exclaimed, "Heaven be praised!"--while Francis stamped with his feet,
and rushed out after them like a maniac.
* * * * *
The burgomaster, Erasmus Friend, had just taken his place at the
council-table amidst many long pale faces, when the attendants in
servile haste and anxiety threw open the folding-doors, and the bishop
of Breslaw entered, Caspar von Logau, a venerable and hale old man;
with him came the hauptmann of the principality, Mathias von Logan. The
members of the council rose respectfully from their seats, while
Erasmus coldly advanced to the first authority in Silesia. The bishop
addressed him with dignified earnestness:
"There have been evil doings in your city, Mr. Burgomaster. I take it
for granted you have, as a first step, adopted fitting measures that
the state of facts may not be concealed, and that the culprits may not
escape punishment by flight."
"The beginner of the fray is arrested," replied Erasmus, "and the body
of the deceased is in our care."
"Whom do you understand by the beginner of the fray?" asked the bishop,
looking keenly at Erasmus.
"Rasselwitz," replied the burgomaster with eagerness, "Rasselwitz, who
broke into my son's dwelling like a common robber."
"You will render up the prisoner to my delegate, which ought to have
been done immediately on his arrest. The body of Netz we will presently
view together, and then deliver it over to his relations for burial."
"You seem, my lord bishop, as if you would bring this case under the
emperor's jurisdiction: but, according to our privileges, the trial and
the sentence belong to us, and I must give up nothing of the city's
charter."
"There is danger in delay, and therefore we will not waste the time in
legal disputations. I will answer for what I do, and the emperor
himself shall decide upon the competence of the tribunal. Against this,
I presume, you can have nothing to object, Mr. Burgomaster."
"No!" replied Erasmus, with heavy heart and suppressed indignation.
"How is it with the answer on the part of the citizens?" continued the
bishop, bringing forth a roll of papers, from which he read--"According
to the charge of the Bieler family, there were present and active
in the fray, your son, Francis,--the city-messenger, Onophrius
Goldmann,--the city-servant, George Rudolph, and a cutler's
apprentice.--All these too are, of course, under arrest."
Erasmus was silent, for he felt his error, and was too proud to justify
it.
"No!" exclaimed the bishop. "Immediately take measures for bringing
them hither under a secure guard. _All_--do you hear me? _all_, not
excepting your own son."
The burgomaster was silent, and did not stir, while in his breast
rekindled the strife that had scarcely been subdued.
"Well, gentlemen, am I to be obeyed?" cried the bishop, advancing with
indignant majesty to the sessions-table, by Erasmus' upper place.
At this there started out of the hall, as if actuated by one spirit,
the aldermen, Peter Treutler and Balthasar Albrecht, to fulfil the
commands of the bishop, who continued to Erasmus--
"I am almost displeased with you, Mr. Burgomaster, and I hardly know
what the emperor, to whom I must communicate this unhappy affair, will
say to your proceedings. You Lutherans are constantly harping upon the
holy Scriptures, and will be judged only after their words. Well, then,
have you not read what the wise king Solomon says, 'Love justice, ye
rulers of the earth, for injustice lays waste all lands, and evil life
overthrows the seats of the mighty?' But what is to be thought of the
equity of a judge, who imprisons the party of the murdered, and suffers
the assassins to be at liberty, because his own son is at their head?"
This reproach touched exactly on the sore place, and cut so much the
deeper into the soul of the proud elder; he was just about to burst
forth in all the vigour of his mind, and with indignant zeal for the
authority of his office; but then doctor Heidenreich advanced to him
and whispered soothingly, "Since you have determined to submit, do it
with a good grace, and make not a bad matter still worse by
unseasonable passion." Upon this Erasmus collected himself by a violent
effort, champed down the words which he had just been going to hurl
against the bishop, and, retreating to the window, gazed indignantly at
the nobles, who kept watch on horseback before the Guildhall, in close
compact ranks, like so many colossuses of iron. In the mean time, the
bishop seated himself in the burgomaster's arm-chair, reading over his
papers, while so profound a silence reigned, that one might have heard
the buzzing of the flies in the room and the heavy breathing of the
anxious aldermen.
At length Treutler returned, followed by Rasselwitz, his arm in a
sling, the poor one-handed Goldmann, and the rest of the accused. Armed
city-mercenaries brought up the rear.
The bishop rose from his seat to observe the comers, and exclaimed to
them authoritatively, "You are prisoners of the emperor and king of
Bohemia, and of his chief tribunal at Prague. Give up your arms!"
"We recognize only the assize at Schweidnitz as our judges in this
matter," retorted the wild Francis defyingly, in the name of all.
"Is that the respect, Mr. Burgomaster," asked the irritated bishop--"is
that the respect which you show to your prince and his laws? I had
heard much of the arrogance of the patricians here, and of the Friend
family in particular; but this audacity even exceeds my expectations."
"Give up your sword, Frank," said Erasmus with broken voice.
"Sacred heavens!" cried Francis, painfully alarmed--"do you yourself
command it, father? Then, indeed, I must obey:"--And he unbuckled his
sword, laid it on the council-table, and returned to his companions,
who followed his example. The alderman Albrecht now announced that the
body of Bieler was brought into the custom-house below.
"We will inspect the corse and confront with it the accused," said the
bishop to Erasmus: "you will then separate all parties, and bring them
into safe custody. I give them over to you--you alone; but you shall
answer for them to the emperor and myself with your head."
He went out with Matthias and Rasselwitz. The council with their
prisoners and retinue followed; only the burgomaster remained behind,
and grasped Heidenreich firmly by the hand, so that the latter could
not join the cavalcade.
"Now, thou prince of peace!" he exclaimed, gnashing his teeth--"had I
not done better by causing the alarm to be rung?"
"If you are convinced that such a measure will tend to the general
weal," replied Heidenreich, "you may take it still. I would have you
weigh, however, that five hundred warriors are drawn up yonder, well
armed, and ready to support the bishop's orders. The result of the fray
is uncertain, and even if we were to conquer, what would be the fate of
all of us?"
"Ah! these nobles!" cried Erasmus furiously. "Well! some opportunity of
revenge will yet offer itself, and, by God and his holy Gospel, I will
seize it by the forelock--it shall not escape me."
* * * * *
On the Friday after George, in the year 1571, sate Francis Friend, with
broken spirits, in the Hildebrand of Schweidnitz, his constant quarters
since the time of his arrest. It was already late in the evening, and a
melancholy lamp partially illumined the sad chamber. The long durance
had subdued the wild refractory mood of the prisoner: even the wine no
longer relished. He leaned with his head in his hands upon the table by
the side of the full flask, and took all the pains imaginable not to
think, that he might escape from the recollections and forebodings
which tormented him. The door now gently opened, and doctor
Heidenreich, creeping in, roused him out of his gloomy meditation.
"Your worshipful father sends me to you, master Friend. You fate seems
to be approaching its decision; and I am come, therefore, once again to
speak to you alone about this awkward business of yours."
"Make me no long prefaces, master doctor," cried Francis, starting up
wildly, "but speak it out plainly. My sentence is pronounced; I am to
die. Well, then, I am content. I have often before this looked death
boldly in the face, and would rather perish at once than pine away any
longer in this damned hole."
"Always so hasty and impetuous!" said Heidenreich, and sate down
quietly by his side. "The question is not yet of the final sentence;
but, as a preliminary measure, the rack, in all its degrees, is
adjudged to Onophrius Goldmann, and to that they proceed this very
night. The delegates of the council will also be present. It is,
therefore, above all things requisite to know for certain how deeply
you are implicated in the Bieler murder, that the necessary precautions
may be taken. Your answers at the examination have by no means
satisfied the lords commissioners, nor, to be candid, myself either.
Now, therefore, I come to put to you a couple of questions, which you
must answer me, but honestly as a son to a father; for, look you, I am
to defend you when the examination is over, so that I should be
considered, _in jure_, as your physician and confessor, to whom you
must speak the truth if you wish to be radically healed. First, then,
tell me, did you in the fray actually strike Bieler upon the head with
your sword?"
"There you ask more than I can answer," replied Francis with vexation.
"The row was all wildness and confusion; I was half drunk too, and rage
made my intoxication still madder. I came up roundly to my opponent;
but whether I hit Bieler, or whether I did not hit him, that the devil
knows best."
"You don't answer me honestly," said Heidenreich with lifted finger,
"and thus without occasion impede my colloquy. You must not, therefore,
take it ill, if I put my second question as though I were already
convinced of your guilt. Did Goldmann see you strike Bieler? or at
least does he pretend to have seen it?"
"He chattered something of the sort to me a little after the fray,"
replied Francis in confusion.
"That's an awkward circumstance. How in other respects do you stand
with the man?"
"Well, I think."
"There was a talk in the city of your intriguing with his daughter, and
having promised her marriage when your wife should die?"
"Likely enough. In need or in pleasure men make all sorts of promises
that they are not inclined to keep afterwards."
"Well, as in the meantime your wife is really dead, we might try with
this bait to stop the mouth of Onophrius, so that he may leave you out
of question altogether when he is put to the rack. I will go to the old
man directly and reason the matter with him. If I can make it clear to
him that your misfortune will do him no service, he may, perhaps, take
good advice. Meanwhile don't let the time in prison hang heavy on your
hands, and be of stout heart. I hope to God that I shall this once also
draw you out of your anxiety and suffering.
"Could not you save Goldmann too?" asked Francis good-naturedly: "It
would grieve me for the poor devil if he should have to pay the piper."
"That would be rather difficult. Some victim the nobles must have, and
you may rejoice if they will be satisfied with the old messenger.
However, I will see what is to be done for him, if he stand the torture
without confession. God be with you!"
He went, and Francis continued sitting gloomily at the table. The
peril, which with every moment approached nearer and nearer to him,
straightened his breast sorely. His confidence in the all-powerful
protection of his father had already sunk to a very low ebb, and the
comfort left him by the doctor did not go a great way either.--"The
infernal bay!" he muttered at last, glad to have found something on
which he could lay the consequences of his own action--"the infernal
bay!"--and he relapsed into a long melancholy silence.
Suddenly there arose below a loud noise and trampling; halberds
clattered against each other; doors were opened and shut; and then
again a deep awful stillness prevailed.
"What is the matter below?" he anxiously asked the jailer, who then
brought in his supper to him.
"Logan Oppersdorf and the other commissioners have just arrived,
together with several gentlemen of the council. Goldmann leads up the
dance to-day!"
"God support the poor fellow!" groaned the agonized Francis, and ran
about the chamber, goaded by all the pangs of hell. Quick footsteps
were heard approaching the door: it flew open, and in burst Agatha with
dishevelled locks, despair upon her pale, tearless face, and flung
herself at the feet of her lover.
"Save, save my unhappy father!" she cried, in tones that rent the
heart.
"Collect yourself, my poor girl," said Francis, and raised up the
wretched creature: "what would you from me?"
"The dreadful tale has reached even my hovel!" she exclaimed
shuddering: "this night my father is to be put upon the rack. He is old
and feeble; he will sink under the torture, and confess to deeds of
which his soul knows nothing: therefore help, Frank, help, before it is
too late. Your hand plunged us into this abyss; your hand must snatch
us from it. You have solemnly sworn it to us, and must redeem your
word, that God may one day not forget you in your dying hour."
"Leave us alone," said Francis to the jailer; and when the latter had
gone, he exclaimed to Agatha, "What would you have of me? You ask help
of one who is himself most helpless. Would I be here, if I had the
influence which you attribute to me?"
"Your father is all-powerful in this city," cried Agatha, wringing her
hands. "It is a trifle for him to help the man who is now to suffer for
having saved your life."
"My father's hands are bound by the bishop and the furious nobles.
Could he govern at his pleasure, he had surely saved his own son from
the grief and shame of a prison. But I have done what I could, and your
father's cause is commended to good hands."
"I will believe it," said Agatha, suppressing her feelings, "though I
find you terribly cold to a sorrow that concerns you so nearly."
She was henceforth silent, leaning her head on the shoulder of Francis,
who embraced her in indescribable anxiety, while the silence of death
prevailed in the dungeon. On a sudden, through the nightly stillness
broke a hollow shriek from the lower chambers. Francis had a foreboding
of what it meant, and shuddered; Agatha listened intently to the
groans, which with every moment sounded sharper and more agonized.
"Eternal mercy!" she suddenly cried in wild horror; "that is my
father's voice!"
"Perhaps we deceive ourselves," said Francis, endeavouring to soothe
her.
"That is my father's voice," screamed Agatha; "I should know it amidst
thousands. It must be the pangs of hell that can extort such cries from
the iron old man. Gracious heavens! And I hear his shrieks and cannot
help him!"
"Cease," cried Francis, beside himself; "you torture yourself and me
with more bitter cruelty than any he can suffer on the rack; and you
torture us in vain, for by the Almighty I cannot help, though with my
own blood I would purchase his!"
Agatha fixed her eyes upon him with a cold piercing gaze of inquiry,
and said, "Are you in earnest, Frank? Would you really purchase his
life with your own? Well then, call in the jailers; let the judges be
requested to suspend awhile the torture: confess yourself the assassin
of Netz, and my father is saved."
"And I lost!" exclaimed Francis. "You ask of me more than is
reasonable!"
"I was not in earnest," said Agatha contemptuously. "I knew beforehand
that your own wretched life was dearer to you than any thing else, and
I merely wished to shame the boaster who affected a magnanimity to
which his miserable heart can never elevate itself. Father, I _cannot_
save you; this man _will_ not I can do nothing, therefore, but pray for
you in the hour of your suffering, that the All-merciful may comfort
your soul and preserve it from despair."--And she sank upon her knees;
her lips moved softly, and her eyes, turned up to heaven, overflowed
with gentle tears, while the cries of agony from below grew fainter and
fainter, and at length were silent altogether.
The maiden arose and stood again before the trembling Francis; with
awful calmness she said, "A horrid light is beginning to dawn upon me.
It seems to me as if my poor father suffered for your crime, the wild
vengeance of the nobles absolutely exacting blood in atonement for the
blood which has been spilt. It seems, too, as if you were well content
to buy yourself free with this expiatory sacrifice. Once again,
therefore, I conjure you, Francis, exert yourself for us. If you could
not rescue your saviour from the pangs of the rack, at least preserve
his life. Save it not merely for me, save it for yourself! For I swear
to you, by the agonies of this dreadful hour, if my father perishes,
you too are lost! I will bend all the energies of my soul to your
destruction; I will steal after you through life as your evil demon,
till at last I reach you and hurl the lightnings of vengeance upon your
guilty head!"
She rushed out.
"This is a night of hell!" groaned Francis, and dropt back, as if
annihilated, into his seat.
* * * * *
It was about the same time of the year, that Althea was sitting in
her chamber by the open window, through which played the gentle
spring-breezes. Her little Henry drew about the room, on a wheeled
platform, a stately knight, proudly mounted, in the full equipments of
the tournay, Tausdorf's present to him from Nuremberg. With this he
kept up an intolerable clatter, but his mother did not heed him. Before
her stood the embroidery frame, in which she had stretched a scarf, but
she did not work; and, lost in fairy visions, she listened to the
humming of the bees that swarmed in the blossoms of an apple-tree
before her window. Then on a sudden echoed the sweet song of the
nightingale from the topmost branch, and Althea's bosom swelled in
gentle heavings; her eyes became moist, she folded her hands, and with
pious looks to heaven, exclaimed mournfully, "Forgive me, Eternal
Benevolence! if this feeling be a sin against the memory of my Henry."
"Where now does Herr Tausdorf tarry?" interrupted the child. "He
promised to be here early to-day."
"Was the speech of innocence an answer to my prayer?" whispered Althea;
and, beckoning the child to her, she took him on her lap, caressed him
with fervour, and softly asked him, "Are you then fond of Herr
Tausdorf, dear boy?"
"Yes, indeed, from my very heart," replied the little one. "He is
always so kind to me, brings me pretty things, and has often let me
ride upon his gray horse. I love him more than uncle Netz and all the
other knights who visit you. He does not swear and curse so terribly as
they do, nor drink such monstrous quantities of wine. I have never
either seen him drunk, like uncle Netz, who often cuts a vile figure
with the fiery face and glassy eyes. Then he is always so kind and
sedate; and I do not know how he manages it, but when he bids or
forbids me any thing, I cannot help obeying him, however great my
inclination to be froward."
"But you are fond of uncle Schindel?" said Althea, to conceal her
delight in the child's answer.
"Oh yes! but then he is a little too old for me. I always think of him
as of my grandfather: while Herr Tausdorf is still so handsome, and
full of life and energy. It is so I fancy my father must have looked.
Oh, if Herr Tausdorf were my father! I would follow him at his nod, and
love him--almost as much as yourself, dear mother."
"Sweet boy!" cried Althea transported, and hid her burning forehead in
the golden locks of the child.
Three slow, orderly raps were given at the door, but occupied with
other matters, she paid no attention to them; at last in walked
Christopher Friend, in splendid doublet and rich pantaloons of sky-blue
velvet, slashed with green, and trussed with gold points, and a broad
collar about his neck of real Brabant lace. With great courteousness
and much dignity, he waved his richly feathered cap in salutation. The
first glance, that Althea cast upon his crafty knavish face,
extinguished every spark of joy in her breast, and with icy coldness
she asked what was Master Friend's pleasure?
"Noble lady, I have lived long enough in the dreary state of widowhood
to know all its inconveniences, and to desire a change. I want a wife
of good person, good birth, and gentle manners; and, considering the
great wealth with which the Lord has blest me, I believe myself well
worthy of such a one. Worthiest Althea, my choice has fallen upon you.
It has, indeed, cost me no little eloquence to wring from my father his
consent to this match, of which he would not hear at first, on account
of the violent quarrels between the nobility and citizens and the
mutual bitterness that has grown out of them. At last, however, I
succeeded in bending his obstinacy, and chiefly through the faithful
picture of your excellent virtues; and here I am, with his blessing, to
woo solemnly for your fair hand."
"I value your courtship as I ought," replied Althea, hastily; "but with
my conviction that we are in no respect suited to each other, I answer
with a candid _no_."
"_No!_" repeated Christopher, dropping from the clouds. "With such
proposals, it is the custom, although the lady have a negative in her
pocket, at least to ask time for consideration, from mere courtesy.
Your _no_, therefore, is almost too candid."
"I could not prevail upon myself to let you believe in the possibility
of our union, even for a moment."
"I should think, though, that the petty estate which you hold at
Bogendorf in your widow's right can be no reason for your rejecting so
splendid an establishment thus scurvily."
"Then you thought to buy me of my poverty?--Another sign how little we
are suited to each other, for I have never regarded wealth."
"That shows your fancy for the Bohemian ragamuffin!" retorted
Christopher, whose wrath had burst every curb of manners. "I always
wished to persuade myself out of the idea of your caring for the
vagabond, but now it is on the sudden clear to me that I am sacrificed
for him."
"Have the goodness yourself to repeat your aspersions to him," cried
Althea warmly; "but this room you will quit instantly."
"Why should we mutually incense each other without occasion?" said
Christopher, quickly composed again, and courteous. "You have rejected
my love, which must, indeed, grieve me; but, at least, you cannot
prevent me from wooing your friendship; and rest assured I will show
you mine so thoroughly, that you shall yet one day rue your harshness."
He bowed himself profoundly, and departed.
"That is an abominable man," said the little Henry. "Had you married
him, I do believe I should have run away from you."
"My horizon grows more and more cloudy," sighed Althea. "I fear there
will be no staying for me much longer in the old Schweidnitz, for the
hatred of these Friends is terrible, from their wealth and their
enormous power."
"Oh, if they ill-treat you," cried the little one warmly, "only call
Tausdorf to your help, he'll soon send them about their business! And I
too am a nobleman: let me once be capable of bearing arms, and I'll
maul this rabble of citizens that it shall do your heart good to see
it."
Althea hastily set down the little nettle which began to sting thus
early, and asked in anger, "Did you ever hear such words from me or
from the knight Tausdorf, whose name is always in your mouth?"
"No," stammered the terrified child, already struggling with his tears;
"but uncle Netz, and the rest of the knights, call the Schweidnitzers
by no other name when they talk of them."
"Have these then so suddenly become your models? Formerly you were of a
different opinion; but shame upon you for so soon forgetting the
lessons of your mother. What have I told you of the different classes
in the world?"
"They are all established by God," repeated the boy, amidst a flood of
tears, "and therefore the high should never despise the low, for he is
his brother."
"And what did I say to you of the citizens and peasants?"
"They are for the whole more useful and indispensable than the noble,
who in reviling them disgraces himself."