel."
"I love my mother! I love Friedel! They would have withheld me. Go, go; I hate you!"
"Peace, peace, Ebbo," exclaimed his mother; "you know not what you say. Ask your grandmother's pardon."
"Peace, thou fool!" screamed the old lady. "The Baron speaks as he will in his own castle. He is not to be checked here, and thwarted there, and taught to mince his words like a cap-in-hand pedlar. Pardon! When did an Adlerstein seek pardon? Come with me, my Baron; I have still some honey-cakes."
"Not I," replied Ebbo; "honey-cakes will not cure the wolf whelp. Go: I want my mother and Friedel."
Alone with them his pride and passion were gone; but alas! what augury for the future of her boys was left with the mother!
CHAPTER X: THE EAGLE'S PREY
"It fell about the Lammas tide, When moor men win their hay,"
that all the serfs of Adlerstein were collected to collect their lady's hay to be stored for the winter's fodder of the goats, and of poor Sir Eberhard's old white mare, the only steed as yet ridden by the young Barons.
The boys were fourteen years old. So monotonous was their mother's life that it was chiefly their growth that marked the length of her residence in the castle. Otherwise there had been no change, except that the elder Baroness was more feeble in her limbs, and still more irritable and excitable in temper. There were no events, save a few hunting adventures of the boys, or the yearly correspondence with Ulm; and the same life continued, of shrinking in dread from the old lady's tyrannous dislike, and of the constant endeavour to infuse better principles into the boys, without the open opposition for which there was neither power nor strength.
The boys' love was entirely given to their mother. Far from diminishing with their dependence on her, it increased with the sense of protection; and, now that they were taller than herself, she seemed to be cherished by them more than ever. Moreover, she was their oracle. Quick-witted and active-minded, loving books the more because their grandmother thought signing a feud-letter the utmost literary effort becoming to a noble, they never rested till they had acquired all that their mother could teach them; or, rather, they then became more restless than ever. Long ago had her whole store of tales and ballads become so familiar, by repetition, that the boys could correct her in the smallest variation; reading and writing were mastered as for pleasure; and the Nuremberg Chronicle, with its wonderful woodcuts, excited such a passion of curiosity that they must needs conquer its Latin and read it for themselves. This World History, with Alexander and the Nine Worthies, the cities and landscapes, and the oft-repeated portraits, was Eberhard's study; but Friedmund continued--constant to Walther of Vogelweide. Eberhard cared for no character in the Vulgate so much as for Judas the Maccabee; but Friedmund's heart was all for King David; and to both lads, shut up from companionship as they were, every acquaintance in their books was a living being whose like they fancied might be met beyond their mountain. And, when they should go forth, like Dietrich of Berne, in search of adventures, doughty deeds were chiefly to fall to the lot of Ebbo's lance; while Friedel was to be their Minnesinger; and indeed certain verses, that he had murmured in his brother's ear, had left no doubt in Ebbo's mind that the exploits would be worthily sung.
The soft