KNIGHTS-ERRANT
The good mother had made a bundle for her son that would have brought a
smile to my lips had it not brought tears to my eyes. There were her
homely balsams to cure Max's ailments; true, he had never been ill, but
he might be. There was a pillow of down for his head, and a lawn
kerchief to keep the wind from his delicate throat. Last, but by no
means least, was the dear old mother's greatest treasure, a tooth of St.
Martin, which she firmly believed would keep her son's heart pure and
free from sin. Of that amulet Max did not stand in need.
We followed the Save for many leagues, and left its beautiful banks only
to journey toward Vienna. At that city I drew my slender stock of gold
from the merchant that had been keeping it for me, and bought a
beautiful chain coat for Max. He already had a good, though plain, suit
of steel plate which his father had given him when he received the
accolade. I owned a good plate armor and the most perfect chain coat I
have ever seen. I took it from a Saracen lord one day in battle, and
gave him his own life in payment. Max and I each bore a long sword, a
short sword, and a mace. We carried no lance. That weapon is burdensome,
and we could get one at any place along our journey.
I was proud of Max the morning we rode out of Vienna, true
knights-errant, with the greatest princess in Europe as our objective
prize. Truly, we were in no wise modest; but the God of heaven, the god
of Luck, and the god of Love all favor the man that is bold enough to
attempt the impossible.
My stock of gold might, with frugality, last us three months, but after
that we should surely have to make our own way or starve. We hoped that
Max would be successful in filling our purses with prize money and
ransoms, should we fall in with a tournament now and then; but, lacking
that good fortune, we expected to engage ourselves as escorts to
merchant caravans. By this kind of employment we hoped to be housed and
fed upon our travels and to receive at each journey's end a good round
sum of gold for our services. But we might find neither tournament nor
merchant caravan. Then there would be trouble and hardship for us, and
perhaps, at times, an aching void under our belts. I had often
suffered the like.
Ours, you see, was not to be a flower-strewn journey of tinselled prince
to embowered princess. Before our return to Styria, Max would probably
receive what he needed to make a man of him--hard knocks and rough
blows in the real battle of life. Above all, he would learn to know the
people of whom this great world is composed, and would return to
Hapsburg Castle full of all sorts of noxious heresies, to the
everlasting horror of the duke and the duchess. They probably would
never forgive me for making a real live man of their son, but I should
have my reward in Max.
To Max, of course, the future was rosy-hued. Caravans were waiting for
our protection, and princes were preparing tournaments for our special
behoof. _We_ want for food to eat or place to lay our heads? Absurd! Our
purses would soon be so heavy they would burden us; we should soon need
squires to carry them. If it were not for our desire to remain
incognito, we might presently collect a retinue and travel with herald
and banner. But at the end of all was sweet Mary of Burgundy waiting to
be carried off by Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg.
Just what the boy expected to do in Burgundy, I did not know. For the
lady's wealth I believe he did not care a straw--he wanted herself. He
hoped that Charles, for his own peace, would not be too uncivil and
would not force a desperate person to take extreme measures; but should
this rash duke be blind to his own interests--well, let him beware! Some
one _might_ carry off his daughter right from under the ducal nose. Then
let the Burgundian follow at his peril. Castle Hapsburg would open his
eyes. He would learn what an impregnable castle really is. If Duke
Charles thought he could bring his soft-footed Walloons, used only to
the mud roads of Burgundy, up the stony path to the hawk's crag, why,
let him try! Harmless boasting is a boy's vent. Max did not really mean
to boast, he was only wishing; and to a flushed, enthusiastic soul, the
wish of to-day is apt to look like the fact of to-morrow.
We hoped to find a caravan ready to leave Linz, but we were
disappointed, so we journeyed by the Danube to the mouth of the Inn, up
which we went to Muhldorf. There we found a small caravan bound for
Munich on the Iser. From Munich we travelled with a caravan to Augsburg,
and thence to Ulm, where we were overjoyed to meet once more our old
friend, the Danube. Max snatched up a handful of water, kissed it, and
tossed it back to the river, saying:--"Sweet water, carry my kiss to the
river Save; there give it to a nymph that you will find waiting, and
tell her to take it to my dear old mother in far-off Styria."
Do not think that we met with no hard fortune in our journeying. My gold
was exhausted before we reached Muhldorf, and we often travelled hungry,
meeting with many lowly adventures. Max at first resented the
familiarity of strangers, but hunger is one of the factors in
man-building, and the scales soon began to fall from his eyes. Dignity
is a good thing to stand on, but a poor thing to travel with, and Max
soon found it the most cumbersome piece of luggage a knight-errant
could carry.
Among our misfortunes was the loss of the bundle prepared by the
duchess, and with it, alas! St. Martin's tooth. Max was so deeply
troubled by the loss of the tooth that I could not help laughing.
"Karl, I am surprised that you laugh at the loss of my mother's sacred
relic," said Max, sorrowfully.
I continued to laugh, and said: "We may get another tooth from the first
barber we meet. It will answer all the purposes of the one you
have lost."
"Truly, Karl?"
"Truly," I answered. "The tooth was a humbug."
"I have long thought as much," said Max, "but I valued it because my
mother loved it."
"A good reason, Max," I replied, and the tooth was never afterward
mentioned.
From Ulm we guarded a caravan to Cannstadt. From that city we hoped to
go to Strasburg, and thence through Lorraine to Burgundy, but we found
no caravan bound in that direction. Our sojourn at Cannstadt exhausted
the money we got for our journeys from Augsburg and Ulm, and we were
compelled, much against our will, to accept an offer of service with one
Master Franz, a silk merchant of Basel, who was about to journey
homeward. His caravan would pass through the Black Forest; perhaps the
most dangerous country in Europe for travellers.
Knowing the perils ahead of us, I engaged two stout men-at-arms, and
late in February we started for Basel as bodyguard to good Master Franz.
Think of the heir of Hapsburg marching in the train of a Swiss merchant!
Max dared not think of it; he was utterly humiliated!
Our first good fortune at Muhldorf he looked on as the deepest
degradation a man might endure, but he could not starve, and he would
not beg. Not once did he even think of returning to Styria, and, in
truth, he could not have done so had he wished; our bridges were burned
behind us; our money was spent.
By the time we had finished half our journey to Basel, Max liked the
life we were leading, and learned to love personal liberty, of which he
had known so little. Now he could actually do what he wished. He could
even slap a man on the back and call him "comrade." Of course, if the
process were reversed,--if any one slapped Max on the back,--well,
dignity is tender and not to be slapped. On several occasions Max got
himself into trouble by resenting familiarities, and his difficulties at
times were ludicrous. Once a fist fight occurred. The heir of Hapsburg
was actually compelled to fight with his fists. He thrashed the poor
fellow most terribly, and I believe would have killed him had not I
stayed his hand. Another time a pretty girl at Augsburg became familiar
with him, and Max checked her peremptorily. When he grew angry, she
laughed, and saucily held up her lips for a kiss. Max looked at me in
half-amused wonder.
"Take it, Max; there is no harm in it," I suggested.
Max found it so, and immediately wanted more, but the girl said too many
would not be good for him. She promised others later on, if he were
very, very good. Thus Max was conquered by a kiss at the wayside.
The girl was very pretty, Max was very good, and she helped me
wonderfully in reducing his superfluous dignity. Her name was Gertrude,
and we spoke of her afterward as "Gertrude the Conqueror." She was a
most enticing little individual, and Max learned that persons of low
degree really may be interesting. That was his first great lesson. I had
some trouble after leaving Augsburg to keep him from taking too many
lessons of the same sort.
Our contract with Franz provided that we should receive no compensation
until after his merchandise had safely reached Basel, but then our
remuneration was to be large. Max had no doubt as to the safe arrival of
the caravan at Basel, and he rejoiced at the prospect. I tried to reduce
the rosy hue of his dreams, but failed. I suggested that we might have
fighting ahead of us harder than any we had known, though we had given
and taken some rough knocks on two of our expeditions. Max laughed and
longed for the fray; he was beginning to live. The fray came quickly
enough after we reached the Black Forest, and the fight was sufficiently
warm to suit even enthusiastic Max. He and I were wounded; one of our
men-at-arms was killed, and Franz's life was saved only by an heroic
feat of arms on Max's part. The robbers were driven off; we spent a
fortnight in a near-by monastery, that our wounds might heal, and again
started for Basel.
During the last week in March we approached Basel. Max had saved the
merchant's life; we had protected the caravan from robbery; and good
Franz was grateful. Notwithstanding our sure reward, Max was gloomy. The
future had lost its rosiness; his wound did not readily heal; Basel was
half a hundred leagues off our road to Burgundy. Why did we ever come to
Switzerland? Everything was wrong. But no man knows what good fortune
may lurk in an evil chance.
At the close of a stormy day we sighted Basel from the top of a hill,
and soon the lights, one by one, began to twinkle cosily through the
gloaming. All day long drizzling rain and spitting snow had blown in our
faces like lance points, driven down the wind straight from the icy
Alps. We were chilled to the bone; in all my life I have never beheld a
sight so comforting as the home lights of the quaint old Swiss city.
Franz soon found a wherry and, after crossing the Rhine, we marched
slowly down the river street, ducking our heads to the blast. Within
half an hour we passed under a stone archway and found ourselves snug in
the haven of our merchant's courtyard. Even the sumpter mules rejoiced,
and gave forth a chorus of brays that did one's heart good. Every tone
of their voices spoke of the warm stalls, the double feed of oats, and
the great manger of sweet hay that awaited them. Before going into the
house Max gave to each mule a stroke of his hand in token of affection.
Surely this proud automaton of Hapsburg was growing lowly in his tastes.
In other words, nature had captured his heart and was driving out the
inherited conventions of twenty generations. Five months of contact with
the world had wrought a greater cure than I had hoped five years would
work. I was making a man out of the flesh and blood of a Hapsburg. God
only knows when the like had happened before.
Max and I were conducted by a demure little Swiss maid to a large room
on the third floor of the house, overlooking the Rhine. There was no
luxury, but there was every comfort. There were two beds, each with a
soft feather mattress, pillows of down, and warm, stuffed coverlets of
silk. These were not known even in the duke's apartments at Hapsburg
Castle. There we had tarnished gold cloth and ancient tapestries in
abundance, but we lacked the little comforts that make life worth
living. Here Max learned another lesson concerning the people of this
world. The lowly Swiss merchant's unknown guest slept more comfortably
than did the Duke of Styria.
When we went down to supper, I could see the effort it cost Max to sit
at table with these good people. But the struggle was not very great;
five months before it would have been impossible. At Hapsburg he sat at
table with his father and mother only; even I had never sat with him in
the castle. At Basel he was sitting with a burgher and a burgher's frau.
In Styria he ate boar's meat from battered silver plate and drank sour
wine from superannuated golden goblets; in Switzerland he ate tender,
juicy meats and toothsome pastries from stone dishes and drank rich
Cannstadt beer from leathern mugs. His palate and his stomach jointly
attacked his brain, and the horrors of life in Hapsburg appeared in
their true colors.
On the morning of our second day at Basel, Franz invited us to be his
guests during our sojourn in the city. His house was large, having been
built to entertain customers who came from great distances to buy
his silks.
Max and I had expected to leave Basel when our wounds were entirely
healed, but we changed our minds after I had talked with Franz. The
conversation that brought about this change occurred one morning while
the merchant and I were sitting in his shop. He handed me a purse filled
with gold, saying:--
"Here is twice the sum I agreed to pay. I beg that you accept it since I
shall still be in your debt."
I knew by the weight of the gold that it was a larger sum than I had
ever before possessed. I did not like to accept it, but I could not
bring myself to refuse a thing so important to Max.
"We should not accept this from you, good Franz, but--but--"
"The boy saved my life and my fortune," he interrupted, "and I am really
ashamed to offer you so small a sum. You should have half of all
my goods."
I protested and thanked him heartily, not only for his gift, but also
for his manner of giving. Then I told him of our intended journey to
Burgundy--of course not mentioning the princess--and asked if he knew of
any merchant who would soon be travelling that way.
"There are many going down the river from Basel to Strasburg," he
answered, "and you may easily fall in with one any day. But there will
soon be an opportunity for you to travel all the way to Burgundy. I
know the very man for your purpose. He is Master George Castleman of
Peronne. He comes every spring, if there is peace along the road, to buy
silks. We now have peace, though I fear it will be of short duration,
and I am expecting Castleman early this season. He will probably be here
before the first of May. He is a rich merchant, and was one of the
councillors of Duke Philip the Good, father to the present Duke of
Burgundy. Years ago Duke Philip built a house for him abutting the walls
of Peronne Castle. It is called 'The House under the Wall,' and
Castleman still lives in it. He refused a title of nobility offered him
by Duke Philip. He is not out of favor with the present duke, but he
loves peace too dearly to be of use to the hot-headed, tempestuous
Charles. Duke Charles, as you know, is really King of Burgundy--the
richest land on earth. His domain is the envy of every king, but he will
bring all his grandeur tumbling about his head if he perseveres in his
present course of violence and greed."
At that moment Max joined us.
"I hear this Duke Charles has no son to inherit his rich domain?" I
observed interrogatively.
"No," answered Franz. "He has a daughter, the Princess Mary, who will
inherit Burgundy. She is said to be as gentle as her father is violent.
Castleman tells me that she is gracious and kind to those beneath her,
and, in my opinion, that is the true stamp of greatness."
Those were healthful words for Max.
"The really great and good have no need to assert their qualities," I
answered.
"Castleman often speaks of the princess," said Franz. "He tells me that
his daughter Antoinette and the Princess Mary have been friends since
childhood--that is, of course, so far as persons so widely separated by
birth and station can be friends."
I briefly told Max what Franz had said concerning Castleman, and the
young fellow was delighted at the prospect of an early start
for Peronne.
In Max's awakening, the radiance of his ideal may have been dimmed, but
if so, the words of Franz restored its lustre. If the boy's fancy had
wandered, it quickly returned to the lady of Burgundy.
I asked Franz if Duke Charles lived at Peronne.
"No, he lives at Ghent," he answered; "but on rare occasions he visits
Peronne, which is on the French border. Duke Philip once lived there,
but Charles keeps Peronne only as his watch-tower to overlook his old
enemy, France. The enmity, I hope, will cease, now that the Princess
Mary is to marry the Dauphin."
This confirmation of a rumor which I had already heard was anything but
welcome. However, it sensitized the feeling Max entertained for his
unknown lady-love, and strengthened his resolution to pursue his
journey to Burgundy at whatever cost.
I led Franz to speak of Burgundian affairs and he continued:--
"The princess and her stepmother, the Duchess Margaret, live at Peronne.
They doubtless found life at Ghent with the duke too violent. It is said
that the duchess is unhappily wedded to the fierce duke, and that the
unfortunate princess finds little favor in her father's eyes because he
cannot forgive her the grievous fault of being a girl."
While Franz was talking I was dreaming. A kind providence had led us a
half-hundred leagues out of our road, through wounds and hardships, to
Basel; but that quiet city might after all prove to be the open doorway
to Max's fortune. My air-castle was of this architecture: Max would win
old Castleman's favor--an easy task. We would journey to Peronne, seek
Castleman's house, pay court to Antoinette--I prayed she might not be
too pretty--and--you can easily find your way over the rest of
my castle.
Within a fortnight Max and I had recovered entirely from our wounds, and
were abroad each day in the growing warmth of the sunshine. We did not
often speak of Castleman, but we waited, each day wishing for his
speedy advent.
At last, one beautiful evening early in May, he arrived. Max and I were
sitting at our window watching the river, when the little company rode
up to the door of the merchant's shop. With Castleman were two young
women hardly more than girls. One of them was a pink and white young
beauty, rather tall and somewhat stout. Her face, complexion, and hair
were exquisite, but there was little animation in her expression. The
other girl had features less regular, perhaps, but she was infinitely
more attractive. She was small, but beautiful in form; and she sprang
from her horse with the grace of a kitten. Her face was not so white as
her companion's, but its color was entrancing. Her expression was
animated, and her great brown eyes danced like twinkling stars on a
clear, moonless night.
The young women entered the house, and we saw nothing more of them for
several days.
When we met Castleman, he gladly engaged our services to Peronne, having
heard from Franz of our adventures in the Black Forest. We left the
terms to him, and he suggested a compensation far greater than we should
have asked. The sum we received from Franz, together with that which we
should get from Castleman, would place us beyond want for a year to
come. Surely luck was with us.
After Castleman's arrival our meals were served in our room, and we saw
little of him or of Franz for a week or more. Twice I saw Castleman ride
out with the young women, and after that I haunted the front door of
the house. One bright afternoon I met them as they were about to
dismount. Castleman was an old man and quite stout, so I helped him from
his horse. He then turned to the fair girl of pink and white, saying:--
"Antoinette, daughter, this is Sir Karl de Pitti, who will accompany us
to Peronne."
I made my bow and assisted Fräulein Antoinette to the ground. The other
young lady sprang nimbly from her saddle without assistance and waited,
as I thought, to be presented. Castleman did not offer to present her,
and she ran to the house, followed by serene Antoinette. I concluded
that the smaller girl was Fräulein Castleman's maid. I knew that great
familiarity between mistress and servant was usual among the
burgher class.
The smaller girl was certainly attractive, but I did not care for her
acquaintance. Antoinette was the one in whose eyes I hoped to find
favor, first for myself and then for Max. By her help I hoped Max might
be brought to meet the Princess of Burgundy when we should reach
Peronne. I had little doubt of Max's success in pleasing Antoinette; I
was not at all anxious that he should please the smaller maid. There was
a saucy glance in her dark eyes, and a tremulous little smile constantly
playing about her red, bedimpled mouth, that boded trouble to a
susceptible masculine heart. Max, with all his simplicity, though not
susceptible, had about him an impetuosity when his interest was aroused
of which I had learned to stand in wholesome dread. I was jealous of any
woman who might disturb his dreams of Mary of Burgundy, and this little
maid was surely attractive enough to turn any man's head her way if she
so desired.
Later in the afternoon I saw Fräulein Antoinette in the shop looking at
silks and laces. Hoping to improve the opportunity, I approached her,
and was received with a serene and gracious smile. Near Antoinette were
the saucy brown eyes and the bedimpled mouth. Truly they were
exquisitely beautiful in combination, and, old as I was, I could not
keep my eyes from them. The eyes and dimples came quickly to Antoinette,
who presented me to her "Cousin Fräulein Yolanda Castleman." Fräulein
Yolanda bowed with a grace one would not expect to find in a burgher
girl, and said with the condescension of a princess:--
"Sir Karl, you pleasure me."
I was not prepared for her manner. She probably was _not_ Antoinette's
maid. A pause followed my presentation which might have been meant by
the brown-eyed maid as permission to withdraw. But I was for having
further words with Antoinette. She, however, stepped back from her
cousin, and, if I was to remain, I must speak to my lady Fräulein
Yolanda Castleman or remain silent, so I asked,--
"Do you reside in Basel, Fräulein?"
"No, no," she replied, with no touch of bourgeois confusion, "I am a
Burgundian. Uncle Castleman, after promising Twonette" (I spell the name
as she pronounced it) "and me for years, has brought us on this long
journey into the world. I am enjoying it more than any one can know, but
poor uncle lives in dread of the journey home. He upbraids himself for
having brought us and declares that if he but had us home again, nothing
could induce him to start out with such a cargo of merchandise."
"Well he may be fearful," I answered. "Where one's greatest treasure is,
there is his greatest fear, but peace reigns on the road to Burgundy,
and I hope your good uncle's fears are without ground save in his love."
"I hear you are to accompany us, and of course we shall be safe," she
said, the shadow of a smile playing suspiciously about her mouth and
dancing in her eyes.
"Yes, I am to have that great _honor_," I replied, bowing very low. I,
too, could be sarcastic.
"Does the--will the--the gentleman who is with you accompany us?" asked
Fräulein Yolanda. So! These maidens of Burgundy had already seen my
handsome Max! This one would surely be tempting him with her eyes and
her irresistible little smile.
"Yolanda!" exclaimed serene Twonette. Yolanda gave no heed.
"Yes, Fräulein," I responded. "He goes with us. Do you live in Peronne?"
"Y-e-s," she replied hesitatingly. "Where is your home and your
friend's?"
"Yolanda!" again came in tones of mild remonstrance from Fräulein
Antoinette. The dimples again ignored the warning and waited for
my answer.
"We have no home at present save the broad earth, Fräulein," I
responded.
"You cannot occupy it all," she retorted, looking roguishly up to me.
"No," I responded, "we are occupying this part of the earth at present,
but we hope soon to occupy Burgundy."
"Please leave a small patch of that fair land for Twonette and me," she
answered, in mock entreaty. After a short pause she continued:--
"It seems easier for you to ask questions than to answer them."
"Fräulein," I responded, "your question is not easily answered. I was
born in Italy. I lived for many years in the East, and--"
"I did not ask for your biography," she said, interrupting me. I did not
notice the interruption, but continued:--
"I spent six years in your fair land of Burgundy. My mother was a
Walloon. I dearly love her people, and hope that my home may soon be
among them."
The girl's face had been slightly clouded, but when I spoke lovingly of
the Walloons, the dimples again played around her mouth and a smile
brightened her eyes.
"I also am a Walloon," she answered; "and your friend? He surely is not
Italian: he is too fair."
"The Lombards are fair," I answered, "and the Guelphs, you know, are of
Lombardy. You may have heard of the Houses of Guelph and of Pitti."
"I have often heard of them," she answered; then, after a short
silence,--"I fear I have asked too many questions." A gentle, apologetic
smile lighted her face and won me instantly. I liked her as much as I
admired her. I knew that she wanted me to speak of Max, so to please her
I continued, even against my inclination:--
"My young friend, Sir Maximilian du Guelph, wanted to see the world. We
are very poor, Fräulein, and if we would travel, we must make our way as
we go. We have just come from Ulm and Cannstadt, passing through the
Black Forest. Sir Max saved the life of our host, and in so doing was
grievously wounded. Good Master Franz rewarded us far beyond our
deserts, and for the time being we think we are rich."
"The name Maximilian is not Italian," observed Yolanda. "It has an
Austrian sound."
"That is true," I responded. "My name, Karl, is German. Few names
nowadays keep to their own country. Your name, Yolanda, for example,
is Italian."
"Is that true?" she answered inquiringly, taking up a piece of lace. I
saw that the interview was closing. After a moment's hesitation Yolanda
turned quickly to me and said:--
"You and your friend may sup with us this evening in the dining room of
our hostess. We take supper at five."
The invitation was given with all the condescension of a noble lady.
Twonette ventured:--
"What will father say, Yolanda?"
"I can guess what uncle will say, but we will give him his say and take
our own way. Nonsense, Twonette, if we are to journey to Peronne with
these gentlemen, our acquaintance with them cannot begin too soon. Come,
Sir Karl, and--and bring your young friend, Sir Maximilian."
It was clear to my mind that, without my young friend, Sir Maximilian, I
should not have had the invitation. Yolanda then turned to Franz and his
silks, and I, who had always thought myself of some importance, was
dismissed by a burgher girl. I soothed my vanity with the thought that
beauty has its own prerogatives.
Without being little, Yolanda was small; without nobility, she had the
_haute_ mien. But over and above all she had a sweet charm of manner, a
saucy gentleness, and a kindly grace that made her irresistible. When
she smiled, one felt like thanking God for the benediction.
That evening at five o'clock Max and I supped with Frau Franz. The good
frau and her husband sat at either end of the table, Castleman, his
daughter, and Yolanda occupied one side, while I sat by Max opposite
them. If Castleman had offered objection to the arrangement, he had
been silenced.
I was especially anxious that Max should devote himself to Twonette,
but, as I had expected, Yolanda's attractions were far too great to be
resisted. There was a slight Walloon accent in her French and German (we
all spoke both languages) that gave to her voice an exquisite cadence. I
spoke to her in Walloonish, and she was so pleased that she seemed to
nestle toward me. In the midst of an animated conversation she suddenly
became silent, and I saw her watching Max's hand. I thought she was
looking at his ring. It was the one that Mary of Burgundy had given him.