And I said, 'What will you
do about it? Will you not vindicate yourself?' And he answered,
'Certainly not. I have been vindicated long ago, and can spend no time
on these follies. My eyes are too weak for me to waste their strength
on matters which are not useful.'"

We next find Hutten high in the favor of the Emperor Maximilian, by
whose order he was crowned poet-laureate of Germany. The wreath of
laurel was woven by the fair hands of Constance Peutinger, who was
called the handsomest girl in Germany, and with great ceremony she put
this wreath on his head in the presence of the Emperor at Mainz.

Now, for the first time, Hutten seems to have thought seriously of
marriage. He writes to a friend, Friedrich Fischer: "I am overcome
with a longing for rest, that I may give myself to art. For this, I
need a wife who shall take care of me. You know my ways. I cannot be
alone, not even by night. In vain they talk to me of the pleasures of
celibacy. To me it is loneliness and monotony. I was not born for
that. I must have a being who can lead me from sorrows--yes, even from
my graver studies; one with whom I can joke and play, and carry on
light and happy conversations, that the sharpness of sorrow may be
blunted and the heat of anger made mild. Give me a wife, dear
Friedrich, and you know what kind of one I want. She must be young,
pretty, well educated, serene, tender, patient. Money enough give her,
but not too much. For riches I do not seek; and as for blood and
birth, she is already noble to whom Hutten gives his hand."

A young woman--Cunigunde Glauburg--was found, and she seemed to meet
all requirements. But the mother of the bride was not pleased with the
arrangement. Hutten was a "dangerous man," she said, "a
revolutionist." "I hope," said Hutten, "that when she comes to know
me, and finds in me nothing restless, nothing mutinous, my studies full
of humor and wit, that she will look more kindly on me." To a brother
of Cunigunde he writes: "Hutten has not conquered many cities, like
some of these iron-eaters, but through many lands has wandered with the
fame of his name. He has not slain his thousands, like those, but may
be none the less loved for that. He does not stalk about on yard-long
shin-bones, nor does his gigantic figure frighten travelers; but in
strength of spirit he yields to none. He does not glow with the
splendor of beauty, but he dares flatter himself that his soul is
worth