In the happy land of Suabia, close to the river Danube, there lies a fine level meadow, where once on a time (it was in the month of May, just as the declining sunbeams were taking leave of the flowers) a young squire, by name Otto von Trautwangen, was enjoying his evening recreation. At this beautiful season, it was Otto’s custom frequently to leave his father’s castle in the neighbouring mountains, and repair to the pleasant banks of the river. Here he amused himself alternately with angling in the streams, or in shooting with a cross-bow at marks, which he had contrived in many strange shapes, such as dragons, hobgoblins, witches, &c. and painted in glaring colours. On the wide level meadow he ran no risk of wounding any one with his arrows. This evening, however, his bow and quiver lay beside him on the grass, and he held his fishing-rod, watching as it seemed the play of his line in the water; but he was lost in reverie, and forgot that he had not even baited his hook. Then Bertha von Lichtenried came walking towards him, his father’s niece, along with whom he had from his childhood been educated at the castle. She took her place beside him on the grass, and half mocking, half anxiously questioned him on what he was meditating so deeply? He himself knew not well what to say, and now so much the less, when he saw his cousin’s pretty face smiling on him reflected in the water. She looked even _too_ beautiful in his estimation, and perhaps she thought the same of him, as she smiled on her companion so kindly. It was delightful to see how the two young people thus carried on a silent conversation together in the living mirror of the Danube! When Otto had considered for a while, it occurred to him that he had remarked a pilgrim, in a red-cross mantle, passing on the opposite side of the river, after which he had fallen into a mood of deep thought. He told Bertha of this, and described to her how solemn was the impression left on his mind; how the pilgrim had always looked steadfastly on the road before him, without turning in the least to the right or left, so that one could not precisely say whether it was old age, humility, or an ardent longing after the sacred object of his journey, that bent his head forwards, and harmonized every gesture. To this the young man added his own reflections, how admirable it must be to travel across kingdoms, seas, and rivers, to distant unknown lands! Nothing in his opinion could be pleasanter than such a pilgrimage, and it would never be the fatigue of travelling, but only the tedium of repose afterwards, that would prove oppressive.