Eva had gazed into vacancy a long time, and beheld a succession of
pleasing pictures, in every one of which, Heinz Schorlin appeared. Once,
in imagination, she placed a wreath on his helmet after a great victory
over the infidels.
Why should not this vision become a reality? Doubtless it owed its
origin to a memory, for Wolff Eysvogel had been fired with love for her
sister while Els was winding laurel around his helmet.
After the Honourable Council had resolved that the youths belonging to
noble families, who had fought in the battle of Marchfield and returned
victorious, should be adorned with wreaths by the maidens of their
choice, Fate had appointed her sister to crown Eysvogel.
At that time Wolff had but recently recovered from the severe wounds with
which he had returned from the campaign. But while he knelt before Els
and his eyes met hers, love had overmastered him so swiftly and
powerfully, that at the end of a few days he determined to woo her.
Meanwhile his own family resolutely opposed his choice. The father
declared that he had made an agreement with Berthold Vorchtel to marry
him to his daughter Ursula, and withdrawal on his son's part would
embarrass him. His grandmother, the arrogant old Countess Rotterbach,
agreed with him, and declared that Wolff ought to wed no one except a
lady of the most aristocratic birth or an heiress like Ursula. Her
daughter Rosalinde Eysvogel, as usual, was the echo of her mother.
Herr Ernst Ortlieb, too, would far rather have seen his Els marry into
another home; but Wolff himself was a young man of such faultless honour,
and the bride he had chosen was so eager to become his, that he deemed it
a duty to forget the aversion inspired by the suitor's family.
As for Wolff, he had so firmly persisted in his resolve that his parents
at last permitted him to ask for his darling's hand, but his father had
made it a condition that the betrothal, on account of the youth of the
lovers, should not be announced till after Wolff had returned from Milan,
where he was to finish the studies commenced in Venice. True, everyone
had supposed that they were completed long ago, but Eysvogel senior
insisted upon his demand, and afterwards succeeded in deferring the
announcement of the betrothal, until the resolute persistence of Wolff,
who meanwhile had entered the great commercial house, and the wish of his
own aged mother, a sensible woman, who from the first had approved her
grandson's choice and to whom Herr Casper was obliged to show a certain
degree of consideration, compelled him to give it publicity.
A few days later Herr Casper's brother died, and soon after his estimable
old mother. He used these events as a pretext for longer delay, saying
that both he and his wife needed at least six months' interval ere they
could forget their mourning in a gay wedding festival. Besides, he would
prefer not to have the marriage take place until after Wolff's election
to the Council, which, in all probability, would occur after Walpurgis of
the coming year.
Ernst Ortlieb had sullenly submitted to all this. Nothing but his love
for his child and respect for Herr Casper's dead mother, who had taken
Els to her heart like a beloved granddaughter, would have enabled him
to conquer his hasty temper in his negotiations with the man whom he
detested in his inmost soul, and not hurl back the consent so reluctantly
granted to his son.
The friends who knew him admired the strength of will with which he
governed his impetuous nature in this transaction. Some asserted that
secret obligations compelled him to yield to the rich Eysvogel; for
though the Ortlieb mercantile house was reputed wealthy, the business
prudence of its head resulted in smaller profits, and people had not
forgotten that it had suffered heavy losses during the terrible period of
despotism which had preceded the Emperor Rudolph's accession to the
throne.
The insecurity of the high-roads had injured every merchant, but in
trying to find some explanation for Herr Ortlieb's submission the attacks
which had cost him one and another train of wares were regarded as
specially disastrous.
Finally, the dowry which Els was to bring bore no comparison to the large
sums Ernst Ortlieb had lavished upon the erection of the St. Clare
Convent, and hence it was inferred that the wealth of the firm had
sustained considerable losses. This found ready credence, owing to the
retired life led by the Ortliebs,--whose house had formerly been one of
the most hospitable in the city,--ever since the wife had become an
invalid and Eva had grown up with an aversion to the world. Few took
the trouble to inquire into the very apparent causes for the change.
Yet this view of the matter was opposed by many-nay, when the
conversation turned upon these subjects, Herr Berthold Vorchtel, perhaps
the richest and most distinguished man in Nuremberg, who rented the
imperial taxes, made comments from which, had it not been so difficult to
believe, people might have inferred that Casper Eysvogel was indebted to
Ernst Ortlieb rather than the latter to him.
Yet the cautious, prudent man never explained the foundation of his
opinion, for he very rarely mentioned either of the two firms; yet prior
to the battle of Marchfield he had believed that his own daughter Ursula
and Wolff Eysvogel would sooner or later wed. Herr Casper, the young
man's father, had strengthened this expectation. He himself and his wife
esteemed Wolff, and his "Ursel" had shown plainly enough that she
preferred him to the other friends of her elder brother Ulrich.
When he returned home the two met like brother and sister, and the
parents of Ursula Vorchtel had expected Wolff's proposal until the day
on which the wreaths were bestowed had made them poorer by a favourite
wish and destroyed the fairest hope of their daughter Ursula.
The worthy merchant, it is true, deemed love a beautiful thing, but in
Nuremberg it was the parents who chose wives and husbands for their sons
and daughters; yet, after marriage, love took possession of the newly
wedded pair. A transgression of this ancient custom was very rare, and
even though Wolff's heart was fired with love for Els Ortlieb, his
father, Herr Vorchtel thought, should have refused his consent to the
betrothal, especially as he had already treated Ursel as his future
daughter. Some compulsion must have been imposed upon him when he
permitted his son to choose a wife other than the one selected.
But what could render one merchant dependent upon another except business
obligations?--and Berthold Vorchtel was sharp-sighted. He knew the heavy
draft which Herr Casper had made upon the confidence reposed in the old
firm, and thought he had perceived that the great splendour displayed by
the women of the Eysvogel family, the liberality with which Herr Casper
had aided his impoverished noble relatives, and the lavish expenditure of
his son-in-law, the debt-laden Sir Seitz Siebenburg, drew too heavily
upon the revenues of the ancient house.
Even now Casper Eysvogel's whole conduct proved how unwelcome was his
son's choice. To him, Ursula's father, he still intimated on many an
occasion that he had by no means resigned every hope of becoming, through
his son, more nearly allied to his family, for a betrothal was not a
wedding.
Berthold Vorchtel, however, was not the man to enter into such double-
dealing, although he saw plainly enough how matters stood with his poor
child. She had confided her feelings to no one; yet, in spite of
Ursula's reserved nature, even a stranger could perceive that something
clouded her happiness. Besides, she had persistently refused the
distinguished suitors who sought the wealthy Herr Berthold's pretty
daughter, and only very recently had promised her parents, of her own
free will, to give up her opposition to marriage.
Ever since the betrothal, to the sincere sorrow of Els, she had
studiously avoided Wolff's future bride, who had been one of her dearest
friends; and Ulrich, Herr Vorchtel's oldest son, took his sister's part,
and at every opportunity showed Wolff--who from a child, and also in the
battle of Marchfield, had been a favourite comrade--that he bore him a
grudge, and considered his betrothal to any one except Ursula an act of
shameful perfidy.
The fair-minded father did not approve of his son's conduct, for his wife
had learned from her daughter that Wolff had never spoken to her of love,
or promised marriage.
Therefore, whenever Herr Berthold Vorchtel met Els's father--and this
often happened in the Council--he treated him with marked respect, and
when there was an entertainment in his house sent him an invitation, as
in former years, which Ernst Urtlieb accepted, unless something of
importance prevented.
But though the elder Vorchtel was powerless to change his children's
conduct, he never wearied of representing to his son how unjust and
dangerous were the attacks with which, on every occasion, he irritated
Wolff, whose strength and skill in fencing were almost unequalled in
Nuremberg. In fact, the latter would long since have challenged his
former friend had he not been so conscious of his own superiority, and
shrunk from the thought of bringing fresh sorrow upon Ursula and her
parents, whom he still remembered with friendly regard.
Eva was fond of her future brother-in-law, and it had not escaped her
notice that of late something troubled him.
What was it?
She thoughtfully gave the wheel a push, and as it turned swiftly she
remembered the Swiss dance the evening before, and suddenly clenched her
small right hand and dealt the palm of her left a light blow.
She fancied that she had discovered the cause of Wolff's depression, for
she again saw distinctly before her his sister Isabella's husband, Sir
Seitz Siebenburg, as he swung Countess Cordula around so recklessly that
her skirt, adorned with glittering jewels, fluttered far out from her
figure. In the room adjacent to the hall he had flung himself upon his
knees before the countess, and Eva fancied she again beheld his big, red
face, with its long, thick, yellow mustache, whose ends projected on both
sides in a fashion worn by few men of his rank. The expression of the
watery blue eyes, with which he stared Cordula in the face, were those of
a drunkard.
To-day he had followed her to the Kadolzburg, and probably meant to spend
the night there. So Wolff had ample reason to be anxious about his
sister and her peace of mind. That must be it!
Perhaps he would yet come that evening, to give Els at least a greeting
from the street. How late was it?
She hastily tried to draw the curtains aside from the window, but this
was not accomplished as quickly as she expected--they had been care fully
fastened with pins. Eva noticed it, and suddenly remembered her father's
whispered words to Els.
They were undoubtedly about the window. According to the calendar, the
moon would be full that day, and she knew very well that it had a strange
influence upon her. True, within the past year it appeared to have lost
its power; but formerly, especially when she had devoted herself very
earnestly to religious exercises, she had often, without knowing how or
why, left her bed and wandered about, not only in her chamber but through
the house. Once she had climbed to the dovecot in the courtyard, and
another time had mounted to the garret where, she did not know in what
way, she had been awakened. When she looked around, the moon was shining
into the spacious room, and showed her that she was perched on one of the
highest beams in the network of rafters which, joined with the utmost
skill, supported the roof. Below her yawned a deep gulf, and as she
looked down into it she was seized with such terror that she uttered a
loud shriek for help, and did not recover her calmness until the old
housekeeper, Martsche, who had started from her bed in alarm, brought her
father to her.
She had been taken down with the utmost care. No one was permitted to
help except white-haired Nickel, the old head packer, who often let a
whole day pass without opening his lips; for Herr Ernst seemed to lay
great stress upon keeping the moon's influence on Eva a secret. There
was indeed something uncanny about this night-walking, for even now it
seemed incomprehensible how she had reached the beam, which was at least
the height of three men above the floor. A fall might have cost her
life, and her father was right in trying to prevent a repetition of such
nocturnal excursions. This time Els had helped him.
How faithfully she cared for them all!
Yes, she had barred out even the faintest glimmer. Eva smiled as she saw
the numerous pins with which her sister had fastened the curtain, and an
irresistible longing seized her to see once more the wonderful light that
promoted the growth of the hair if cut during its increase, and also
exerted so strange an influence upon her.
She must look up at the moon!
Swiftly and skilfully, as if aided by invisible hands, her dainty fingers
opened curtain and window.
Drawing a deep breath, with an emotion of pleasure which she had not
experienced for a long time, she gazed at the linden before the house
steeped in silvery radiance, and upward to the pure disk of the full moon
sailing in the cloudless sky. How beautiful and still the night was!
How delightful it would be to walk up and down the garden, with her aunt
the abbess, with Els, and perhaps--she felt the blood crimson her cheeks-
-with Heinz Schorlin!
Where was he now?
Undoubtedly with the Emperor and his ladies, perhaps at the side of the
Bohemian princess, the young Duchess Agnes, who yesterday had so plainly
showed her pleasure in his society.
Just then the watch, marching from the Marienthurn to the Frauenthor,
gave her vagrant thoughts a new turn. The city guard was soon followed
by a troop of horse, which probably belonged to the Emperor's train.
It was delightful to gaze, at this late hour, into the moonlit street,
and she wondered that she had never enjoyed it before. True, it would
have been still pleasanter had Els borne her company; and, besides, she
longed to tell her the new explanation she had found for Wolff's altered
manner.
Perhaps her mother was asleep, and she could come with her.
How still the house was!
Cautiously opening the door of the sick-room, she glanced in. Els was
standing at the head of the bed, supporting her mother with her strong
young arms, while Sister Renata pushed the cushions between the
sufferer's back and the bedstead.
The old difficulty of breathing had evidently attacked her again.
Yes, yes, the dim light of the lamp was shining on her pale face, and the
large sunken eyes were gazing with imploring anguish at the image of the
Virgin on the opposite wall.
How gladly Eva would have afforded her relief! She looked with a faint
sense of envy at her sister, whose skilful, careful hands did everything
to the satisfaction of the beloved sufferer, while in nursing she failed
only too often in giving the right touch. But she could pray--implore
the aid of her saint very fervently; nay, she was more familiar with her,
and might hope that she would fulfil a heartfelt wish of hers more
quickly than for her sister. It would not do to call Els to the window.
She closed the door gently, returned to her chamber, knelt and implored
St. Clare, with all the fervour of her heart, to grant her mother a good
night. Then she again drew the curtains closely over the window, and
went to call Katterle to help her undress.
But the maid was just entering with fresh water. What was the matter
with her?
Her hand trembled as she braided her young mistress's hair and sometimes,
with a faint sigh, she stopped the movement of the comb.
Her silence could be easily explained; for Eva had often forbidden
Katterle to talk, when she disturbed her meditation. Yet the girl must
have had some special burden on her mind, for when Eva had gone to bed
she could not resolve to leave the room, but remained standing on the
threshold in evident embarrassment.
Eva encouraged her to speak, and Katterle, so confused that she often
hesitated for words and pulled at her ribbons till she was in danger of
tearing them from her white apron, stammered that she did not come on her
own account, but for another person. It was well known in the household
that her betrothed husband, the true and steadfast Walther Biberli,
served a godly knight, her countryman.
"I know it," said Eva with apparent composure, "and your Biberli has
commissioned you to bear me the respectful greeting of Sir Heinz
Schorlin."
The girl looked at her young mistress in surprise. She had been prepared
for a sharp rebuke, and had yielded to her lover's entreaties to under
take this service amid tears, and with great anxiety; for if her act
should be betrayed, she would lose, amid bitter reproaches, the place she
so greatly prized. Yet Biberli's power over her and her faith in him
were so great that she would have followed him into a lion's den; and it
had scarcely seemed a more desirable venture to carry a love-greeting to
the pious maiden who held men in such disfavour, and could burst into
passionate anger as suddenly as her father.
And now?
Eva had expected such a message. It seemed like a miracle to Katterle.
With a sigh of relief, and a hasty thanksgiving to her patron saint, she
at once began to praise the virtue and piety of the servant as well as
his lord; but Eva again interrupted, and asked what Sir Heinz Schorlin
desired.
Katterle, with new-born confidence, repeated, as if it were some trivial
request, the words Biberli had impressed upon her mind.
"By virtue of the right of every good and devout knight to ask his lady
for her colour, Sir Heinz Schorlin, with all due reverence, humbly prays
you to name yours; for how could he hold up his head before you and all
the knights if he were denied the privilege of wearing it in your honour,
in war as well as in peace?"
Here her mistress again interrupted with a positive "I know," and, still
more emboldened, Katterle continued the ex-schoolmaster's lesson to the
end:
"His lord, my lover says, will wait here beneath the window, in all
reverence, though it should be till morning, until you show him your
sweet face. No, don't interrupt me yet, Mistress Eva, for you must know
that Sir Heinz's lady mother committed her dear son to my Biberli's
care, that he might guard him from injury and illness. But since his
master met you, he has been tottering about as though he had received a
spear-thrust, and as the knight confessed to his faithful servitor that
no leech could help him until you permitted him to open his heart to you
and show you with what humble devotion----"
But here the maid was interrupted in a manner very different from her
expectations, for Eva had raised herself on her pillows and, almost
unable to control her voice in the excess of her wrath, exclaimed:
"The master who presumes to seek through his servant---- And by what
right does the knight dare thus insolently---- But no! Who knows what
modest wish was transformed in your mouth to so unprecedented a demand?
He desired to see my face? He wanted to speak to me in person, to
confess I know not what? From you--you, Katterle, the maid--the knight
expects----"
Here she struck her little hand angrily against the wood of the bedstead
and, panting for breath, continued:
"I'll show him!---- Yet no! What I have to answer no one else---- From
me, from me alone, he shall learn without delay. There is paper in
yonder chest, on the very top; bring it to me, with pen and ink."
Katterle silently hurried to obey this order, but Eva pressed her hand
upon her heaving bosom, and gazed silently into vacancy.
The manservant and the maid whom Heinz Schorlin had made his messengers
certainly could have no conception of the bond that united her to him;
even her own sister had misunderstood it. He should now learn that Eva
Ortlieb knew what beseemed her! But she, too, longed for another
meeting, and this conduct rendered it necessary.
The sooner they two had a conversation, the better. She could
confidently venture to invite him to the meeting which she had in view;
her aunt, the abbess, had promised to stand by her side, if she needed
her, in her intercourse with the knight.
But her colour?
Katterle had long since laid the paper and writing materials before her,
but she still pondered. At last, with a smile of satisfaction, she
seized the pen. The manner in which she intended to mention the colour
should show him the nature of the bond which united them.
She was mistress of the pen, for in the convent she had copied the
gospels, the psalms, and other portions of the Scriptures, yet her hand
trembled as she committed the following lines to the paper:
"I am angered--nay, even grieved--that you, a godly knight, who knows the
reverence due to a lady, have ventured to await my greeting in front
of my father's house. If you are a true knight, you must be aware that
you voluntarily promised to obey my every glance. I can rely upon this
pledge, and since I find it necessary to talk with you, I invite you to
an interview--when and where, my maid, who is betrothed to your servant,
shall inform him. A friend, who has your welfare at heart as well as
mine, will be with me. It must be soon, with the permission of St.
Clare, who, since you have chosen her for your patron saint, looks down
upon you as well as on me.
"As for my colour, I know not what to name; the baubles associated with
earthly love are unfamiliar to me. But blue is the colour of the pure
heaven and its noble queen, the gracious Virgin. If you make this colour
yours and fight for it, I shall rejoice, and am willing to name it mine."
At the bottom of the little note she wrote only her Christian name "Eva,"
and when she read it over she found that it contained, in apt and seemly
phrases, everything that she desired to say to the knight.
While folding the paper and considering how she could fasten it, as there
was no wax at hand, she thought of the narrow ribbons with which Els tied
together, in sets of half a dozen, the fine kerchiefs worn over the neck
and bosom, when they came from the wash. They were sky-blue, and nothing
could be more suitable for the purpose.
Katterle brought one from the top of the chest. Eva wound it swiftly
around the little roll, and the maid hastily left the room, sure of the
gratitude of the true and steadfast Biberli.
When Eva was again alone, she at first thought that she might rejoice
over her hasty act; but on asking herself what Els would say, she felt
certain that she would disapprove of it and, becoming disconcerted,
began to imagine what consequences it might entail.
The advice which her father had recently given Wolff, never to let any
important letter pass out of his hands until at least one night had
elapsed, returned to her memory, and from that instant the little note
burdened her soul like a hundred-pound weight.
She would fain have started up to get it back again, and a strong
attraction drew her towards the window to ascertain whether Heinz
Schorlin had really come and was awaiting her greeting.
Perhaps Katterle had not yet delivered the note. What if she were still
standing at the door of the house to wait for Biberli? If, to be
absolutely certain, she should just glance out, that would not be looking
for the knight, and she availed herself of the excuse without delay.
In an instant she sprang from her bed and gently drew the curtain aside.
The street was perfectly still. The linden and the neighbouring houses
cast dark, sharply outlined shadows upon the light pavement, and from the
convent garden the song of the nightingale echoed down the quiet moonlit
street.
Katterle had probably already given the note to Heinz Schorlin who,
obedient to his lady's command, as beseemed a knight, had gone away.
This soothed her anxiety, and with a sigh she went back to bed.
But the longing to look out into the street again was so strong that she
yielded to the temptation; yet, ere she reached the window, she summoned
the strength of will which was peculiar to her and, lying down, once more
closed her lids, with the firm resolve to see and hear nothing. As she
had not shut her eyes the night before and, from dread of the ball, had
slept very little during the preceding one, she soon, though the moon was
shining in through the parted curtains, lapsed into a condition midway
between sleep and waking. Extreme fatigue had deadened consciousness,
yet she fancied that at times she heard the sound of footsteps on the
pavement outside, and the deep voices of men.
Nor was what she heard in her half-dozing state, which was soon followed
by the sound slumber of youth, any delusion of the senses.