The fury of the tempest had ceased, but the sky was still obscured by
clouds. A cool breeze blew from the northeast through the damp, heavy
air.
Heinz Schorlin was coming from the fortress, and after crossing the
Diligengasse went directly towards his lodgings. His coat of mail,
spurs, and helmeted head were accoutrements for the saddle, yet he was on
foot. A throng of men, women, and children, whispering eagerly together,
accompanied him. One pointed him out to another, as if there was
something unusual about him. Two stalwart soldiers in the pay of the
city followed, carrying his saddle and the equipments of his horse, and
kept back the boys or women who boldly attempted to press too near.
Heinz did not heed the throng. He looked pale, and his thick locks,
falling in disorder from under his helmet, floated around his face. The
chain armour on his limbs and his long surcoat were covered with mire.
The young knight, usually so trim, looked disordered and, as it were,
thrown off his balance. His bright face bore the impress of a horror
still unconquered, as he gazed restlessly into vacancy, and seemed to be
seeking something, now above and now in the ground.
The pretty young hostess, Frau Barbara Deichsler, holding her little
three-year-old daughter by the hand, stood in front of the house in the
Bindergasse where he lodged. The knight usually had a pleasant or merry
word for her, and a gay jest or bit of candy for Annele. Nay, the young
noble, who was fond of children, liked to toss the little one in his arms
and play with her.
Frau Barbara had already heard that, as Heinz was returning from the
fortress, the lightning had struck directly in front of him, killing his
beautiful dun charger, which she had so often admired. It had happened
directly before the eyes of the guard, and the news had gone from man to
man of the incredible miracle which had saved the life of the young
Swiss, the dearest friend of the Emperor's dead son.
When Heinz approached the door Frau Barbara stepped forward with Annele
to congratulate him that the dear saints had so graciously protected him,
but he only answered gravely: "What are we mortals? Rejoice in the
child, Frau Barbara, so long as she is spared to you."
He passed into the entry as he spoke, but Frau Deichsler hastily prepared
to call his armour-bearer, a grey-bearded Swiss who had served the
knight's father and slept away the hours not devoted to his duties or
to the wine cup. He must supply the place of Biberli, who had left the
house a long time before, and for the first time in many years was
keeping his master waiting. But Heinz knew where he was, and while the
armour-bearer was divesting him, awkwardly enough, of his suit of mail
and gala attire, he was often seized with anxiety about his faithful
follower, though many things with which the morning had burdened his soul
lay nearer to his heart.
Never had he been so lucky in gambling as last night in the Duke of
Pomerania's quarters. Biberli's advice to trust to the two and five had
been repeatedly tested, and besides the estate of Tannenreuth, which
Siebenburg had staked against all his winnings, he had brought home more
gold than he had ever seen before.
Yet he had gone to rest in a mood by no means joyous. It was painful to
him to deprive any one of his lands and home. He had even resisted
accepting Siebenburg's reckless stake, but his obstinate persistence and
demand could not be opposed. The calumnies by which the "Mustache" had
assailed the innocent Els Ortlieb haunted him, and many others had shown
their indignation against the traducer. Probably thirty gentlemen at the
gaming table had been witnesses of these incidents, and if, to-morrow, it
was in everybody's mouth that he, Heinz, had been caught at mid-night in
an interview with the elder beautiful Ortlieb E, the fault was his, and
he would be burdened with the guilt of having sullied the honour and name
of a pure maiden, the betrothed bride of an estimable man.
And Eva!
When he woke in the morning his first thought had been of her. She had
seemed more desirable than ever. But his relatives at home, and the
counsel Biberli had urged upon him during their nocturnal wandering, had
constantly interposed between him and the maiden whom he so ardently
loved. Besides, it seemed certain that the passion which filled his
heart must end unhappily. Else what was the meaning of this unexampled
good luck at the gaming table? The torture of this thought had kept him
awake a long time. Then he had sunk into a deep, dreamless sleep. In
the morning Biberli, full of delight, roused him, and displayed three
large bags filled with florins and zecchins, the gains of the night
before.
The servant had begged to be permitted to count the golden blessing,
which in itself would suffice to buy the right to use the bridge from the
city of Luzerne twice over, and the best thing about which was that it
would restore the peace of mind of his lady mother at Schorlin Castle.
Now, in the name of all the saints, let him continue his life of liberty,
and leave the somnambulist to walk over the roofs, and suffer Altrosen,
who had worn her colour so patiently, to wed the countess.
But how long the servitor's already narrow face became when Heinz, with a
grave resolution new to Biberli, answered positively that no ducats would
stray from these bags to Schorlin Castle. If, last night, anxiety had
burdened his mind like the corpse of a murdered man, these gains weighed
upon his soul like the loathsome body of a dead cat. Never in his whole
life had he felt so poor as with this devil's money. The witch-bait
which Biberli had given him with the two and the five had drawn it out of
the pockets of his fellow gamblers. He would be neither a cut-purse nor
a dealer in the black arts. The wages of hell should depart as quickly
as they came. While speaking, he seized the second largest bag and gave
it to the servant, exclaiming: "Now keep your promise to Katterle like an
honest man. The poor thing will have a hard time at her employer's. I
make but one condition: you are to remain in my service. I can't do
without you."
While the armour-bearer, in the agile Biberli's place, was handing him
the garments to be worn in the house, Heinz again remembered how the
faithful fellow had thrown himself on his knees and kissed his master's
hands and arms in the excess of his joyful surprise, and yet he had felt
as if a dark cloud was shadowing the brightness of his soul. The morning
sun had shone so radiantly into his window, and Annele had come with such
bewitching shyness to bring him a little bunch of lilies of the valley
with a rose in the centre, and a pleasant morning greeting from her
mother, that the cloud could not remain, yet it had only parted
occasionally to close again speedily, though it was less dense and dark
than before.
Yet he had taken the child in his arms and looked down into the narrow
street to show her the people going to market so gaily in the early
morning. But he soon put her down again, for he recognised in a horseman
approaching on a weary steed Count Curt Gleichen, the most intimate
friend of young Prince Hartmann and himself, and when he called to him he
had slid from his saddle with a faint greeting.
Heinz instantly rushed out of the house to meet him, but he had found him
beside his steed, which had sunk on its knees, and then, trembling and
panting, dragged itself, supported by its rider's hand, into the entry.
There it fell, rolled over on its side, and stretched its limbs stiffly
in death. It was the third horse which the messenger had killed since he
left the Rhine, yet he was sure of arriving too soon; for he had to
announce to a father the death of his promising son.
Heinz listened, utterly overwhelmed, to the narrative of the eye-witness,
who described how Hartmann, ere he could stretch out a hand to save
him, had been dragged into the depths by the waves of the Rhine.
In spite of the sunny brightness of the morning the young Swiss had had a
presentiment of some great misfortune, and had told himself that he would
welcome it if it relieved him from the burden which had darkened his soul
since the disgraceful good luck of the previous night. Now it had
happened, and how gladly he would have continued to bear the heaviest
load to undo the past. He had sobbed on his friend's breast like a
child, accusing Heaven for having visited him with this affliction.
Hartmann had been not only his friend but his pupil--and what a pupil!
He had instructed him in horsemanship and the use of the sword, and
during the last year shared everything with him and young Count Gleichen
as if they were three brothers and, like a brother, the prince had
constantly grown closer to his heart. Had he, Heinz, accompanied
Hartmann to the Rhine and been permitted to remain with him, neither or
both would have fallen victims to the river! And Hartmann's aged father,
the noble man to whom he owed everything, and who clung with his whole
soul to the beloved youth, his image in mind and person--how would the
Emperor Rudolph endure this? But a few months ago death had snatched
from him his wife, the love of his youth, the mother of his children, the
companion of his glorious career! The thought of him stirred Heinz to
the depths of his soul, and he would fain have hastened at once to the
castle to help the stricken father bear the new and terrible burden
imposed upon him. But he must first care for the messenger of these
terrible tidings who, with lips white from exhaustion, needed
refreshment.
Biberli, who saw and thought of everything, had already urged the hostess
to do what she could, and sent the servant to the tailor that, when Heinz
rode to the fortress, he might not lack the mourning--a tabard would
suffice--which could be made in a few hours.
Frau Barbara had just brought the lunch and promised to obey the command
to keep the terrible news which she had just heard a secret from every
one, that the rumor might not reach the fortress prematurely, when
another visitor appeared--Heinz Schorlin's cousin, Sir Arnold Maier of
Silenen, a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty, with stalwart frame and
powerful limbs.
His grave, bronzed countenance, framed by a grey beard, revealed that he,
too, brought no cheering news. He had never come to his young cousin's
at so early an hour.
His intelligent, kindly grey eyes surveyed Heinz with astonishment. What
had befallen the happy-hearted fellow? But when he heard the news which
had wet the young knight's eyes with tears, his own lips also quivered,
and his deep, manly tones faltered as he laid his heavy hands on the
mourner's shoulders and gazed tearfully into his eyes. At last he
exclaimed mournfully: "My poor, poor boy! Pray to Him to whom we owe all
that is good, and who tries us with the evil. Would to God I had less
painful tidings for you!"
Heinz shrank back, but his cousin told him the tidings learned from a
Swiss messenger scarcely an hour before. The dispute over the bridge
toll had caused a fight. The uncle who supplied a father's place to
Heinz and managed his affairs--brave old Walther Ramsweg--was killed;
Schorlin Castle had been taken by the city soldiery and, at the command
of the chief magistrate, razed to the ground. Wendula Schorlin, Heinz's
mother, with her daughter Maria, had fallen into the hands of the city
soldiers and been carried to the convent in Constance, where she and her
youngest child now remained with the two older daughters.
Heinz, deeply agitated by the news, exclaimed: "Uncle Ramsweg, our kind
second father, also in the grave without my being able to press his
brave, loyal hand in farewell! And Maria, our singing bird, our nimble
little squirrel, with those grave, world-weary Sisters! And my mother!
You, too, like every one, love her, Cousin--and you know her. She who
has been accustomed to command, and to manage the house and the lands,
who like a saint dried tears far and near amid trouble and deprivation--
she, deprived of her own strong will, in a convent! Oh, Cousin, Cousin!
To hear this, and not be able to rush upon the rabble who have robbed us
of the home of our ancestors, as a boy crushes a snail shell! Can it be
imagined? No Castle Schorlin towering high above the lake on the cliff
at the verge of the forest. The room where we all saw the light of the
world and listened to our mother's songs destroyed; the sacred chamber
where the father who so lovingly protected us closed his eyes; the chapel
where we prayed so devoutly and vowed to the Holy Virgin a candle from
our little possessions, or, in the lovely month of May, brought flowers
to her from our mother's little garden, the cliff, or the dark forest.
The courtyard where we learned to manage a steed and use our weapons, the
hall where we listened to the wandering minstrels, in ruins! Gone, gone,
all gone! My mother and Maria weeping prisoners!"
Here his cousin broke in to show him that love was leading him to look on
the dark side. His mother had chosen the convent for her daughter's
sake; she was by no means detained there by force. She could live
wherever she pleased, and her dowry, with what she had saved, would be
ample to support her and Maria, in the city or the country, in a style
suited to their rank.
This afforded Heinz some consolation, but enough remained to keep his
grief alive, and his voice sounded very sorrowful as he added: "That
lessens the bitterness of the cup. But who will re build the ancient
castle? Who will restore our uncle? And the Emperor, my beloved,
fatherly master, dying of grief! Our Hartmann dead! Washed away like a
dry branch which the swift Reuss seizes and hurries out of our sight!
Too much, too hard, too terrible! Yet the sun shines as brightly as
before! The children in the street below laugh as merrily as ever!"
Groaning aloud, he covered his face with his hands, and those from whom
he might have expected consolation were forced to leave him in the midst
of the deepest sorrow; for the Swiss mail, which had come to Maier of
Silenen as the most distinguished of his countrymen, was awaiting
distribution, and Count Gleichen was forced to fulfill his sorrowful duty
as messenger. His friend Heinz had lent him his second horse, the black,
to ride to the fortress.
While Heinz, pursued by grief and care, sometimes paced up and down the
room, sometimes threw himself into the armchair which Frau Barbara, to do
him special honour, had placed in the sitting-room, the Minorite monk
Benedictus, whom he had brought to Nuremberg, had come uninvited from the
neighbouring monastery to give him a morning greeting. The enthusiasm
with which St. Francis had filled his soul in his early years had not
died out in his aged breast. He who in his youth had borne the
escutcheon of his distinguished race in many a battle and tourney, as a
knight worthy of all honour, sympathised with his young equal in rank,
and found him in the mood to provide for his eternal salvation. On the
ride to Nuremberg he had perceived in Heinz a pious heart and a keen
intellect which yearned for higher things. But at that time the joyous
youth had not seemed to him ripe for the call of Heaven; when he found
him bowed with grief, his eyes, so radiant yesterday, swimming in tears,
the conviction was aroused that the Omnipotent One Himself had taken him
by the hand to lead the young Swiss, to whom he gratefully wished the
best blessings, into the path which the noble Saint of Assisi himself had
pointed out to him, and wherein he had found a bliss for which in the
world he had vainly yearned.
But his conversation with his young friend had been interrupted, first by
the tailor who was to make his mourning garb, then by Siebenburg, and
even later he had had no opportunity to school Heinz; for after Seitz had
gone Biberli and Katterle had needed questioning. The result of this was
sufficiently startling, and had induced Heinz to send the servant and his
sweetheart on the errand from which the former had not yet returned.
When the young knight found himself alone he repeated what the monk had
just urged upon him. Then Eva's image rose before him, and he had asked
himself whether she, the devout maiden, would not thank her saint when
she learned that he, obedient to her counsel, was beginning to provide
for his eternal salvation.
Moved by such thoughts, he had smiled as he told himself that the
Minorite seemed to be earnestly striving to win him for the monastery.
The old man meant kindly, but how could he renounce the trade of arms,
for which he was reared and which he loved?
Then he had been obliged to ride to the fortress to wait upon the Emperor
and tell him how deeply he sympathised with his grief. But he was denied
admittance. Rudolph desired to be alone, and would not see even his
nearest relatives.
On the way home he wished to pass through the inner gate of the
Thiergartnerthor into Thorstrasse to cross the milk market. The violence
of the noonday thundershower had already begun to abate, and he had
ridden quietly forward, absorbed in his grief, when suddenly a loud,
rattling crash had deafened his ears and made him feel as if the earth,
the gate, and the fortress were reeling. At the same moment his horse
leaped upward with all four feet at once, tossed its clever head
convulsively, and sank on its knees.
Half blinded by the dazzling light he saw, and bewildered by the
sulphurous vapour he noticed, Heinz nevertheless retained his presence of
mind, and had sprung from the saddle ere the quivering steed fell on its
side. Several of the guard at the gate quickly hastened to his
assistance, examined the horse with him, and found the noble animal
already dead. The lightning had darted along the iron mail on its
forehead and the steel bit, and struck the ground without injuring Heinz
himself. The soldiers and a Dominican monk who had sought shelter from
the rain in the guardhouse extolled this as a great miracle. The people
who had crowded to the spot were also seized with pious awe, and followed
the knight to whom Heaven had so distinctly showed its favour.
Heinz himself only felt that something extraordinary had happened. The
world had gained a new aspect. His life, which yesterday had appeared so
immeasurably long, now seemed brief, pitifully brief. Perhaps it would
end ere the sun sank to rest in the Haller meadows. He must deem every
hour that he was permitted to breathe as a gift, like the earnest money
he, placed in the trainer's hand in a horse trade. According to human
judgment the lightning should have killed him as well as the horse. If
he still lived and breathed and saw the grey clouds drifting across the
sky, this was granted only that he might secure his eternal salvation, to
which hitherto he had given so little concern. How grateful he ought to
be that this respite had been allowed him--that he had not been snatched
away unwarned, like Prince Hartmann, in the midst of his sins!
Would not Eva feel the same when she learned what had befallen him?
Perhaps Biberli would come back soon--he had been gone so long--and could
tell him about her.
Even before the thunderbolt had stirred the inmost depths of his being,
when he was merely touched by his deep grief and the monk's admonition,
he had striven to guide the servant and his sweetheart into the right
path, and the grey-haired monk aided him. The monastic life, it is true,
would not have suited Biberli, but he had shown himself ready to atone
for the wrong done the poor girl who had kept her troth for three long
years and, unasked, went back with her to her angry master.
Ere Heinz set forth on his ride to the fortress he had gone out declaring
that he would prove the meaning of his truth and steadfastness, thereby
incurring a peril which certainly gave him a right to wear the T and St
on his long robe and cap forever. He must expect to be held to a strict
account by Ernst Ortlieb. If the incensed father, who was a member of
the Council, used the full severity of the law, he might fare even worse
than ill. But he had realised the pass to which he had brought his
sweetheart, and the Minorite led his honest heart to the perception of
the sin he would commit if he permitted her to atone for an act which she
had done by his desire--nay, at his command.
With the gold Heinz had given him, and after his assurance that he would
retain him in his service even when a married man, he could, it is true,
more easily endure being punished with her who, as his wife, would soon
be destined to share evil with him as well as good. He had also secured
the aid of both his master and the Minorite, and had arranged an account
of what had occurred, which placed his own crime and the maid's in a
milder light. Finally--and he hoped the best result from this--Katterle
would bring the Ortliebs good news, and he was the very man to make it
useful to Jungfrau Els.
So he had committed his destiny to his beloved master, behind whom was
the Emperor himself, to the Minorite, who, judging from his great age and
dignified aspect, might be an influential man, St. Leodogar, and his own
full purse and, with a heart throbbing anxiously, entered the street with
the closely muffled Katterle, to take the unpleasant walk to the
exasperated master and father.
The morning had been rife with important events to Biberli also. The
means of establishing a household, the conviction that it would be hard
for him to remain a contented man without the idol of his heart, and the
still more important one that it would not be wise to defer happiness
long, because, as the death of young Prince Hartmann had shown, and Pater
Benedictus made still more evident, the possibility of enjoying the
pleasures of life might be over far too speedily.
He had been within an ace of losing his Katterle forever, and through no
one's guilt save that of the man on whose truth and steadfastness she so
firmly relied. After Siebenburg's departure she had confessed with tears
to him, his master, and the monk, what had befallen her, and how she had
finally reached the Bindergasse and Sir Heinz Schorlin's lodgings.
When, during the conflagration, fearing punishment, she had fled, she
went first to the Dutzen pond. Determined to end her existence, she
reached the goal of her nocturnal and her life pilgrimage. The
mysterious black water with its rush-grown shore, where ducks quacked and
frogs croaked in the sultry gloom, lay before her in the terrible
darkness. After she had repeated several Paternosters, the thought that
she must die without receiving the last unction weighed heavily on her
soul. But this she could not help, and it seemed more terrible to stand
in the stocks, like the barber's widow, and be insulted, spit upon by the
people, than to endure the flames of purgatory, where so many others--
probably among them Biberli, who had brought her to this pass--would be
tortured with her.
So she laid down the bundle which--she did not know why herself--
she had brought with her, and took off her shoes as if she were going
into the water to bathe. Just at that moment she suddenly saw a red
light glimmering on the dark surface of the water. It could not be the
reflection of the fires of purgatory, as she had thought at first. It
certainly did not proceed from the forge on the opposite shore, now
closed, for its outlines rose dark and motionless against the moon.
No--a brief glance around verified it--the light came from the burning of
the convent. The sky was coloured a vivid scarlet in two places, but the
glow was brightest towards the southeastern part of the city, where St.
Klarengasse must be. Then she was overpowered by torturing curiosity.
Must she die without knowing how much the fire had injured the newly
built convent, on whose site she had enjoyed the springtime of love, and
how the good Sisters fared? It seemed impossible, and her greatest
fault for the first time proved a blessing. It drew her back from the
Dutzen pond to the city.
On reaching the Marienthurm she learned that only a barn and a cow stable
had b@en destroyed by the flames. For this trivial loss she had suffered
intense anxiety and been faithless to her resolution to seek death, which
ends all fears.
Vexed by her own weakness, she determined to go back to her employer's
house and there accept whatever fate the saints bestowed. But when she
saw a light still shining through the parchment panes in the room
occupied by the two Es, she imagined that Herr Ernst was pronouncing
judgment upon Eva. In doing so her own guilt must be recalled, and the
thought terrified her so deeply that she joined the people returning from
the fire, for whom the Frauenthor still stood open, and allowed the crowd
to carry her on with them to St. Kunigunde's chapel in St. Lawrence's
church; and when some, passing the great Imhof residence, turned into the
Kotgasse, she followed.
Hitherto she had walked on without goal or purpose, but here the question
where to seek shelter confronted her; for the torchbearers who had
lighted the way disappeared one after another in the various houses.
Deep darkness suddenly surrounded her, and she was seized with terror.
But ere the last torch vanished, its light fell upon one of the brass
basins which hung in front of the barbers' shops.
The barber! The woman whom she had seen in the stocks was the widow of
one, and the house where she granted the lovers the meeting, on whose
account she had been condemned to so severe a punishment, was in the
Kotgasse, and had been pointed out to her. It must be directly opposite.
The thought entered her mind that the woman who had endured such a
terrible punishment, for a crime akin to her own, would understand better
than any one else the anguish of her heart. How could the widow yonder
refuse her companion in guilt a compassionate reception!
It was a happy idea, but she would never have ventured to rouse the woman
from her sleep, so she must wait. But the first grey light of dawn was
already appearing in the eastern horizon on the opposite side of the
square of St. Lawrence, and perhaps Frau Ratzer would open her house
early.
The street did honour to the name of Kotgasse--[Kot or koth-mire].
Holding her dress high around her, Katterle waded across to the northern
row of houses and reached the plank sidewalk covered with mud to her
ankles; but at the same moment a door directly in front of her opened,
and two persons, a man and a woman, entered the street and glided by; but
they came from Frau Ratzer's--she recognised it by the bow-window above
the entrance. The maid hurried towards the door, which still stood open,
and on its threshold was the woman to whom she intended to pay her early
visit.
Almost unable to speak, she entreated her to grant a poor girl, who did
not know where to seek shelter at this hour, the protection of her house.
The widow silently drew Katterle into the dark, narrow entry, shut the
door, and led her into a neat, gaily ornamented room. A lamp which was
still burning hung from the ceiling, but Frau Ratzer raised the tallow
candle she had carried to the door, threw its light upon her face, and
nodded approvingly. Katterle was a pretty girl, and the flush of shame
which crimsoned her cheeks was very becoming. The widow probably thought
so, too, for she stroked them with her fat hand, promising, as she did
so, to receive her and let her want for nothing if she proved an obedient
little daughter. Then she pinched the girl's arm with the tips of her
fingers so sharply that she shrank back and timidly told the woman what
had brought her there, saying that she was and intended to remain a
respectable girl, and had sought shelter with Frau Ratzer because she
knew what a sore disgrace she had suffered for the same fault which had
driven her from home.
But the widow, starting as if stung by a scorpion, denounced Katterle as
an impudent hussy, who rightfully belonged in the stocks, to which the
base injustice of the money-bags in the court had condemned her. There
was no room in her clean house for anyone who reminded her of this
outrage and believed that she had really committed so shameful an act.
Then, seizing the maid by the shoulders, she pushed her into the street.
Meanwhile it had grown light. The sun had just risen in the east above
the square of St. Lawrence and spread a golden fan of rays over the azure
sky. The radiant spectacle did not escape the eyes of the frightened
girl, and she rejoiced because it gave her the assurance that the
terrifying darkness of the night was over.
How fresh the morning was, how clear and beautiful the light of the young
day! And it shone not only on the great and the good, but on the lowly,
the poor, and the wicked. Even for the horrible woman within the sky
adorned itself with the exquisite blue and glorious brilliancy.
Uttering a sigh of relief she soon reached the Church of St. Lawrence,
which the old sexton was just opening. She was the first person who
entered the stately house of God that morning and knelt in one of the
pews to pray.
This had been the right thing for her to do. Dear Lord! Where was there
any maid in greater trouble, yet Heaven had preserved her from the death
on a red-hot gridiron which had rendered St. Lawrence, whose name the
church bore, a blessed martyr. Compared with that, even standing in the
pillory was not specially grievous. So she poured out her whole soul to
the saint, confessing everything which grieved and oppressed her, until
the early mass began. She had even confided to him that she was from
Sarnen in Switzerland, and had neither friend nor countryman here in
Nuremberg save her lover, the true and steadfast Biberli. Yet no! There
was one person from her home who probably would do her a kindness, the
wife of the gatekeeper in the von Zollern castle, a native of Berne, who
had come to Nuremberg and the fortress as the maid of the Countess
Elizabeth of Hapsburg, the present Burgravine. This excellent woman
could give her better counsel than any one, and she certainly owed the
recollection of Frau Gertrude to her patron saint.
After a brief thanksgiving she left the church and went to the fortress.
As she expected, her countrywoman received her kindly; and after Katterle
had confided everything to her, and in doing so mentioned Wolff Eysvogel,
the betrothed husband of the elder of her young mistresses, Frau Gertrude
listened intently and requested her to wait a short time.
Yet one quarter of an hour after another elapsed before she again
appeared. Her husband, the Bernese warder, a giant of a man to whom the
red and yellow Swiss uniform and glittering halberd he carried in his
hand were very becoming, accompanied his wife.
After briefly questioning Katterle, he exacted a solemn promise of
secrecy and then motioned to her to follow him. Meanwhile the maid had
been informed how the duel between Wolff Eysvogel and Ulrich Vorchtel had
ended, but while she still clasped her hands in horror, the Swiss had
opened the door of a bright, spacious apartment, where Els Ortlieb's
betrothed husband received her with a kind though sorrowful greeting.
Then he continued his writing, and at last gave her two letters. One, on
whose back he drew a little heart, that she might not mistake it for the
other, was addressed to his betrothed bride; the second to Heinz
Schorlin, whom Wolff--no, her ears did not deceive her--called the future
husband of his sister-in-law Eva. At breakfast, which she shared with
her country people and their little daughter, Katterle would have liked
to learn how Wolff reached the fortress, but the gatekeeper maintained
absolute silence on this subject.
The maid at last, without hindrance, reached the Deichsler house and
found Biberli (not) at home. She ought to have returned to the Ortliebs
in his company long before, but the knight still vainly awaited his
servant's appearance. He missed him sorely, since it did not enter his
head that his faithful shadow, Biberli, knew nothing of the thunderbolt
which had almost robbed him of his master and killed his pet, the dun
horse. Besides, he was anxious about his fate and curious to learn how
he had found the Ortlieb sisters; for, though Eva alone had power to make
Heinz Schorlin's heart beat faster, the misfortune of poor Els affected
him more deeply as the thought that he was its cause grew more and more
painful.
Wolff's letter, which Katterle delivered to him, revealed young
Eysvogel's steadfast love for the hapless girl. In it he also alluded to
his nocturnal interview with Heinz, and in cordial words admitted that he
thought he had found in him a sincere friend, to whom, if to any one, he
would not grudge his fair young sister-in-law Eva. Then he described how
the unfortunate duel had occurred.
After mentioning what had excited young Ulrich Vorchtel's animosity, he
related that, soon after his interview with Heinz, he had met young
Vorchtel, accompanied by several friends. Ulrich had barred his way,
loading him with invectives so fierce and so offensive to his honour,
that he was obliged to accept the challenge. As he wore no weapon save
the dagger in his belt, he used the sword which a German knight among
Ulrich's companions offered him. Calm in the consciousness that he had
given his former friend's sister no reason to believe in his love, and
firmly resolved merely to bestow a slight lesson on her brother, he took
the weapon. But when Ulrich shouted to the crusader that the blade he
lent was too good for the treacherous hand he permitted to wield it, his
blood boiled, and with his first powerful thrust all was over.
The German knight had then introduced himself as a son of the Burgrave
von Zollern and taken him to the castle, where, with his father's
knowledge, the noble young Knight Hospitaller concealed him, and the
point now was to show the matter, which was undoubtedly a breach of the
peace, to the Emperor Rudolph in the right light. The young Burgrave
thought that he, Heinz Schorlin, could aid in convincing the sovereign,
who would lend him a ready ear, that he, Wolff, had only drawn his sword
under compulsion. So truly as Heinz himself hoped to be a happy man
through Eva's love, he must help him to bridge the chasm which, by his
luckless deed, separated him from his betrothed bride.
Heinz had had this letter read aloud twice. Then when Biberli had gone
and he rode to the fortress, he had resolved to do everything in his
power for the young Nuremberg noble who had so quickly won his regard,
but the sorely stricken imperial father had refused to see him, and
therefore it was impossible to take any step in the matter.
Yet Wolff's letter had showed that he believed him in all earnestness to
be Eva's future husband, and thus strengthened his resolve to woo her as
soon as he felt a little more independent.
After the thunderbolt had killed the horse under him, and the old
Minorite had again come and showed him that the Lord Himself, through the
miracle He had wrought, had taken him firmly and swiftly by the hand as
His chosen follower, it seemed to his agitated mind, when he took up the
letter a second time, as though everything Wolff had written about him
and Els's sister was not intended for him.
Eva was happiness--but Heaven had vouchsafed a miracle to prove the
transitoriness of earthly life, that by renunciation here he might attain
endless bliss above. Sacrifice and again sacrifice, according to the
Minorite, was the magic spell that opened the gates of heaven, and what
harder sacrifice could he offer than that of his love? "Renounce!
renounce!" he heard a voice within cry in his ears as, with much
difficulty, he himself read Wolff's letter, but whatever he might cast
away of all that was his, he still would fail to take up his cross as
Father Benedictus required; for even as an unknown beggar he would have
enjoyed--this he firmly believed--in Eva's love the highest earthly
bliss. Yet divine love was said to be so much more rapturous, and how
much longer it endured!
And she? Did not the holy expression of her eyes and the aspiration of
her own soul show that she would understand him, approve his sacrifice,
imitate it, and exchange earthly for heavenly love? Neither could
renounce it without inflicting deep wounds on the heart, but every drop
of blood which gushed from them, the Minorite said, would add new and
heavy weight to their claim to eternal salvation.
Ay, Heinz would try to resign Eva! But when he yielded to the impulse
to read Wolff's letter again he felt like a dethroned prince whom some
stranger, ignorant of his misfortune, praises for his mighty power.
The visions of the future which the greyhaired monk conjured up, all that
he told hint of his own regeneration, transformation, and the happiness
which he would find as a disciple of St. Francis in poverty, liberty, and
the silent struggle for eternal bliss, everything which he described with
fervid eloquence, increased the tumult in the young knight's deeply
agitated soul.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Deem every hour that he was permitted to breathe as a gift