Andreas Hofer: An Historical NovelMühlbach, L. (Luise)
History
Andreas Hofer: An Historical Novel
Mühlbach, L. (Luise)
Hofer, Andreas, 1767-1810 -- Fiction; Tyrol (Austria) -- History -- Uprising of 1809 -- Fiction
Lizzie had followed her a few steps; then, as if arrested by a
sudden thought, she paused and returned slowly to the balcony. She
cast a quick glance on the officer, who was leaning against the wall
on one side of the balcony, and, with his arms folded on his breast,
did not avert his eyes from her.
Eliza gave a start and withdrew to the other side of the balcony.
There she sat down on the bench like a timid little bird, and
allowed her eyes to wander dreamily and thoughtfully over the
landscape. And, indeed, the view which they enjoyed from the,
balcony was wondrously beautiful. On one side extended the splendid
valley, with its meadows clad in the freshest verdure of spring, its
foaming white mountain-torrents, its houses and huts, which
disappeared gradually in the violet mists bordering the horizon. On
both sides of the valley rose the green wooded heights, interspersed
here and there with small verdant pastures and clearings, on which
handsome red cows were grazing or lying in majestic repose. Behind
the clearings black pines and firs dotted the slopes, which,
however, in their more elevated portions became more and more bare;
where the trees ceased, appeared here and there again green
pastures, and on them, gray and small, like birds' nests, the huts
of the mountain cow-keepers, who, the most advanced sentinels, as it
were, were guarding the frontiers where the war between nature and
man commences, the frontiers of the snowy region and the world of
glaciers. Behind the cow-keepers' huts flashed already masses of
snow from several mountain-gorges; farther above, the snow had
spread its white silver veils far and wide over all the mountain-
peaks, so that they glittered and sparkled with indescribable beauty
in the bright morning sun, and loomed like swans' necks up to the
azure sky.
Below, in the foreground of the valley, at the foot of Castle
Weissenstein, lay the village of Windisch-Matrey, with its
scattering groups of handsome houses, from whose midst arose the
church, with its tall, pointed steeple. From the standpoint which
she occupied, Eliza was able to distinctly survey the market-place
and its crowds of men, which, in the distance, resembled busy black
ant-hills. She gazed upon them fixedly, and the small specks seemed
to her practised eye like human forms; she thought she could
distinguish several of them, and, among others, the tall and
powerful form of her father; she thought--
"Eliza," said all at once a low voice by her side--"Eliza, you do
not want to see me, then? You are still angry with me?"
She gave a start, and crimsoned, when, on looking up, she saw young
Ulrich von Hohenberg standing close in front of her, and gazing at
her with ardent and beseeching eyes.
"No, sir," she said, "I really did not see you."
"That is to say, Eliza, you are still angry with me?" he asked,
eagerly. "You are silent, you avert your head. My God! Eliza, what
did I do, then, to incur your anger?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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