Immediately after the funeral the colonists gathered in the village
square for the trial of Stephen Everett. The stocks still stood where
they had been erected for the punishment of Hans Peter, and upon the
high platform surrounding the culprit’s seat the elders met for the
purpose of passing judgment. The prisoner was not brought from the inn
until after all the villagers were assembled. He walked from the porch
of the _gasthaus_ with a step that showed he was glad to have a chance
to make a plea for liberty. An expression of scorn and anger was plainly
visible on his handsome face. He had been inclined to accept whatever
happened in Zanah as rather an amusing experience, but the events since
the morning of the _Untersuchung_ had awakened him to a full sense of
what he had at stake. He meant to have Walda at any hazard, but his
patience had been exhausted in his tiresome ordeal of imprisonment. His
old, careless manner asserted itself when he had ascended the steps to
the stocks and had taken a seat upon the great beam in which the simple
one’s feet had been fastened.
At the first sight of him some of the villagers gave vent to indignant
murmurs, which were quickly quieted.
“This man is accused of being one whom Satan hath sent to Zanah,”
announced Karl Weisel. “He hath stolen the affections of her who would
have been our prophetess; he hath tempted the Lord’s chosen one with an
earthly love. He hath broken his pledge to an elder of the colony.
Through his wicked plottings the plans of Zanah are overthrown. He hath
lost to the people who serve God the instrument that would have led the
people in the paths of pleasantness.”
“He shall be punished!” shouted some of the people.
“Yea; he shall be punished,” agreed the head of the thirteen elders,
puffing out his chest and knitting his brows. “He shall be punished; but
is there a penalty severe enough for offences such as his?”
“He shall be made to pay a fine,” said Adolph Schneider. “Many thousand
dollars would not wipe out the harm he hath done to the crops since we
are deprived of the guidance of a prophetess.”
“Cast him out of Zanah!” clamored many voices.
At this point Gerson Brandt advanced from his place at the end of the
row of elders.
“Who is fitted to determine the stranger’s punishment?” he asked.
No one answered. With arms folded upon his breast Gerson Brandt waited
for a response.
“In this case it seemeth just that only he who hath not succumbed to the
same temptation that Stephen Everett hath found here in Zanah is fit to
choose a penalty for this offence. Let the man of Zanah who hath lived
twenty-one years without loving a woman say what the stranger’s
punishment shall be.”
The men of Zanah stared at one another. The women tiptoed to see if they
might read long-buried secrets in the faces of their husbands and
brothers.
“There must be many here who have escaped the lure that lurketh in the
eyes of women,” the school-master said, presently. “It may be that my
meaning hath not been made plain. Let him who hath attained the age of
manhood without knowing what Zanah calleth an earthly love judge Stephen
Everett.”
The men of Zanah looked at one another with shamefaced glances.
“Is not he who hath loved and repented a better judge?” asked Karl
Weisel.
“Nay; why should one that hath been weak in the presence of woman judge
another?” responded the school-master. “There are many men of Zanah who
have never married. Why do not they answer? Why do not they volunteer to
measure the sin of loving a woman?”
A minute passed.
“Is there none in Zanah qualified to judge the stranger?” inquired
Gerson Brandt.
From the edge of the crowd came the simple one.
“I, the fool of Zanah, have passed the age of one-and-twenty without
loving,” he declared, in a tone that betrayed not the least trace of any
feeling.
His face was, as usual, absolutely without expression.
“Set a fool to judge a fool,” sneered Mother Schneider. But the men had
nothing to say.
“What is thy judgment, Hans Peter?” asked the school-master.
“The simple one would have the stranger freed,” said Hans Peter.
Standing with both hands in his pockets, he waited to be dismissed. He
had uncovered his head, and as he stood there before the people
something of the tragedy of the simple one’s life was revealed to Zanah.
He was a creature apart; one who had reached the years of manhood
without attaining to the full stature and the full knowledge of
maturity. Some strange recesses of his brain were closed to memory, and
yet nature had made compensation by giving him queer flashes of wit and
odd shreds of intelligence that often confounded Zanah. In the crowd
were some, more superstitious than the rest, who looked at the village
fool with fear written on their faces.
“Let us free the stranger and send him out of Zanah. He hath brought a
curse with him. The sooner he goeth from among us the better,” spoke
Mother Werther, who, since the _Untersuchung_, had gone about with care
marked upon her good-natured face.
“He whom you call the simple one is the only man in Zanah who hath not
transgressed the colony law forbidding all who would attain to serve the
Lord in singleness of purpose to put away earthly love,” said the
school-master. “Would not your own weaknesses teach you lenity?”
From his place on the stocks Everett scanned the dull faces below him.
The idea of associating sentiment or romance with the heavy-featured men
of Zanah brought a contemptuous smile to his lips.
“How is it that thou dost not judge the stranger?” asked Mother
Kaufmann. “Surely thou hast not loved a daughter of Eve?” She laughed,
mockingly, showing her hideous tusks.
“Let Gerson Brandt, the elder and school-master, be the judge of the
stranger,” cried a sturdy colonist, who had been quietly looking on from
the porch of the inn.
A chorus of voices bade the school-master deal with the prisoner.
Gerson Brandt motioned to Hans Peter to retire from the place in front
of the stocks.
“Thou hast this day taught Zanah a lesson,” he declared, in a kindly
voice. “Thy verdict is right. It should be accepted by the people.”
“Faugh! Wouldst thou let a fool decide a matter of great importance to
Zanah?” angrily inquired Adolph Schneider, who had with difficulty
smothered his rage when he saw the chief law of the colony made
ridiculous by Gerson Brandt’s declaration that the man who had never
loved should judge Stephen Everett.
“We demand that the school-master shall fix the penalty,” shouted Mother
Schneider. “He knoweth best to what extent the madness of an earthly
love hath afflicted her who would have been a prophetess; he hath lost
his best friend through the iniquitous influence of the stranger.”
The people became unruly, for their patience had been tried by the
suspense. They clamored for speedy justice to him who had made trouble
for them.
“Gerson Brandt, thou shalt pass the verdict,” said Karl Weisel. “Since
thou didst order Stephen Everett made a prisoner, thou shouldst make
sure that he suffers for his misdeeds.”
The school-master pushed back the hair from his forehead. He waited for
a moment, lifting his hands to invite the attention of the people.
“None is more unworthy to judge this man for loving a woman than I,
Gerson Brandt,” he said, with a quaver in his voice. “It is my desire
that some of you fix his punishment, for even though you may set him
free, I shall do penance for him. I have sinned against Zanah more than
he.”
“What meanest thou, Brother Brandt?” asked Adolph Schneider, confronting
him. “Beware how thou dost forfeit the respect of the people.”
“I have treasured in my heart an earthly love,” the school-master
confessed, turning from Adolph Schneider and speaking to the colonists.
His words caused even the most stoical of the elders to turn pale. It
meant much to the colony to lose the school-master from among those who
managed the affairs of the community.
The people heard and yet appeared not to believe their ears. The square
became so quiet that when Piepmatz, hanging in his cage from a rafter of
the inn-porch, sang the one bar of the love-song, the bird-voice reached
every one in the throng, and presently broke the spell of amazement that
held the villagers.
“Thy case shall be taken up presently,” said Karl Weisel, who was the
first to recover from astonishment. “Thy sin is minor to his, in that
thou didst not love the prophetess.”
“Mine offence is greater than his,” answered Gerson Brandt. He had
gained complete control of himself, and he spoke in a voice clear and
unfaltering. “I have loved Walda Kellar even from the days of her
childhood with a love that is stronger than all else in life. I had
thought that mine affection was merely that of a teacher, a counsellor,
a friend, until, through the stranger, it became known to me that I
loved her who might have been the prophetess as a man loveth the woman
whom the Lord hath sent into the world for him to cherish until death.
There is no word of extenuation for me. I love Walda Kellar with the
longing to claim her from Zanah and all the world.”
He paused, as if the flood-gates of his heart had broken, and the tide
of his emotion drowned his words. Stephen Everett, who had listened with
a shamed sense of his own good-fortune, gazed upon the school-master’s
face until he was compelled to turn his eyes away, for he saw despair
and pain so deeply graven there that the pity of it brought tears.
“In the heat of what I thought a righteous anger I did order the
stranger to be bound,” Gerson Brandt said, after a brief pause. “But
there, in the place of the _Untersuchung_, it was made clear to me that
jealousy actuated me unworthily to use my power as an elder. For that
offence, I crave Stephen Everett’s pardon and Zanah’s forgiveness.”
The people were stirred with indignation and sorrow. They began to speak
to one another, but Gerson Brandt compelled them to hear him to the end.
“I would ask you to release the prisoner and to give Walda Kellar into
his keeping. The love I bear for this daughter of Zanah hath in it that
which giveth me the strength to surrender my heart’s desire, and so I
crave for her the happiness that cometh through the love of another man.
I plead with you to consent to the marriage of Stephen Everett and Walda
Kellar. Send them forth into the world together this night. Delay not in
meting out to them the judgment that will give them joy. The punishment
is mine.”
Gerson Brandt leaned against one of the supports of the stocks. He was
dimly conscious that the elders whispered to one another and that the
people gathered in groups to talk earnestly.
The afternoon was far advanced. A golden haze had settled upon the
valley. Above his head the dry leaves of the trees were rustled by a
gentle wind that soothed his spirit. He was conscious of a sudden
faintness. His little world, the colony of Zanah, slipped away from him
for a moment, but he remembered that he had not won his battle for
Walda’s freedom, and he steadied himself, calling all his senses to
serve him until the end of the day’s ordeal.
“Art thou aware that when an elder lets human love into his heart he
must be put under the ban of silence?” asked Adolph Schneider. “It is
the law of Zanah. Thou art the first elder to prove himself too weak for
the high office.”
Gerson Brandt made no response. Far down the road he caught sight of the
scarlet cloak worn by the fallen prophetess.
The elders continued their conference, presently taking Stephen Everett
into their circle. The school-master kept his eyes on the approaching
figure of Walda, who came towards the square with lagging steps. Her
attendants followed her closely, and when the three at last came into
the crowd he saw that some of the villagers gathered about them.
“Will Walda Kellar stand before the stocks,” commanded Karl Weisel,
seeing that the fallen prophetess had come into the square.
Walda obeyed the summons.
“Art thou willing to forsake Zanah in order that thou mayst go forth
into the world with a stranger?” he asked.
Everett looked at her with pleading in his eyes, but she hesitated
before replying. He leaned forward in an agony of suspense.
“Tell the elders that thou art under a law higher than any of Zanah,”
prompted Gerson Brandt. “Thou art led by the law of love, which ruleth
the world outside the colony. This day hath shown that it ruleth here,
even in Zanah.”
“If in leaving Zanah I am not ignoring any allegiance I owe to the
memory of my father, I would go with Stephen Everett. This love that I
bear to him hath given me a desire to be always near him,” Walda
answered.
“Thou shalt be cut off from the roll of those who serve the Lord in
Zanah,” declared the head of the thirteen elders. “Thou shalt leave
Zanah to-night, after the village hath closed its doors on thee, so that
the eyes of the men and women may not be offended by seeing the
beginning of thy journey into the world.”
“I would give vent to my gratitude,” Walda said, tremulously. “Even now
I prayed at my father’s grave that if it be the will of God I might be
permitted to be the wife of Stephen Everett, and lo! when I least hoped
for it my prayer hath been answered.”
“Silence! Dare not to rejoice in thy frowardness of heart here before
the people of Zanah,” Karl Weisel admonished. “Remember that there may
be a curse in answered prayer.”
Walda shrank under the lash of his cruel words. She glanced around her
as if seeking sympathy from some of the women, but all who were nearest
her drew their skirts away as if they would not be defiled by the touch
of her scarlet cloak. Her pride came to the rescue, and, drawing the
crimson mantle around her, she stood proudly waiting for a sign that she
might pass on.
“From this moment Walda Kellar, once hailed as the prophetess of Zanah,
is no longer to be counted with the colonists who live in the hope of
earning an entrance to heaven by walking in the paths of righteousness,”
announced Adolph Schneider, coming forward. “She hath listened to the
voice of Satan, and she hath been unfaithful to a most sacred trust. She
hath lost the gift of tongues; she hath turned a deaf ear to the voice
of prophecy. Henceforth, forever, her name shall not be spoken in Zanah.
Let her go in peace, and may she repent of her sin.”
Some of the colonists shuddered as the Herr Doktor proclaimed the
excommunication of the fallen prophetess. Walda read reassurance and
encouragement in Gerson Brandt’s face. She stood gazing up at him, and
he held her spirit in calm submission.
“Stephen Everett is hereby liberated. He hath consented to pay to Zanah
a goodly fine, which is still out of proportion to his great offence,”
Adolph Schneider next announced. “Through the agency of Gerson Brandt,
Walda Kellar hath waived all claim on her share of the property of
Zanah. She shall go forth from the colony penniless, and dependent upon
the stranger.”
“That is good,” agreed some of the men.
“To-night Stephen Everett and Walda Kellar shall leave Zanah, even as
Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden,” continued the Herr
Doktor, pronouncing the sentence so that it might intimidate all
possible lovers in the colony. “They shall go forth, never to return.”
When Adolph Schneider dwelt on the words “never to return,” Gerson
Brandt caught his breath as if he felt a sudden pain.
“It is my duty to pronounce upon Gerson Brandt the ban of silence,” Karl
Weisel said, taking the Herr Doktor’s place at the front of the
platform. “As head of the thirteen elders I hereby declare to the people
of Zanah that his office of counsellor and guide to the colony is
vacant. Like the fallen prophetess, he hath forfeited all right to a
high place in Zanah by opening his heart to an earthly love.”
Walda could not repress an exclamation of surprise. She glanced
questioningly among the women, as if she would discover the one upon
whom the school-master had bestowed his heart, but she received such
looks of anger and indignation that she turned to Gerson Brandt, as if
she would read his secret. He gave her a smile, and she listened sadly
to the terrible sentence pronounced upon him.
“For the space of a year no man or woman of Zanah shall speak to Gerson
Brandt,” the elder continued, in a loud voice. “Although he hath been
the school-master, the children shall not be permitted to utter one word
to him. He shall no longer be a teacher in the colony. Instead, he shall
dwell alone, avoided by all. Because Zanah harboreth no drones, he shall
serve the colony as night-watchman. During all the hours of darkness he
shall pace up and down the street of Zanah. He shall call out the hours
from sunset until sunrise, and he shall be forgotten by all who serve
the Lord.”
Gerson Brandt heard the words unmoved, as if the sentence were of little
concern to him. In a moment, after Karl Weisel ceased speaking, his
thoughts were far away. He exulted over the solitude before him. He knew
that he could live in memories; precious dreams would be his. Each
night, while he walked alone, he told himself that he could send to
Walda his best hopes. He could speak her name in his prayers. After all,
he had triumphed over himself and over the laws of Zanah. Unconsciously
he drew his thin body to its full height. The light of victory illumined
his face. He looked at Walda and saw that she was weeping for him. Then
he was troubled.
“This sentence is monstrous,” Everett asserted, with wrath in his voice.
“Gerson Brandt shall come out into the world with me. Walda Kellar and I
owe him whatever of happiness may be ours in the future, and we shall
see that he has some of the joys of life.”
“Nay, nay,” spoke Gerson Brandt. “I would be out of place in the great
world. I thank thee, but I am better here. I shall be quite contented to
remain in Zanah. Outward conditions count for naught.”
When Everett still would have insisted, he showed such evident
embarrassment and uneasiness that it was kindlier to cease to importune
him.
“Stephen Everett, thou shalt take Walda Kellar to the _gasthaus_, there
to wait until darkness falls,” snarled Adolph Schneider, who had begun
to feel that he had not made the stranger’s fine large enough.
Everett hastened to Walda’s side. When he gently took her by the arm,
Gerson Brandt turned his head away. The crowd began to disperse. The
school-master walked down the steps from the stocks. All the colonists
pretended not to see him. As he crossed the square a little girl ran to
him, clasping her arms about his knees. He stooped to disengage himself,
and a woman snatched the child away from him. A few steps farther on
several of the boys who had been his pupils ran away from him, one
hiding behind a tree to peep at him, as if he were an evil thing. He had
not reached the bridge before he felt some one touch him on the arm. It
was Hans Peter.
“I shall dwell with thee,” said the simple one. “The laws of Zanah rule
not the village fool.”