momentary lull in the beating upon the door. There was a jangle of
voices. I continued my admonishings, well knowing the prejudices of
the average German burgher folk against all Latins, crying out that
I was a Harzland nobleman carried off by the crows of Italy, and
promising great reward to whosoever would aid procuring my liberty
and saving Dr. Luther.
“Do not heed his ravings,” I heard a woman’s voice urging in very
broken German; “he is beside himself. Down with the door!”
The attack, however held back. I could hear angry arguments and
counter arguments. The hint about Luther had been enough to rob
Marianna’s commands of half their force. It was no light thing in
Marburg to be called the foe of the hero of Germany. After a space a
familiar voice spoke in Italian against the keyhole.
“Gualtiero.”
“I hear you.”
“Admit me.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. I would reason with you ere all is too late.”
“Very well,” I assented. Then I sent my voice out loudly, “The lady
is permitted to enter. The man who strives to thrust after her dies
instantly.”
I took station by the door so that any forbidden intruder might feel
the full weight of my partisan. Andrea opened a little. Marianna
entered. For the first time she and Ilsa were face to face.
The Italian wore a short red travelling skirt and a richly slashed
and embroidered bodice. Her dark hair was flying. Her eyes were
like coals. A thousand passions were struggling on her face. In
her belt was a long knife and a pair of the very small firelocks,
called pistols. Ilsa stood calmly before her in her trailing black,
a perfect antithesis: it was the meeting of southern heat and of
northern cold. The old abbess, utterly terrified at one horror after
another, clung desperately to one arm of her niece.
Andrea bolted again. Critical as our situation was, a grim sense of
humor seized me as I saw Marianna staring in wonderment upon the
silent nun.
“Madonna,” said I, with a manner of flourish, “you have the honor to
meet the most noble Lady Ilsa, soon to be Gräfin von Regenstein.”
If Marianna had been a Medusa she would have frozen us with her eyes.
Lightnings seemed to spring out of them. Without shame I confess to
wincing, but Ilsa regarded her as calmly as a rock. Marianna’s teeth
shone like those of a beautiful beast when she flung her questions at
the German, wholly ignoring my presence.
“So _this_ is the woman who has stolen him from me?”
“I have loved him,” was Ilsa’s steadfast answer.
“Madre di Jesu, you are a nun?”
“Yes,” came the wholly measured reply.
“And you dare to love him?”
“I do.”
“You, a nun, will even talk of marrying him?”
“I will.”
“Your vows? Pray when, gracious mistress, has His Holiness issued his
dispensation from them?”
“God, bearing his message through Dr. Luther, has loosed them.”
“A right approved and saintly deputy! Since when has this fine
assurance come?”
“Not ten moments since, when Walter took me in his arms.”
The word “Walter” made Marianna’s face ashen. I cannot describe her
glance of fury and incarnate hate.
“Prove then that you love him, you, _you_,--low, ignorant German
wench, with the face of a she-goat and the modesty of an ape. You
dare to set your love against mine--” But here Marianna’s German
ended. She dissolved in Roman curses, lost upon Ilsa. I moved as if
to end the fearful colloquy, then halted at a nod from Ilsa. Like a
silver bell sounded the Harzlander’s voice in answering.
“I have loved him enough to bury myself in the convent for his sake,
to save, as I dreamed, his soul. I love him enough now to defy the
world and marry him despite all scorn and hissing, for I know that
God is better pleased that an evil vow were broken than kept. Betwixt
you and me there has been a great battle for Walter’s soul. With all
your powers you have striven to drag him down to hell, and Satan
has been with you. You are beautiful enough to pluck to damnation a
saint. And I have striven against you as a weak, untaught mountain
girl with only her white conscience and her prayers to save him from
you; to save him and all his glorious gifts of heart and mind for the
works of heaven. And I have won--have won! The dross has been purged
out of him. On my side has been the dear Lord God, and He is stronger
than the Master Devil. Therefore do you, most fair and sinful lady,
leave us to live our lives, and may you repent in peace.”
“You have won him?” repeated Marianna, in a kind of wan agony, her
lips blanched and drawn.
“Even so.” Ilsa looked at me. I nodded. The face of the Italian
flushed crimson.
“Perdition! Am I not southern born? Can I stand here a smiling fool?
You have won him? _Evviva!_ Then let the bridegroom lead home his
bride. Ecco!--”
With the last word her hand flew to her belt, she drew a pistol and
fired; but with the flash I smote aside the barrel with the shaft of
my weapon. The ball found a victim, but not the one intended. With
a direful scream the old abbess released her niece’s arm and fell a
white heap upon the floor; across the smoke-filled room we stared at
one another horribly. Marianna dropped the empty pistol and stood
gazing for a moment in a stupor. Ilsa seemed unable to stir or
speak. Andrea cast himself upon the fallen woman, but rose, shaking
his head.
“The heart--_instantemente_,” was all he could articulate.
“Murderess,” I found power to cry, and was making to seize Marianna’s
other weapons, when an echoing shout without the door told how our
truce was at an end.
“There is murder within! Force open! Secure the mad man!”
“Down the trellis, Eccellenza, down the trellis, while I hold them
back,” Andrea pleaded. As he spoke, however, a rush of men swept the
door almost from its hinges.
“Impossible,” I retorted. “Can I leave _them_? This attack must be
checked until these men will listen to reason. The only chance!”
A second blow smote the door inward, wrenched clear of all
fastenings. Half a score of faces seemed crowding after it. Weapons
were tossing. Curses flying. But the strength of fifty seemed in my
arms that day. The great partisan danced over my head like a willow
wand as I swung it.
“Back, swine,” I thundered, “or be I mad or sane, I will brain you
all.”
Wherewith I drove the poleaxe on the shoulder of one hulking villain
of the Forli crew and sent him down with a mortal yell. Andrea had
snatched a chair and with a dexterous side blow felled a second less
fatally. They gave back a moment, gathered for a second rush, then
made it; with God’s help I met them.
Once an axe stroke missed my shoulder by a hair’s-breadth. Twice a
boar-spear was thrust into my face, and twice I swept it aside. The
mighty Jan was foremost in the attack; a great good fortune, for
his bulk clouded the whole door and forbade other attackers. He had
snatched a broadaxe somewhere and thrust forward recklessly. Once
driven from the narrow opening I was lost, but my assailants fought
with poor generalship. I held my own, and Andrea, whipping out a
murderous dirk, added shrewd blows beside mine.
Then as we fought, and as the inn resounded with the horrid cry, in a
dim way I knew that, though my eyes were ever to the front, there was
a strange combat waging behind me. Only later did I learn it all; yet
I could hear my assailants calling to one another as they peered past
me, “Holy Christ! The women! The women! The nun and the Italian.”
For what befell was this. Even as the door fell from its casement
Marianna had reached for her second pistol, but had never drawn it.
Around her wrist had gripped the hand of Ilsa, a clutch like steel.
Breast against breast, their hot breath smiting one another’s faces,
they had fought. Struggling, tearing, panting, till Ilsa’s black
serge flew in a myriad tatters; and still they waged their battle.
Once for a desperate instant they had paused, and Ilsa, in a kind
of irony, cried, “What will you?” To which Marianna shot across her
teeth, “If I die I will be buried, if I live, you will be.” And with
that resumed her battle.
Then at length, and I am glad I saw it not, though I glory in it all,
Harzland strength and German love triumphed over Italian storm and
hate. Marianna’s dagger sprang from the sheath, but it was Ilsa’s
hand that grasped it. The weapon went deep to another sheath--the
breast of Madonna di Forli. Again a cry, a shrill, long cry,
agonized, inarticulate. I turned my head. Beside the slain abbess I
saw lying the form of Marianna.
That lapse of mine was almost my undoing. I was carried backward by
a new onslaught led by Jan. He bounded into the room. In an instant
the rest would have followed; we would have been hewn in pieces
before any could hearken to a word; but even as I swung my partisan
and strove by one last effort to beat him down, Ilsa did one deed
more. I saw her bend and take from the lifeless grasp of Marianna
the second pistol, then straight over my shoulder she aimed it as
coolly as when she levelled on a Harzland doe. The black serge of
the sleeve swept against my cheek. Close to my ear went the rattle
of the wheel-lock. The thunder flash! Through the cloud of smoke I
saw the mighty Jan sinking to his knees. I ran to the door, my weapon
flashing terribly, and the rest cowered back like sheep.
“Enough of folly!” I trumpeted, and at length they heard me. “I
am not mad; but this Italian woman has murdered the Abbess of
Quedlinburg and striven to murder this nun. We fought only in defence
of our lives. I am a German nobleman, the free Graf von Regenstein,
and can prove my name and sanity to any magistrate. Now you who
love truth, justice, Germany, and Luther make ready swift horses
and escort, for this French Vicomte di Barras, who is in truth the
Cardinale di Forli, has ridden after Dr. Luther to seize him and burn
him at Rome.”
They heard me readily enough now. The fall of Jan had robbed them
of all stomach for fighting. The landlord of the inn came forward,
pitifully distressed at recent happenings under his roof, and anxious
at all costs to still the tumult. A grave Sir Councillor of the city
appeared, a man who had read all of Dr. Luther’s books and who loved
the Cause right well. My clothes hung about me in ribbons, my face
was bloody, I had a shrewd wound on the thigh; but I could still put
on dignity and talk as became the Lord of the Regenstein. In ten
minutes I had convinced these worthies that my tale rang true. In ten
minutes more they were ordering the fastest horses in Marburg under
saddle to speed us to Giessen, to join our other friends, and ride as
seldom men ride, to save the hero of Germany.
Only when all this was done could I turn back for words with Ilsa.
She had not left the room of battle. They had taken away Jan, still
alive, and with a passing chance to recover; but on the two beds lay
the silent forms which an hour before had been the abbess and the
Italian. Ilsa’s dress was tattered beyond telling. The black coif
and white veil had vanished. Over her head the short nun’s hair was
scattered in golden curls. As I came to her she cast herself into my
arms. There for a good moment she sobbed, and we had joy together. At
last she looked upon one of the beds.
“Was she indeed so evil?” she asked gently; “she was very beautiful.”
I could not but smile, though I fear not merrily.
“She was like all of us--all saving you,” I said; “full of evil, but
of much good also. She was from the South, and lived after the manner
of her people. Leave her judgment to God.”
“She loved you,” spoke Ilsa, in a whisper. “She truly loved you,
though her love was not pure. I will ever judge her kindly.”
Then I led her from the room, to the one where I had been prisoner,
that we might be away from fearful scenes.
“Ilsa,” I said, “I heard what you said to Marianna. Is it true? Will
you marry me?”
“Whenever you say, Walter.”
“Ilsa, the Cause will triumph. We will save Dr. Luther. There is yet
time. In days to come the convent doors will open. Many nuns will
go forth to the new Christian liberty. They will be happy wives and
mothers. Dare you be the first?”
“I dare.” Then with a toss of her head of elflocks, while her form
shook with great sobs, she asked amid a dreadful laughter, “Ach!
Wälterchen, do you not think I have been proved without vocation for
a nun _to-day_?”
“I think,” answered I, “a greater than Leo of Rome has this day
cancelled off your vow.” Then I continued, “Last night I seemed
hopelessly trapped. They held me utterly. My confidence broke down.
I reflected on how Luther was betrayed, the Cause doubtless ruined,
you doomed to a life of clouds and grief, and all in the end because
once I had welcomed the bad love of a sinful woman, and now even in
the days of repentance could not cast off the consequences thereof. I
felt almost as a new Judas, cursed on earth, and damned in hell. At
length I prayed, ‘Oh! Lord take away my life, nay, blot out my very
soul. Yet let me die as a man, not as a sheep; for the memory of the
ill which I have wrought will drive me mad through all eternity.’ And
now heaven has answered--this.” Whereat I kissed her.
After a little I drew her to the window, whence I had gazed as a
chained captive only two brief hours past. Before our eyes rose the
glorious mount of the castle, its slopes all clad in the young spring
green.
“Now,” I repeated aloud, “let not death, nor life, nor
principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,
nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, separate me from Ilsa,
my true wife, bestowed on me by the great love of God!”
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE DEED UNDER THE BEECHWOOD
It was six good leagues from Marburg to Giessen. We put our horses
at speed, but the afternoon was half sped when we clattered over the
stones of the little South Hessian city. We lost more precious time
in searching the inns for Moritz and for my own retainers, who had
wisely attached themselves to him. At last at the “Landgraf” we found
them. Time fails to relate all the laughter and greetings, and what I
said, and Moritz said, and Ilsa said, or how Adolf and Gunter almost
hugged me like bears when they fairly had me. Then when the raptures
had ended we held a hurried but sober council. Forli had nigh ten
hours the start of us, and I had not been able to overhear, in my
captivity, all the details of the route he intended to follow. The
only thing whereof we could be certain was that he was posting for
Eisenach, and that near that city Dr. Luther had intended to halt and
visit his kinsfolk. There seemed nothing for it save to spur after,
and to trust to such tidings as we could get along the way to guide
us more securely.
Then when this seemed settled Moritz and I both looked at one another
and spoke one word.
“Ilsa?” Manifestly it had been impossible to leave her amongst
strangers at Marburg, as manifestly it seemed impossible to leave
her alone at Giessen. I was even talking of seeking whether a local
nunnery could harbor her a few days, when Ilsa cut all knots for us.
“Dear brother, you know all that I am to Walter and what I wish to
do. Could I not ride with the best over the slopes of the Brocken?
Give me a horse. I will show myself your sister still. And then come
what may,” her hand stole into mine, “we shall always be together.”
Moritz pursed his lips and frowned, but ended with a laugh.
“Another horse,” he ordered. And then he looked at Ilsa’s clothes.
For though at Marburg we had called into requisition one of Sister
Hemma’s cloaks, a nun’s dress was a strange enough habit for a ride
like ours. But Ilsa’s face turned rosy red; a red that did me good,
her cheeks had been pale so long. “I will ride, brother. By the time
the horse is ready, I am ready also. Leave the rest to me and to
Andrea.” So we suffered her to quit us, being ourselves full of such
matters as sifting out the best of our men, providing weapons, and
looking to the saddlery.
At last, even as we ordered “One side-saddle” to the grooms, forth
to the courtyard to greet us came as pert and smiling a page-boy as
ever wore a red doublet, high black boots, or a rakish green cap and
feather, which sat delightfully upon a mass of waving golden hair.
How Andrea had found the costume, time lacked to inquire; but I was
long past wondering at his legerdemain. Moritz frowned again; but who
could deny her now? Lightly as a sprite she bounded to the saddle of
my tallest palfrey, and looked down on me, smiling radiantly.
“Do you wonder, Walter, why I am not lying pale with horror at this
day? Do not ask me! Do not ask me! I only know that I am like the
bird who has broken his cage and whose wings are catching the air. I
may have leisure for dread and trembling some time; to think of the
awful end of Aunt Theckla, and--that woman. But now I remember only
this. I have you, and I am free!”
Our chosen troop was at length mounted; Adolf, Gunter, Andrea,
two Blankenburgers, Ilsa, Moritz, and myself. I was the last to
swing into the saddle. I should have known that my wounded thigh
was paining me, but I never felt it. Out of the gray Ost-tor we
thundered. The good steeds under us had been chafing long. We felt
their lengthening gallops as they caught the road. For a long time
Ilsa and I flew on side by side through the soft air of the deepening
evening. We did not speak often. From time to time we talked with
our eyes, and a flash told all we would say. We whirled through the
little red-roofed Hessian villages, now down the winding river roads,
now under a steep where a black pinnacled castle cast over us its
jagged shadows. The blue smocked peasant girls stopped to marvel at
us, we flew so fast.
As we rode I fell to musing on how it was scarce four years since
that other early evening when I had rowed with Marianna upon the
yellow Tiber beneath the domes of Rome. Four years! Four centuries
seemed that hour away. As I looked on Ilsa and her tossing hair,
felt the great sword now at my side and thought on the manful task
ahead, I strove to go back to those other hours, the long dalliance
over Theocritus’s Idylls and Lorenzo’s love sonnets, the tinkling
lutes in the rose gardens, the rustle of fans and silk, the delicate
minstrelsy, the soft words and the sensuous glances. Vanished! All
vanished--to a past as dim as Egypt and her fabled kings! I knew now
I was a true son of the fighting North, whose music had been the
jangling ring mail and the snort of the speeding stallions. I felt
my breath come fiercely like the hard blasts of the Baltic wind, and
my blood was aglow as the blood of many a Regenstein had glowed when
they spurred on the hostile hundreds. I had found my bride. Yes! And
I had found my true faith in God and in myself. Wherefore should I
not rejoice in life’s fair span?
“Walter,” spoke Ilsa, riding very close, “wherefore is your face so
set and stern?”
“Is it?” was my reply. “Then I was thinking of Dr. Luther and his
peril.”
“We will save him! We will save him!” she kept repeating. “The dear
God has been with us this day. After the rest--how can we fail?”
So onward we swept, till the night closed down, till the stars shone
clear above us, and a young moon made the track of the road just
visible. The horses grew weary at last, but we pressed them, hoping
to make our relay by midnight. Once we were halted at a forking of
the way till Gunter found a cabin and a grumbling peasant. I knew
that Ilsa’s head was hanging heavily long before we saw the great
towers of Fulda traced against the violet-black sky. The gates of the
town were already closed, but Adolf knew of a kind of inn outside the
walls, and hither we turned, just after the great abbey clock within
the ramparts sent twelve strokes pealing into the silent night.
Much ado we had to rouse host or horseboys. However, at last
convinced we were no bandits, there was a racing with lanterns and
unbarring of doors, and we clattered into the courtyard.
“Eight horses in two hours, mine host,” was Moritz’s order, banging
his sword as he spoke it; “and the fiends to pay if they are not
fresh or are late.”
“Your Lordship commands the impossible,” was the deprecating answer.
“It is scarce two hours since a great French gentleman rode away with
our best, and his own beasts had been ridden from Marburg.”
“From Marburg? And when did he set forth?”
“Why, one of his grooms swore he had started at dawn, but near
Ehringhaus his Lordship’s saddle-girth parted, so that he had a
pretty fall, being a gentleman of weight, and they had much delay ere
they could ride again. His Lordship was cursing like the Grand Turk’s
janizaries all the time he tarried here, although whether from pain
or at the delay I know not. I have none of his language.”
We all breathed easier. Again heaven had prospered us. I fear I had
no great grief at the posterior pangs of his Eminenza di Forli. We
had made up most of the chase, but to wait till dawn while our own
horses were resting was impossible. We argued long with the landlord.
Money and threats could not move him. “I have no horses,” was all his
answer. Moritz was desperate, but I knew one last arrow.
“Master Host,” spoke I, after sullen argument, “will you still say
‘no horses’ when I say that saying that means a heretic’s death for
Dr. Luther?”
“Ei! Dr. Luther?” and instantly he blew another tune. So I told him
for what wagers we were casting, and in a twinkling all was changed.
“Dr. Luther to the stake? Oh! the glozing papist dogs! Horses you
shall have, though I pillage every stable in Fulda.”
So we waited, while many lights were lit, and men ran in and men ran
out. I cannot tell just how mine host made the city gates unlock, and
gaping grooms lead forth fresh palfreys; all that I left to Moritz.
For myself I stood guard, hand on hilt, while Ilsa lay snug and warm
on a great straw stack in one corner of the inn yard, hid from any
ken save mine and that of the friendly moon. She had fallen asleep
the instant she had touched her rude pillow. Pacing sentry before
her couch I felt even as a would-be knight, keeping his vigil around
the high altar all the dark hours before his accolade. I almost
grudged the promptness wherewith the new horses were gathered. Once
or twice I cast my eyes on her, a dark heap upon the yellow pile,
then withdrew my sight as from a dazzling mystery whereof I was not
worthy. And ever I kept repeating, “God is with us. God is with us.”
Two hours at least she slept, before Moritz’s call summoned “All is
ready!”
I stepped across, and with infinite reluctance touched her hand. “We
must be riding, Ilsa,” spoke I, as with a little sigh she turned and
rubbed her eyes.
“Oh! blessed waking,” was her first cry. “I dreamed I was again in
the convent, and Aunt Theckla had ordered me to lie all night on the
chapel stones spread out like a cross. Can I ever forget!--”
“I will aid you,” I said, my arm under her.
Her step was not so blithesome as when she mounted at Giessen, but
she carried herself bravely. Moritz thanked and compounded with our
zealous host. We rode out into the black night again. The inn lights
were engulfed behind us. Then with only the stars and the sentinel
arms of the great trees to point our pathway, we gave our new horses
the spur, and once more for a long time Ilsa and I rode silently,
side by side.
It was a magic night. The touch of the spring was all in the air.
The very ground was soft and spongy under the flying hoofs. In our
nostrils blew the delicious odor of green things growing. Sometimes
we were whirled by great black farmsteads where wakeful cocks crowed
as we passed, and sleepy dogs arose to bark fitfully as our hoof
beats died in the distance. Sometimes we saw the dim glint of the
hurrying streams, and our horses plashed with cool strides across the
unseen pebbles of the fords. Insensibly we knew the paths led upward,
height succeeded height, we were skirting rolling hills which lifted
spiked summits of trees against the faintly traced skyline. I knew we
were entering the famous Thüringer Wald, the mighty forest land which
rolled away, westward and northward, until it merged into our own
wilder Harz.
Mentally I counted the leagues as we told them off. Four hours’
start Forli had possessed; but one great thing was in our favor. Dr.
Luther at least would not travel by night, and the Cardinal would
hardly be mad enough to attack him in his lodgings; rather, fearing
no pursuit, he would follow at safe distance until the Wittenberger’s
little company was on a solitary road, ere speeding his foul arrow.
I knew the chances were still even as to ultimate failure; that any
mistake in the road, any least delay, would ruin all; but after the
deeds of the past day I could misdoubt nothing. Every creaking tree,
every chattering brook, spoke the same words, “God is with us! God is
with us!”
At length as we rode with our faces towards the East, we saw the
first bright bars that tell of day. Touched by the red enchanter,
rocks, streams, woods, and uplands were leaping out into glorious
being. The horses themselves found again their speed and carried
us swiftly forward. And with the young dawn full on her face, Ilsa
turned to me and spoke, “Dear Walter, do you believe in omens?”
“Just now I believe in them implicitly.”
“And so do I. We have ridden out of the darkness into the light. We
will ride in it hand in hand forever.”
Our horses kept pace as we flew on together. If Moritz saw me riding
with Ilsa’s hand in mine, no protest came from him, dear fellow; and
so we sped out of the Maytime twilight into the Maytime morning. From
overhead, all out of sight, came the song of the soaring lark, closer
down, so that the soft leaves whipped in our faces, was the whisper
of the uncounted beeches. Weary as we were with the sleepless night
in the saddle, the morning air came to us like wine.
“God is with us! We will save Luther!” so we called to one another,
and mounted another steep.
The sun had fairly given us the new day when we whirled into the one
long wandering street of Liebenstein, nestling between its guardian
hills and beside a clear-flowing little river. We felt not need of
food, nor drink, nor rest; but for the sake of the horses we were
fain to halt for a little baiting and to ask a few questions.
“Had a party of riders passed before us through the village?”
The brawny hostler nodded. They had spoiled his sleep a good three
hours before. Eight to ten men, well mounted and armed, and seemingly
hot on the road to Ruhla where the Eisenach highway came in from the
west.
“Is Dr. Luther in Eisenach?” demanded I with a quickness that made
the fellow start.
“Why, yes, your Lordship; that is, he was reported as spending the
day there with his kinsfolk, and about to set forth this morning for
his former journey homeward.”
“Hark you, my man,” I asked, not mincing further words. “Are you his
foe or friend? Do you love Germany or Italy the best? If Luther and
Germany, give us a guide. It is his life or death we ride for.”
“Luther and Germany? _Donnerwetter!_ what may I do for _him_!” He
spoke it out in a kind of wrath at seeming to be doubted.
So again we had a friend, and were off again, only waiting long
enough for Humfried, a very zealous and honest fellow, to clap a
saddle on an ungainly but fairly swift pad, and ride himself to guide
us. The chase was ending at last in very truth, though only heaven
knew the fortune of our hunting. Humfried could tell with a certainty
the glade where the Ruhla road crossed the main highway from
Eisenach, and here, unless all calculations failed, we would find
the Cardinal in ambush for his prey. But would we be in time? I knew
Luther’s habits well; how sometimes he set forth before cockcrow.
Once or twice even my warm hopes would falter, and a shadow of fear
would cross my mind. To come so close? to fail? Ah, Heaven which had
done so much, had not that bitter cup in store!
But whenever I doubted I was reassured by the flashing light in my
Lady’s eyes, and she spoke the word that had cheered us all the way.
“God is with us!” And I only answered, “Even so--yet faster!”
Onward and onward, with a view now of Schloss Altenstein upon a
distant crest; now ever mounting the hillocks; now flying with
deadened hoof beats under venerable pines across their carpets of
needles; now into the clear sunshine of green meadows; now again
under the shimmering green and gold of the kingly beeches. Suddenly
Humfried, who rode at our head, held up a warning hand and drew rein.
“Softly. Here is the glade,” he enjoined. Our horses fell to a walk.
We crossed a swift little brook, and mounted slowly a steep slope.
Before us opened a wide green lane, closed in on either side by the
dense forest. There we halted. For a moment our senses caught nothing
more noxious than the purling of the brook and the rustling of the
trees, but Gunter (sly forester) pointed down. The fresh tracks of
many horses were on the clean sod beside the way. Dismounting and
nosing around like a fox he quickly made plain whither the party had
turned aside into the greenwood. Humfried confirmed his judgment.
Manifestly Forli (who doubtless had with him some rascal who knew the
country well) had withdrawn into the dense covert overlooking the
angle of the Eisenach and Ruhla roads, whence any traveller upon the
former was at his mercy. Our task was exceeding plain.
“Ah! Wälterchen, must it be again--these?” asked Ilsa, for the first
time on the ride a little pale, when she saw me look to the charges
of my pistols after we dismounted.
“Would that I could pleasure you,” I replied, with a shake of the
head. “It is men’s work now, and not woman’s; but pray God it is soon
over. There will be no blood if I can spare it; yet what must be,
must.”
She was hardly pleased, but refused to abide with the horses, which
we tethered a little back of the way. I ordered her, however, to
walk the last, and she obeyed reluctantly, the more reluctantly as I
strode first, beside the guiding Humfried. With every man’s weapon
at hand, we forced through the underbrush. Luckily the ground was
soft with rain. The fresh young twigs bent noiselessly. We attacked
a party equal or superior to ourselves, but in that moment we would
have gone against forty with full confidence. Suddenly we halted by
a friendly thicket. Before us opened a little plat of greensward.
Horses were tethered beside it. To the left the bushes sprang apart
a little, giving a fair view of the Eisenach road. Here seated
carelessly on the grass, was a villainously bearded sentry with one
eye upon the highway, the other upon some pleasant pottage that was
cooking in an iron pot over a snapping fire of sticks. The rest of
Forli’s party lolled in easy attitudes around the blaze. His Eminence
himself, rosy and portly, a trifle heavy-eyed perhaps from hard
riding, but seemingly having borne his galloping exceedingly well,
sat a little apart, propped up against a saddle, while before him
with numerous airy gestures squatted the estimable Ettore Orosi,
talking a voluble stream of Tuscan.
“I do assure you, Eminenza, by my honor as a Christian and Catholic
bravo”--so I caught the clapper of his tongue going--“that it was
only the malific evil eye which that most damnable heretic cast over
me, which thwarted my most admirably conceived attempt upon him at
Worms; but that attack you will graciously recall, was made in the
night time; while the learned and ingenious virtuoso Giuseppe Salvali
of Bergamo assures us that wizards, though most potent under stars
and moon, are correspondingly feeble in clear sunlight.”
“_Si_,” assented the Cardinal dryly, “no doubt the valor of Signor
Orosi is improved by a bright morning and plenty of armed friends. Ho
there, fellow! Does a wagon seem to be coming down the road?”
“Not a crow or hare is in sight,” answered the sentry.
“Well said, unless your worthy watchman will deign to look the other
way,” spoke I in Italian, emerging from the thicket as unwarned as a
ghost. Forli leaped to his feet as men rise from adders’ nests. His
eight gallows-birds clutched for their weapons, but I seemed utterly
unconcerned. In my right hand I held only my blue riding cap.
“A fair morning, your Christian Eminence,” I continued, shaking out
my cloak with deliberation, while Forli for once looked abject and
aghast. “And may I ask for what noble enterprise the Pope’s Legate
watches the roads like a bandit in this our poor northern Thuringian
country?”
“How in the name of all fiends!--How, save by Ganymede’s eagle, came
you here?” at length articulated the Cardinal, not forgetting his
classics even in this crisis.
“How? Why Dædalus made me a pair of wings, to be sure. I am certain
your taste will approve the allusion.” Over my shoulder I could see
my friends silently spreading themselves in the thicket, while all
of Forli’s startled men crowded up behind their master, their group
absolutely at the mercy of our levelled tubes.
“Has Marianna--?” began the Cardinal at length; “have you glozened
her into releasing you? Oh! folly of womanhood, rightly says
Juvenal--”
“Blame her not,” I commanded abruptly; “enough that I am here sorely
against her wish, could she but know it. It was not _she_ that
released me.”
“Who, then? The Emperor? Even he thought we went to France. He knew
nothing of this.”
“A greater than Carolus Quintus, Eminenza.”
“You are jesting. Who released and sent you?”
“A certain high personage, yet one much despised in Rome, and whose
pleasure has been little studied by your Eminence.”
“An end to riddles. Explain.”
“I will name him in German, for it is here men seem most to honor
Him, _der liebe Gott_!”
“_Gott?_--_Dio?_--Chatter of no miracles, Gualtiero. Why are your
eyes so terrible?”
“Because, Eminenza, we should cast aside our dominoes, and call the
mask at an end. You seized my person foully, designing to hale me
back to Italian bondage. You cozened the Emperor into consenting to
your deed. You went a step further, and contrary to his known wishes,
you would now seize the very deputy of heaven, Dr. Luther, in face
of the safe-conduct. Let us understand one another. I am free, and
go not to Italy. Your further plot is doomed to completer failure.
Either bid your men to submit here and now as prisoners and yield
your own person, or by the Power that brought me liberty at Marburg,
you go to the prison house whence none go forth.”
The Cardinal looked at me stupidly, his ears refusing to accept my
utterance.
“I? Papal and Apostolic Legate? Surrender myself a prisoner?”
“Do not hesitate,” I commanded; “I use no child’s words.”
Heaven knows whether he saw my party in the covert, and whether he
would have yielded or fought; but at this instant I beheld Orosi,
just behind his master, doubling like a cat and pulling a crooked
and wicked blade. One instant more and Ilsa were widowed before her
bridal.
“Fire!” I cried.
The thicket around burst into the death flame. The great charge from
Gunter’s bell-mouthed arquebuse sang past me. Mercy we had shown
that midnight in the garden at Worms, but the blast was pitiless now.
Huddled together, Forli’s men fell like grass under the sickle, those
unhit tumbling in sheer fright. Orosi had bounded half of the way
toward me before a ball caught him in the groin. He fell right at my
feet, waving his sinful weapon, and struggling desperately to reach
me yet. But before I could draw to despatch him, Andrea had leaped
past me with his own stiletto.
“Mine, Eccellenza,” rang his call; “such carrion is not for the sword
of a cavaliere.”
The two grappled fiendishly. For a moment I feared Andrea had met
his match, but right speedily I saw the Sienese writhe to the top,
bend back the other’s right wrist, and send his own weapon home to
the fifth rib. A mingled curse and howl, and Ettore Orosi was forever
saved from the hangman.
“Bah,” spoke Andrea, rising and coolly wiping his knife. “And he
called himself a man of _virtù_!”
I, however, had Ilsa beside me now. She was white enough and all
of a-tremble, nor could I convince her at once that I was totally
unscathed. Our men were seizing such of the enemy as still survived,
and pinioning their arms. They were too scared for either resistance
or flight. Both of the other Italians who followed the Cardinal had
caught the full discharge and would never need a dungeon.
Moritz had run at once to Forli. It had been impossible to spare
him from the volley. A large ball had torn through his lungs. He
was spitting blood upon his rich doublet as we raised him. Adolf,
experienced in war surgery, gave him one glance.
“How long?” questioned Moritz.
“He will last an hour, hardly more,” spoke the veteran as
complacently as though passing judgment on a speared stag. Yet
Forli’s eyes opened at the words, and from him came a dreadful cry.
“One hour! One hour! Oh! to die now, here, thus! Where is the priest?
The confession? There is no absolution, no viaticum; I am damned
forever. The devils will have my soul.”
“Calm yourself,” I enjoined, contempt struggling with my pity;
“recall your vaunted philosophy. How often you have praised Lucretius
and Epicurus, and their disbelief in immortality. If you cannot die
as a good Christian, die at least as a good pagan, and die as a brave
man.”
But the Cardinal only raved the worse. “No viaticum. My life has been
one vast lie. I have held the honors of the Church and lived the life
of a Turk. Ah! Marianna’s mother--how I treated her! Years ago--I see
it as yesterday. I was in all Pope Alexander’s plots. I have feared
neither God nor devil. Now--”
More blood rushed to his lips, and for a moment he ceased moaning.
“It is possible to fetch a priest from Ruhla,” I remarked, melting
fast, but Forli raged on again.
“No! no! I’ll have none of your pattering country parsons. What is
their viaticum worth? ‘Absolvo’--a fool can say it. I’ll not believe
it though spoken by Leo de’ Medici. Who is the Pope but the Master
Rogue of all? If there’s a just God, he’ll damn me for all the
absolutions and benedictions in Christendom. Oh! God, God!”
He was passing to awful blasphemies, when straight past me moved
Ilsa, and I beheld her kneel by the stricken man, put her pure, soft
hands against that coarse, sensual face, and under her touch for a
moment he lay still, gazing with his dying eyes up into hers.
“Pray,” she commanded in the slow Latin she had learned at the
convent, “pray to the Lord Christ; without priest or masses, even now
He can forgive.”
Wonderingly he looked at her.
“Who are you?” he asked; “are you one of Fra Angelico’s seraphs
winged down from heaven?”
“I am a simple German maiden to whom God has been exceeding kind.”
How their dialogue might have ended I know not, for Adolf plucked me
by the sleeve.
“Countly Grace, a wagon is coming down the road from Eisenach.”
We left Ilsa still kneeling by our victim. Our men ranged themselves
behind the great beeches along the way. Moritz and I exchanged
assuring glances. Long since on the ride we had resolved what
disposition to make of Dr. Luther if once Forli’s band were happily
settled. In the midst of our scene of tragedy, not ended yet, must
come the brighter dash of comedy. The wagon, the familiar vehicle I
had followed all the miles from Wittenberg, was nearing rapidly, only
the Imperial herald no longer rode before. As it approached I could
see the occupants; the driver, the friar Johannes, honest Amsdorf,
and, joy of joys, my dear master. Unsuspectingly it rattled onward.
At a slight rising the stout horses fell to a walk. I gave a whistle.
Instantly two of our varlets were at the heads of the team. I sprang
from the covert with my sword flourished high.
“Stand all of you. Submit quietly. We seek only Dr. Luther.”
Adolf levelled an empty pistol at the driver’s breast. Gunter whipped
out an oath worthy of a corsair. The unvalorous friar Johannes
clapped his hands to his head and leaped down, bellowing mightily.
Amsdorf, of nobler metal, was reaching for a knife, when my voice
made him look on me twice, and despite my shaven face he knew me. Dr.
Luther, who at the first onset had turned a little pale and clasped
his hands, now flushed with a great light springing out of his eyes.
In a low voice I spoke to them.
“Dear friends, you know I love you and the Cause right well,
therefore fear nothing. But Dr. Luther must now come with me
instantly, and do you, Magister Amsdorf, swear to all the world that
you know not whether friends or foemen took him, nor whither they
vanished.”
I seized Dr. Luther with some show of roughness and forced him out
of the wagon. Johanne was already running up the Ruhla road, crying
“help!” and “murder!” We let him flee. He would not reach a house,
Humfried said, within a league. We thrust back Amsdorf into the
vehicle, and Gunter, with more sly curses, bade the driver “lash
his beasts as if the devil were after him, and never look around
save as he wished to be chased by a bullet.” The frightened fellow
obeyed instantly. The wagon was soon following the friar at full
speed. Still, with mock roughness, we hustled Dr. Luther back into
the covert of the beechwood, and then once face to face, with no part
to play, I fell into his arms, nor do I shame to own to manly tears
wherewith his also mingled.
“O gracious Heaven!” he cried when he could pass to words. “Oh joy,
oh joy! I was sure the black dogs of Rome had devoured you in Worms,
and I should meet you only in the Golden City. And you are here. You
are here.”
“Here, dearest master,” spoke I, “and Providence has been good to
me, for I have saved you.” Yet even in my delight I could not forget
him who lay dying. In a few words I told how we had sore need of a
priest. Quickly as I could I led him, still trembling with his joy,
backward to where lay the Cardinal, under an imperial beech tree,
with his sinful head on Ilsa’s lap.
“A priest,” I announced simply, for the pallor on the wounded man’s
face told how time was pressing, and Forli looked up at us with dim,
wistful eyes, inviting the other, yet dreading.
“Who is this man, a great noble?” asked Luther with a glance at the
rich dress.
“Dear Doctor,” I said, “you are to hear the confession of Giovanni
Paratini, called Cardinale di Forli, _legatus a latere_ from the
Holy See, who half an hour since lay ambushed here, to hurry you a
prisoner to Rome. God adjudged otherwise.”
“Who is this stranger?” cried Forli with a fearful gleam of
intelligence.
“Your Eminence has asked for a priest. I bring him the fairest
pardoner in the world--Dr. Martin Luther.”
A great shudder passed through the Cardinal’s frame; he raised his
head from Ilsa’s lap.
“Oh! blessed Mother of God,” he cried, “have you no mercy? Am I
not to be damned for enough sins without having your curses added?
I sought your liberty and life. They have taken mine. Is not the
reckoning washed clean? Spare me--spare--”
But here, with a tenderness infinite, Dr. Luther had dropped by the
side of the dying. Gently as had Ilsa, he took the Italian’s hands in
his own. And I thought as I stood gazing that Forli was happy even
among dying sinners, soothed as he was by the noblest man and the
noblest woman on God’s wide earth.
“To curse you, dearest brother? And wherefore should I curse?
Are you not one of Christ’s sheep, and had He pity for only the
ninety-and-nine who never went astray? And shall I, the servant, keep
my wrath when forgiveness is proffered by the Master-shepherd?”
“Poetry; you are speaking of dreams,” cried the Cardinal, “hate has
been hate, and vengeance vengeance since the world was. I care not
what the Church says. Oh! my sins, my sins.”
Dr. Luther raised his hand, entreating. “Withdraw all of you, all
but the lady (he did not know Ilsa’s name as yet). Our Lord has said,
‘this kind came not out save by prayer.’”
So we removed apart, every man bent on his own thoughts, until the
pardoner spoke softly. “Return. The end is near.”
Forli’s head still lay on Ilsa’s lap, but in his dim eyes there was
now a little token of peace. He looked at me, as if trying to form
a question, but strength was failing for utterance. Luther made the
words for him.
“He is seeking to know whether you forgive him also?”
“Cardinale di Forli,” said I, “for whatsoever thing wherein you have
wronged me I forgive you every whit. May God show unto you all the
pity and love He has revealed to me.”
A faint smile passed across the Italian’s face.
“It has all seemed a beautiful tale, a Platonic myth, this
forgiveness of enemies. Yet, yet--” his words came in faint whispers,
“if you and you can forgive, perchance God can do even likewise. It
is all very strange. Tell Marianna so, and tell Leo de’ Medici we at
Rome were wrong--”
No more. The blood rushed from his lips. His head fell back with the
death pallor spreading on his face.
“_Requiescat in pace_,” spoke Luther solemnly. “The mercy of the Lord
is from everlasting unto everlasting.”
Ilsa rose from the ground, while her brother cast a cloak over the
form of him who had been a Prince of the Roman Church, the keenest
critic of art and poetry in all the Eternal City, skilled in
diplomacy, wise in counsel, the first pupil of Alexander Borgia.
“Who is this lady, so strangely dressed?” asked Luther, setting his
gaze on Ilsa, and for the first time I knew that he had never met her.
“Dear Doctor,” I said, “this is the Gräfin Ilsa von Blankenburg, full
soon to be my wife.”
Ilsa colored scarlet for the first time, at thought of her manly
dress, but little enough recked Luther. With a great stride he went
up to her, with never a “by-your-leave” he held her glowing face
close to his and kissed her forehead.
“Dearest daughter,” he said, “I have remembered you in my prayers now
morning and night these many months, ever since Walter brought me his
burden touching you. I am taught again that God is stronger than the
devil.”
He released Ilsa, and for a moment she tried to follow as we turned
back to the horses; but in a moment I saw her color all fade to snow
and like a crushed lily she was falling when I caught her in my arms.
We laid her on the grass, and for a little I feared she was even as
Forli; though brook water splashed on her face made her eyes open,
and my first terrors end, her state, was very plain,--battling for
life the day before, in the saddle all night save two hours rest on a
strawrick, and now the dread scenes of this morning,--even we strong
men knew we would be unstrung and lame for many a day. With my own
arms I carried her, despite my limping thigh, to my horse and bore
her before me in the saddle. Adolf protested he was stronger and far
less wearied than I, but with such a burden, I could have played the
Titan.
We laid the body of Forli across one of the captured horses, rough
graves had been digged for the slain, the prisoners were duly
strapped to our varlets’ saddle bows; a smart run we would give them
ere they were lodged in some fit dungeon.
“Will not Forli be traced, and you be called in question?” asked
Luther as we moved away.
“He has gone to France in the interests of peace,” I replied sagely;
“it will be a long time before our friends at Rome pry too carefully
into the precise place and circumstances of his vanishing. It would
shatter too great a wasp’s nest. Doubtless we will hear that he died
of disease in some obscure inn on the Paris road.”
So we left the glade with its triumph and tragedy. Humfried guided us
by secret ways, up and down paths among the black beech stumps, until
my own senses were mystified as to our route, only I saw by the sun
that we were working steadily northward. Often we traced the edge of
low precipices where unsteady horses would have fallen, and I would
clutch Ilsa to my bosom fast; but little by little we came again
out of the enshadowing greenwood, until at last down a wide natural
avenue in the trees we beheld a wide patch of blue sky, and rising
against it a lordly hill crowned by a lordlier citadel.
“The Kaiser Schloss,” announced Humfried, pointing; “the Wartburg.”
“And here,” added Moritz, “my good kinsman the Castellan for the
Elector of Saxony will give Dr. Luther safe refuge until the present
storms are passed.”
We galloped down the slope, and again by leaf-hidden ways ascended
the steep, till the shadow of the great square tower of the Schloss
was cast far over us. Then armed sentries challenged, the portcullis
rose with chains loud rattling, and I saw the stalwart form of the
commandant striding down to the gate house from the keep. Of a sudden
I knew that I also was utterly spent and fainting, almost as was
Ilsa. I was painfully wounded. I had slept little for many nights,
I had been stretched for as many days on the rack of mental and
spiritual agony. Dimness swam before my eyes. “Saved!” I urged upon
myself, “saved! what folly to fail now.”
I remember giving Ilsa into the hands of her aunt, and away they took
her amid a great flurry of women. Von Steinitz and his officers were
standing by and pelting us with questions. Then even as I strove to
dismount a wide black void seemed to spring up to enfold me. I was
not conscious for many days.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE BRIDE OF WARTBURG
“‘For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers
appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and
the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.’” So sounded the
voice of Dr. Luther at my bedside, the first day I had strength and
consciousness to see him. I marvelled at his dress. He had thrown off
the monkish cowl, and wore a tight-fitting brown doublet and hose,
the true garb of a knight. At his belt was a small dagger. On his
cheeks was a ten days’ growth of beard.
“Ah, dear Doctor,” said I, “how do I behold you? You will soon pass
for a very lanz-necht.”
“‘Doctor?’” spoke he, smiling, “none of that. Junker Georg they are
all calling me, and tell me I am a ‘knight prisoner.’ They have given
me a noble chamber, where I can sit aloft in the region of the birds,
and they say to me ‘_nolens volens_ I must do this or do that.’ But,
thank heaven, they have not taken away from me ink and paper. Von
Steinitz and his lieutenant, Von Berlepsch, are exceeding kind, and
tell me after a little I will be suffered to ride out with a servant,
and to enjoy the good green world. In the meantime if you are well, I
am well, and, for that Christ be praised!”
So we talked together until Ilsa came in, with the roses again in her
cheeks, and sent my master away, telling him I must not be wearied
with talking longer.
Pleasant always has been to me the Maytime, whether in southland
or northland, but never fairer than then, in those sweet days of
gold, when strength and clear mind were returning day by day. Every
morning our walk from the castle grew longer, as Ilsa and I sought
out some flowery mead beside the singing brooks, and like children
made ourselves flower crowns, and flower chains, and chattered of how
we would play the King and Queen in the Regenstein, and rule with a
loving tyranny over all our vassals. Von Steinitz had pulled at his
beard a long time when I came, with Moritz at my side, to ask for a
speedy wedding, even at the Wartburg, with Ilsa.
“Pardon my slow wits,” he had protested, “it is no light thing to
talk of bridal with a nun, even though this old world changes fast.”
Perhaps it was the tidings that had drifted into the Wartburg only
the night before, how the French Ambassador had quitted the Emperor
with threats of instant war from his sovereign, that sent down
the scale in our favor. It was like enough his Imperial Majesty
would have plenty on his hands besides chasing Saxon heretics and
enforcing vows of celibacy. In any case our petition prevailed.
“_Donnerwetter!_ Let them marry!” had been the decision, and although
his good Freifrau made difficulties, these were mostly over the
shortness of the time for preparing. “No great linen chest! No great
assemblage of guests! When had a daughter of the family been married
like a miller’s lass?” At which Ilsa had only laughed like rippling
water, and vowed she was ready that selfsame day--yes! though she
wore the clothes wherewith she had ridden from Giessen, an assertion
at which her aunt dissolved in horror, redoubled when I vowed I was
right willing to take Ilsa home that moment without more costly dowry.
* * * * *
On the afternoon before the day set for the wedding Ilsa escaped
from the clutches of the Freifrau and all her frantically busy
women. She wandered forth with me, and we went hand in hand down the
slopes of the fortress mountain, scaring a deer among the saplings,
following along a grassy glade and stream which the castle folk
called the Annathal, till we must needs thread the sinuous, rocky
ravine of the Dragon’s Dale, thrusting our way through the moss and
ferns and harebells, whilst under our feet ran the glistering, cool
water. Beyond the ravine we clambered up the hillside to a little
eminence justly named the Violet’s Mount, and there we sat long and
happily in the grass, whilst Ilsa made fragrant wreaths for both.
After we had talked long of a thousand things I said to her:--
“It was on a day like this, and almost a place like this, I found you
first in the forest. Do you remember?”
“To the end of time.”
“I heard you singing before I saw you. I have often wondered what
were the words of that song. Do you remember them also?”
“Yes.” But she had turned red.
“A fitting spot! Give me the song again.”
“Not now, Wälterchen, not now. Although I own the place is
appropriate, for it was Walter von der Vogelweide’s song, and his
home was at the Wartburg.”
But I insisted, and whilst I watched with dozing contentment from the
grass, Ilsa lifted her golden head and sang in her sweet clear German
the old song of the Minnesinger.
“Under the linden
Out in the heathland,
Where we so gayly played,
There will I find him:
Soon we’ll together
Sit in bright flowers arrayed,--Whilst
from out the wooded vale.
Tan-dara-dei!--
So’ll sing the nightingale.
“In the green meadow
There ’tis I found him,
How my love greets me there!
Gladdest of women
Who is more blessed,
For _he_ has found me fair?
Kisses?--A thousand blow,
Tan-dara-dei!--
How red my mouth must glow!
“How I am cherished
Only one knoweth.
(Hide it, dear God, my bliss!)
How he caresses,
No one, aye, no one
Save _he_ and I see this.
None,--save for a little bird.
Tan-dara-dei!--
Keep still of what you’ve heard!”
“Tan-dara-dei!” The word came as an echo over our heads. We both rose
very suddenly. Behind us was standing “Junker Georg,” very august and
knightly indeed, in his ritter’s dress and beard; we stood looking
one to the other sheepishly for a little, while his honest sides
shook with laughter.
“Oh, my dear children!” said he at last, “if heaven would only teach
the Emperor and the Pope the joy which even they might win from an
innocent song and a wreath of wood violets, how happy this beautiful
world would be.”
And with that he moved away, shaking his head when I begged him to
tarry, though I vowed to Ilsa, who had never heard him sing, he had
a voice full worthy to join with hers. There were long shadows over
the mountains when we reëntered the castle. The Freifrau was angry
with her niece “flying abroad when this was the last chance for
fitting her velvet gown, as if there would not be time enough for
cozening after the wedding--that is, if you two fools are still of a
mind for it.” As for Dr. Luther, he was in better spirits than ever.
“His Grace the Elector is very kind. He consents to my remaining hid
at the Wartburg until all peril is passed. But he is a better friend
still; Spalatin will send me the books. Even here I can shoot my
bullets at my friends of the Curia, and, Deo volente, I will give
them one great culverin shot that will gall them shrewdly.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I will put the Bible in German, to be sure, so that the veriest
ploughboy in the land will stand in no need of Latin or priestcraft
to find the way to his loving Father.”
So I knew that even in his hiding, my master would speak for the
Cause more eloquently than with a thousand sermons at Wittenberg....
The next day we were married. Freifrau von Steinitz vowed the
simplicity of the festival was scandalous; but she was a woman of
potent resources, and there were enough officers and their dames at
the Wartburg to give us all the pomp and ceremonial right-minded
lovers could wish. Under the rainbow lights streaming through the
colored windows of the chapel, the very chapel where St. Elizabeth
of Hungary knelt for worship, we knelt together, Ilsa and I, and Dr.
Luther (so again for the nonce we called him) joined us as man and
wife.
“And those,” sounded his deep voice, “whom--despite sinful vows and
all the devils in hell--God hath joined together, let not man put
asunder.”
Then we had a great fête in the famous Sängersaal, where three
hundred years earlier Walter von der Vogelweide, Wolfram von
Eschenbach, and the other minnesingers had joined their contest. And
as we danced in honest, homely numbers to a few rasping viols, with
Ilsa’s head crowned not with pearls but with wild roses, I thought of
that other dancing not yet two months gone in the castle by Worms,
when Marianna had whirled in my arms, and an Emperor had watched
us. But I said not a word to Ilsa, and for myself I had a happiness
passing utterance.
There was wine enough, and boar’s meat and venison enough at the
feast to satisfy even Adolf. At the end they took the “Brautschuhe”
from the feet of the resisting bride and tossed them to the unmarried
damsels, and the lucky two who won them were vowed to be sure of
dancing at their own weddings full soon.
The next morning, with Adolf, Gunter, Andrea, and a few other stout
fellows for escort, Ilsa and I rode away. It was another June day
of living green and light and fire. In the castle court all were
gathered to wish us god-speed; but my master stood out from the
company, and we bowed our heads to take his blessing. First he
gripped me hard by the hand, and spoke the words he afterward used
touching his own glad marriage.
“Walter, go forth with grateful heart, and be sure of this, God’s
highest gift on earth is to have a pious, cheerful, God-fearing,
home-keeping wife.”
Then more clearly he spoke in the hearing of them all.
“Dearest friends, depart. And know that now are days when the spirit
of the Lord is returned to the earth, when old evils are passing
away, when all things are becoming new. Yea! even now may the word
of the prophet be fulfilled. ‘It shall come to pass that I will pour
out my spirit on all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall
prophesy, and your old men shall see visions, and your young men
shall dream dreams. The sun shall be turned into smoke, and the moon
into blood, before the great and the terrible day of the Lord come.
But it shall come to pass that whosoever shall call on the name of
the Lord shall be delivered.’”
Silently he kissed both Ilsa and myself upon our foreheads. We
mounted and called “_Auf wiedersehen!_” I at least with a catching of
the throat.
“_Auf wiedersehen!_” answered Dr. Luther. And so we rode down the
rocky way from the Wartburg.
A long time we went silently through the glorious country. Our horses
were headed North. Far, far away we could see the swelling crests of
the Harzland. We were riding homeward.
“Did ever folk go forth on a fairer day,” spoke I, at last, for the
sake of breaking a silence growing tense.
Ilsa tossed the blue tassel on her hat. “Or with fairer hearts
within,” she answered, with that sweet mingling of grave and gay
which made all people love her. “Oh! I have joy in the greenwood, in
the brooks and in the flowers, the sun on the slopes, the shimmering
in the trees; but it is a joy not as in the old days at Blankenburg.
For then even over the sun’s great disk hung the shadow of the over
mastering fear, the fear of God’s pitiless wrath. And now, lo! the
bands are broken, the prisons are emptied, the shadows are gone. The
dear God is our father, the blessed Christ is our elder brother, we
need not priest, nor mass, nor vows, nor pilgrimage to go to them.
Wherefore then should not the world be bright? All this we owe to the
love of heaven.”
“And under heaven,” I added reverently, “to the friar of Wittenberg,
Martin Luther.”
AFTERWORD
The memoirs of the worthy Graf von Lichtenstein zum Regenstein place
on the lips of Martin Luther various utterances for which this book
is the only proof that he actually made them _at the time alleged_.
It is inherently probable, however, that the memory of the narrator
has not failed him, for there is often abundant witness that Luther
expressed very similar sentiments at some other time and place, but
under like conditions.
The modern reader of this book will of course make due allowance for
the lack of historical perspective and for the possible personal
prejudice of a writer who was an actual participant in the noteworthy
scenes which he depicts. Certainly could one question the high-born
narrator he would disclaim intention of casting fresh fuel upon
theological conflagrations now so happily begun to smoulder, and
he would profess that he had only desired to make real to us the
wonderful personality of the friar of Wittenberg.
Pittsfield, Massachusetts. W. S. D.
The following pages contain advertisements of a few of the
Macmillan novels.
WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS’S HISTORICAL NOVELS
A Victor of Salamis
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A Friend of Cæsar
A TALE OF THE FALL OF THE ROMAN REPUBLIC
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“God Wills It”
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NEW MACMILLAN FICTION BY LEADING AUTHORS
Julia France and Her Times
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Joseph in Jeopardy
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NEW FICTION
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Van Cleve
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An up-to-date story, rich in character portrayal, in incident and
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finds himself obliged, at the age of twenty, to support a family
of foolish, good-hearted, ill-balanced women, and one shiftless,
pompous old man--his grandfather, aunt, cousin, and uncle. Out of
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The Rich Mrs. Burgoyne
BY KATHLEEN NORRIS, author of “Mother”
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The Jugglers
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_Decorated cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.00 net_
The varied experiences of a travelling band of singers and
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MR. WINSTON CHURCHILL’S NOVELS
_Each, cloth, gilt tops and titles, $1.50_
A Modern Chronicle _Illustrated_
This, Mr. Churchill’s first great presentation of the Eternal
Feminine, is throughout a profound study of a fascinating young
American woman. It is frankly a modern love story.
“The most thorough and artistic work the author has yet turned
out. A very interesting story and a faithful picture of character
... one that will give rise to much discussion.”--_New York Sun._
Mr. Crewe’s Career _Illustrated_
“It is an honest and fair story.... It is very interesting;
and the heroine is a type of woman as fresh, original, and
captivating as any that has appeared in American novels for a
long time past.”--_The Outlook._
The Celebrity _An Episode_
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Inter-Ocean._
Richard Carvel _Illustrated_
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rare wholesomeness of spirit, it has seldom, if ever, been
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The Crossing _Illustrated_
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and sentimental incident, yet faithful to historical fact both in
detail and in spirit.”--_The Dial._
The Crisis _Illustrated_
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parties, are shown understandingly.”--_Evening Telegraph_,
Philadelphia.
Coniston _Illustrated_
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our fiction.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York
The Best Recent Novels
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
=JOSEPH IN JEOPARDY.= By FRANK DANBY, Author of “The Heart of a
Child.”
Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net; postage extra.
A brilliant study of a young Englishman of Christian training,
exposed to subtle and intellectual temptation which he successfully
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=JULIA FRANCE AND HER TIMES.= By GERTRUDE ATHERTON,
Author of “Tower of Ivory,” “The Conqueror.”
Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net; postage extra.
The scenes of Mrs. Atherton’s new novel are laid on Nevis Island, one
of the West Indies, and in England, with glimpses of India and San
Francisco. The hero of the story is an American of the most modern
type; the heroine is a study of all that civilization has done for
woman.
=THE FRIAR OF WITTENBERG.= By WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS,
Author of “A Friend of Cæsar,” “God Wills It.”
Cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net; postage extra.
In the character of Martin Luther, William Stearns Davis has found
admirable material around which to build an historical novel of more
than ordinary importance. He has succeeded above all else in making
this picturesque figure live, imparting to the stirring episodes in
which he played a part so much of reality that the reader is enabled
to visualize as never before the conditions leading to the religious
revolt of which the Friar of Wittenberg was so powerful a leader.
=WHITE ASHES.= By KENNEDY-NOBLE.
Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; postage extra.
Probably the strongest novel of the season and of especial interest
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company. It gives a graphic picture of the fire insurance business as
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Its clever strategy is by no means lacking in amusement and the
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=THE HOUSE OF PRIDE.= By JACK LONDON. Author of “The Sea Wolf,”
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Beginning with the title and running through to the last word, every
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leprosy, demonstrate Mr. London’s versatility and skill.
=THE TOUCHSTONE OF FORTUNE.= By CHARLES MAJOR,
Author of “Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall,” etc.
Illustrated, decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; postage extra.
This charming story of the court of King Charles II. more nearly
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success, than anything he has since done. The interest in the tale is
centered in a witty, sprightly and determined young girl, who holds
her own against the evil influences about her and succeeds finally in
outwitting the king in love and statecraft.
=MORE THAN KIN.= By RACHEL CAPEN SCHAUFFLER.
Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; postage extra.
Life in a missionary station in Persia with its dangers and hardships
forms the background for this love story which tells of the
adventures of Jean Stuart “of Bar Harbor and New York,” who, while
on a sight-seeing tour is rescued by a band of missionaries from
mountain brigands. It is a love story which for sheer human interest
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=VAN CLEVE.= By MARY S. WATTS, Author of “Nathan Burke,” “The
Legacy,” etc.
Cloth, 12mo, $1.35 net; postage extra.
An up-to-date story, rich in character portrayal, in incident and
human appeal, and which will, in all probability, be more popular
than either _Nathan Burke_ or _The Legacy_, two novels which met
with such wide favor. The hero, Van Cleve, is a young man who finds
himself obliged, at the age of twenty, to support a family of
foolish, good-hearted, ill-balanced women, and one shiftless, pompous
old man--his grandfather, aunt, cousin, and uncle. Out of this
situation the story grows which will be welcome to the many admirers
of Mrs. Watts.
=THE RICH Mrs. BURGOYNE.= By KATHLEEN NORRIS, Author of “Mother.”
Decorated cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net; postage extra.
A story with a gripping theme, which vividly recalls the author’s
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Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences
within the text and consultation of external sources. Some hyphens
in words have been silently removed and some silently added when
a predominant preference was found in the original book. Except
for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text and
inconsistent or archaic usage have been retained.
Page 10: replaced “could not contravert” with “could not
controvert”.
Page 45: replaced “your Holiness’ mercy” with “your Holiness’s
mercy”.
Page 49: replaced “literaryv anities” with “literary vanities”.
Page 53: replaced “knew that Adolph” with “knew that Adolf”.
Page 54: replaced “such an idyl” with “such an idyll”.
Page 64: replaced “and Avincenna” with “and Avicenna”.
Page 69: replaced “_Aufwiedersehen_” with “_Auf wiedersehen_”.
Page 76: replaced “a beggering fee” with “a beggaring fee”.
Page 96: replaced “as wordly wise” with “as worldly wise”.
Page 98: replaced “lack a few” with “lack of a few”.
Page 118: replaced “sooner then I” with “sooner than I”.
Page 153: replaced “Petrarcha was” with “Petrarch was”.
Page 179: replaced “for you friend” with “for your friend”.
Page 192: replaced “those the Bohemian” with “those of the
Bohemian”.
Page 196: replaced “more and and more” with “more and more”.
Page 204: replaced “signori of vértú” with “signori of virtù”.
Page 218: replaced “ven from foreign lands” with “even from
foreign lands”.
Page 238: replaced “Fiat justicia” with “Fiat justitia”.
Page 242: replaced “Three things ar” with “Three things are”.
Page 257: replaced “and Mecklinburg” with “and Mecklenburg”.
Page 270: replaced “pious meditat on” with “pious meditation”.
Page 293: replaced “and overheard in” with “and overhead in”.
Page 342: replaced “Moritz von Blakenburg” with “Moritz von
Blankenburg”.
Page 359: replaced “grinned aimiably” with “grinned amiably”.
Page 365: replaced “every lanz-kneckt” with “every lanz-knecht”.
Page 393: replaced “win her serivce” with “win her service”.
Page 418: replaced “man of vertú” with “man of virtù”.
Ad for THE TOUCHSTONE OF FORTUNE: replaced “$12mo, 1.25 net”
with “12mo, $1.25 net”.
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Bold text is
surrounded by equal signs: =bold=.