The vesper bells had already died away, yet Heinz was still listening
eagerly to the aged Minorite, who was now relating the story of St.
Francis, his breach with everything that he loved, and the sorrowful
commencement of his life. The monk could have desired no more attentive
auditor. Only the young knight often looked out of the window in search
of Biberli, who had not yet returned.
The latter had gone to the Ortlieb mansion with Katterle.
The runaway maid, whose disappearance, at old Martsche's earnest request,
had already been "cried" in the city, had no cause to complain of her
reception; for the housekeeper and the other servants, who knew nothing
of her guilt, greeted her as a favourite companion whom they had greatly
missed, and Biberli had taken care that she was provided with answers to
the questions of the inquisitive. The story which he had invented began
with the false report that a fire had broken out in the fortress. This
had startled Katterle, and attracted her to the citadel to aid her
countrywoman and her little daughter. Then came the statement that she
spent the night there, and lastly the tale that in the morning she was
detained in the Swiss warder's quarters by a gentleman of rank--perhaps
the Burgrave himself--who, after he had learned who she was, wished to
give her some important papers for Herr Ernst Ortlieb. She had waited
hours for them and finally, on the way home, chanced to meet Biberli.
At first the maid found it difficult to repeat this patchwork of truth
and fiction in proper order, but the ex-schoolmaster impressed it so
firmly on his sweetheart's mind that at last it flowed from her lips as
fluently as his pupils in Stanstadt had recited the alphabet.
So she became among the other servants the heroine of an innocent
adventure whose truth no one doubted, least of all the housekeeper, who
felt a maternal affection for her. Some time elapsed ere she could reach
the Es; they were still with their mother, who was so ill that the leech
Otto left the sick-room shaking his head.
As soon as he had gone Biberli stopped Els, who had accompanied the
physician outside the door of the sufferer's chamber, and earnestly
entreated her to forgive him and Katterle--who stood at his side with
drooping head, holding her apron to her eyes and persuade her father also
to let mercy take the place of justice.
But kind-hearted Els proved sterner than the maid had ever seen her.
As her mother had been as well as usual when she woke, they had told her
of the events of the previous night. Her father was very considerate,
and even kept back many incidents, but the invalid was too weak for so
unexpected and startling a communication. She was well aware of her
excitable daughter's passionate nature; but she had never expected that
her little "saint," the future bride of Heaven, would be so quickly fired
with earthly love, especially for a stranger knight. Moreover, the
conduct of Eva who, though she entreated her forgiveness, by no means
showed herself contritely ready to resign her lover, had given her so
much food for thought that she could not find the rest her frail body
required.
Soon after these disclosures she was again attacked with convulsions,
and Els thought of them and the fact that they were caused by Eva's
imprudence, instigated by the maid, when she refused Biberli her
intercession with her father in behalf of him and his bride, as he now
called Katterle.
The servitor uttered a few touching exclamations of grief, yet meanwhile
thrust his hand into the pocket of his long robe and, with a courteous
bow and the warmest message of love from her betrothed husband, whom
Katterle had seen in perfect health and under the best care in the
Zollern castle, delivered to the indignant girl the letter which Wolff
had entrusted to the maid. Els hurried with the missive so impatiently
expected to the window in the hall, through which the sun, not yet
reached by the rising clouds, was shining, and as it contained nothing
save tender words of love which proved that her betrothed husband firmly
relied upon her fidelity and, come what might, would not give her up, she
returned to the pair, and hurriedly, but in a more kindly tone, informed
them that her father was greatly incensed against both, but she would try
to soften him. At present he was in his office with Herr Casper
Eysvogel; Biberli might wait in the kitchen till the latter went away.
Els then entered the sick-chamber, but Biberli put his hand under his
sweetheart's chin, bent her head back gently, and said: "Now you see how
Biberli and other clever people manage. The best is kept until the last.
The result of the first throw matters little, only he who wins the last
goes home content. To know how to choose the bait is also an art. The
trout bites at the fly, the pike at the worm, and a yearning maiden at
her lover's letter. Take notice! To-day, which began with such cruel
sorrow, will yet have a tolerable end."
"Nay," cried Katterle, nudging him angrily with her elbow, "we never had
a day begin more happily for us. The gold with which we can set up
housekeeping--"
"Oh, yes," interrupted Biberli, "the zecchins and gold florins are
certainly no trifle. Much can be bought with them. But Schorlin Castle
razed to the ground, my master's lady mother and Fraulein Maria held as
half captives in the convent, to say nothing of the light-hearted Prince
Hartmann and Sir Heinz's piteous grief--if all these things could be
undone, child, I should not think the bag of gold, and another into the
bargain, too high a price to pay for it. What is the use of a house
filled with fine furniture when the heart is so full of sorrow? At home
we all eat together out of a cracked clay dish across which a tinker had
drawn a wire, with rude wooden spoons made by my father, yet how we all
relished it!--what more did we want?"
As he spoke he drew her into the kitchen, where he found a friendly
reception.
True, the Ortlieb servants were attached to their employers and sincerely
sorry for the ill health of the mistress of the house, but for several
years the lamentations and anxiety concerning her had been ceaseless.
The young prince's death had startled rather than saddened them. They
did not know him, but it was terrible to die so young and so suddenly.
They would not have listened to a merry tale which stirred them to
laughter, but Biberli's stories of distant lands, of the court, of war,
of the tournament, just suited their present mood, and the narrator was
well pleased to find ready listeners. He had so many things to forget,
and he never succeeded better than when permitted to use his tongue
freely. He wagged it valiantly, too, but when the thunderstorm burst he
paused and went to the window. His narrow face was blanched, and his
agile limbs moved restlessly. Suddenly remarking, "My master will need
me," he held out his hand to Katterle in farewell. But as the zigzag
flash of lightning had just been followed by the peal of thunder, she
clung to him, earnestly beseeching him not to leave her. He yielded,
but went out to learn whether Herr Casper was still in the office, and
in a short time returned, exclaiming angrily: "The old Eysvogel seems to
be building his nest here!"
Then, to the vexation of the clumsy old cook, whom he interrupted by his
restless movements in the Paternosters she was repeating on her rosary,
he began to stride up and down before the hearth.
His light heart had rarely been so heavy. He could not keep his thoughts
from his master, and felt sure that Heinz needed him; that he, Biberli,
would have cause to regret not being with him at this moment. Had the
storm destroyed the Ortlieb mansion he would have considered it only
natural; and as he glanced around the kitchen in search of Katterle, who,
like most of the others, was on her knees with her rosary in her hand,
old Martsche rushed in, hurried up to the cook, shook her as if to rouse
her from sleep, and exclaimed: "Hot water for the blood-letting! Quick!
Our mistress--she'll slip through our hands."
As she spoke, the young kitchen maid Metz helped the clumsy woman up, and
Biberli also lent his aid.
Just as the jug was filled, Els, too, hastened in, snatched it from the
hand of Martsche, whose old feet were too slow for her, and hurried with
it into the entry and up the stairs, passing her father, to whom she had
called on the way down.
Casper Eysvogel stood at the bottom of the steps, and called after her
that it would not be his fault, but her father's, if everything between
her and his son was over.
She probably heard the words, but made no answer, and hastened as fast as
her feet would carry her to her mother's bed.
The old physician was holding the gasping woman in his arms, and Eva
knelt beside the high bedstead sobbing, as she covered the dry, burning
hand with kisses.
When Ernst Ortlieb entered the chamber of his beloved wife a cold chill
ran down his back, for the odour of musk, which he had already inhaled
beside many a deathbed, reached him.
It had come to this! The end which he had so long delayed by tender love
and care was approaching. The flower which had adorned his youth and,
spite of its broken stem, had grown still dearer and was treasured beyond
everything else that bloomed in his garden, would be torn from him.
This time no friendly potion had helped her to sleep through the noise
of the thunderstorm. Soon after the attack of convulsions the agitated,
feeble sufferer had started up in terror at the first loud peal of
thunder. Fright followed fright, and when the leech came voluntarily to
enquire for her, he found a dying woman.
The bleeding restored her to consciousness for a short time, and she
evidently recognised her husband and her children. To the former she
gave a grateful, tender glance of love, to Els an affectionate,
confidential gesture, but Eva, her pride and joy, whom the past night had
rendered a child of sorrow, claimed her attention most fully.
Her kind, gentle eyes rested a long time upon her: then she looked toward
her husband as if beseeching him to cherish this child with special
tenderness in his heart; and when he returned the glance with another, in
which all the wealth of his great and loyal love shone through his tears,
her fever-flushed features brightened. Memories of the spring of her
love seemed to irradiate her last moments and, as her eyes again rested
on Eva, her lips once more smiled with the bewitching expression, once
her husband's delight, which had long deserted them.
It seemed during this time as if she had forgotten the faithful nurse who
for years had willingly sacrificed the pleasures of her days and the
sleep of her nights, to lavish upon the child of her anxiety all that her
mother-heart still contained, which was naught save love.
Els doubtless noticed it, but with no bitter or sorrowful thoughts. She
and the beloved dying woman understood one another. Each knew what she
was to the other. Her mother need not doubt, nor did she, that, whatever
obstacles life might place in her pathway, Els would pursue the right
course even without counsel and guidance. But Eva needed her love and
care so much just now, and when the sufferer gave her older daughter also
a tender glance and vainly strove to falter a few words of thanks, Els
herself replaced in Eva's the hand which her mother had withdrawn.
Fran Maria nodded gently to Els, as if asking her sensible elder daughter
to watch over her forsaken sister in her place.
Then her eyes again sought her husband, but the priest, to whom she had
just confessed, approached her instead.
After the holy man had performed the duties of his office, she again
turned her head toward Eva. It seemed as though she was feasting her
eyes on her daughter's charms. Meanwhile she strove to utter what more
she desired to say, but the bystanders understood only the words--they
were her last: "We thought--should be untouched--But now Heaven----"
Here she paused and, after closing her eyes for a time, went on in a
lower but perfectly distinct tone: "You are good--I hope--the forge-fire
of life--it is fortunate for you The heart and its demands The hap--pi
--ness--which it--gave--me---- It ought--it must--you, too----"
Whilst speaking she had again glanced towards her husband, then at the
Abbess Kunigunde, who knelt beside him, and as the abbess met the look
she thought, "She is entrusting the child to me, and desires Eva to be
happy as one of us and the fairest of the brides of Heaven!" Ernst
Ortlieb, wholly overpowered by the deepest grief, was far from enquiring
into the meaning of these last words of his beloved dying wife.
Els, on the contrary, who had learned to read the sufferer's features and
understood her even without words when speech was difficult, had watched
every change in the expression of her features with the utmost attention.
Without reflecting or interpreting, she was sure that the movements of
her dying mother's lips had predicted to Eva that the "forge fire of
life" would exert its purifying and moulding influence on her also, and
wished that in the world, not in the convent, she might be as happy as
she herself had been rendered by her father's love.
After these farewell words Frau Maria's features became painfully
distorted, the lids drooped over her eyes, there was a brief struggle,
then a slight gesture from the physician announced to the weeping group
that her earthly pilgrimage was over.
No one spoke. All knelt silently, with clasped hands, beside the couch,
until Eva, as if roused from a dream, shrieked, "She will never come back
again!" and with passionate grief threw herself upon the lifeless form to
kiss the still face and beseech her to open her dear eyes once more and
not leave her.
How often she had remained away from the invalid in order to let her aunt
point out the path for her own higher happiness whilst Els nursed her
mother; but now that she had left her, she suddenly felt what she had
possessed and lost in her love. It seemed as if hitherto she had walked
beneath the shadow of leafy boughs, and her mother's death had stripped
them all away as an autumn tempest cruelly tears off the foliage.
Henceforth she must walk in the scorching sun without protection or
shelter. Meanwhile she beheld in imagination fierce flames blazing
brightly from the dark soot--the forge fire of life, to which the dead
woman's last words had referred. She knew what her mother had wished to
say, but at the present time she lacked both the desire and the strength
to realise it.
For a time each remained absorbed by individual grief. Then the father
drew both girls to his heart and confessed that, with their mother's
death life, already impoverished by the loss of his only son, had been
bereft of its last charm. His most ardent desire was to be summoned soon
to follow the departed ones.
Els summoned up her courage and asked: "And we--are we nothing to you,
father?"
Surprised by this rebuke, he started, removed his wet handkerchief from
his eyes, and answered: "Yes, yes--but the old do not reckon Ay, much is
left to me. But he who is robbed of his best possession easily forgets
the good things remaining, and good you both are."
He kissed his daughter lovingly as he spoke, as if wishing to retract the
words which had wounded her; then gazing at the still face of the dead,
he said: "Before you dress her, leave her alone with me for a time----
There is a wild turmoil here and here"--he pointed to his breast and
brow--"and yet The last hours----There is so much to settle and consider
in a future without her With her, with her dear calm features before my
eyes----"
Here a fresh outburst of grief stifled his voice; but Els pointed to the
image of the Virgin on the wall and beckoned to her sister.
Wholly engrossed by her own sorrow, Eva had scarcely heeded her father's
words, and now impetuously refused to leave her mother. Herr Ernst,
pleased by this immoderate grief for the one dearest to him, permitted
her to remain, and asked Els to attend to the outside affairs which a
death always brought with it.
Els accepted the new duty as a matter of course and went to the door; but
at the threshold she turned back, rushed to the deathbed, kissed the pure
brow and closed eyelids of the sleeper, and then knelt beside her in
silent prayer. When she rose she clasped Eva, who had knelt and risen
with her, in a close embrace, and whispered: "Whatever happens, you may
rely on me."
Then she consulted her father concerning certain arrangements which must
be made, and also asked him what she should say to the maid's lover, who
had come to beseech his forgiveness.
"Tell him to leave me in peace!" cried Herr Ernst vehemently. Els tried
to intercede for the servant, but her father pressed both hands over his
ears, exclaiming: "Who can reach a decision when he is out of his senses
himself? Let the man come to-morrow, or the day after. Whoever may
call, I will see no one, and don't wish to know who is here."
But the peace and solitude for which he longed seemed denied him. A few
hours after he left the chamber of death he was obliged to go to the Town
Hall on business which could not be deferred; and when, shortly before
sunset, he returned home and locked himself into his own room, old
Eysvogel again appeared.
He looked pale and agitated, and ordered the manservant--who denied him
admittance as he had been directed--to call Jungfrau Els. His voice
trembled as he entreated her to persuade her father to see him again.
The matter in question was the final decision of the fate of his ancient
house, of Wolff, and also her own and her marriage with his son. Perhaps
the death of his beloved wife might render her father's mood more gentle.
He did not yet know all Now he must learn it. If he again said "No," it
would seal the ruin of the Eysvogel firm.
How imploringly he could plead! how humbly the words fell from the old
merchant's lips, moving Els to her inmost heart as she remembered the
curt inflexibility with which, only yesterday, this arrogant man, in that
very spot, had refused any connection with the Ortliebs! How much it
must cost him to bow his stiff neck before her, who was so much younger,
and approach her father, whose heart he had so pitilessly trampled under
foot, in the character of a supplicant for aid, perhaps a beggar!
Besides, Wolff was his son!
Whatever wrong the father had done her she must forget it, and the task
was not difficult; for now--she felt it--no matter from what motive, he
honestly desired to unite her to his son. If her lover now led her
through the door adorned with the huge, showy escutcheon, she would no
longer come as a person unwillingly tolerated, but as a welcome helper-
perhaps as the saviour of the imperilled house. Of the women of the
Eysvogel family she forbade herself to think.
How touching the handsome, aristocratic, grey-haired man seemed to her in
his helpless weakness! If her father would only receive him, he would
find it no easier than she to deny him the compassion he so greatly
needed.
She knocked at the lonely mourner's door and was admitted.
He was sitting, with his head bowed on his hands, opposite to the large
portrait of her dead mother in her bridal robes. The dusk of the
gathering twilight concealed the picture, but he had doubtless gazed long
at the lovely features, and still beheld them with his mental vision.
Els was received with a mournful greeting; but when Herr Ernst heard what
had brought her to him, he fiercely commanded her to tell Herr Casper
that he would have nothing more to do with him.
Els interceded for the unfortunate man, begging, pleading, and assuring
her father that she would never give up Wolff. The happiness of her
whole life was centred in him and his love. If he refused the Eysvogels
the aid besought by the old merchant who, in his humility, seemed a
different man----
Here her father indignantly broke in, ordering her to disturb him no
longer. But now the heritage of his own nature asserted itself in Els
and, with an outburst of indignation, she pointed to the picture of her
mother, whose kind heart certainly could not have endured to see a
broken-hearted man, on whose rescue the happiness of her own child
depended, turned from her door like an importunate beggar.
At this the man whose locks had long been grey sprang from his chair with
the agility of a youth, exclaiming in vehement excitement: "To embitter
the hours devoted to the most sacred grief is genuine Eysvogel
selfishness. Everything for themselves! What do they care for others?
I except your Wolff; let the future decide what concerns him and you.
I will stand by you. But to hope for happiness and peace-nay, even a
life without bitter sorrow for you from the rest of the kin--is to expect
to gather sweet pears from juniper bushes. Ever since your betrothal
your mother and I have had no sleep, disturbed whenever we talked to each
other about your being condemned to live under the same roof with that
old devil, the countess, her pitiable daughter, and that worthless
Siebenburg. But within the past few hours all this has been changed.
The table-cloth has been cut between the Eysvogels and the Ortliebs. No
power in the world can ever join it. I have not told you what has
happened. Now you may learn that you---- But first listen, and then
decide on whose side you will stand.
"Early this morning I went to the session of the Council. In the market-
place I met first one member of it, then a second, third, and fourth;
each asked me what had happened to the beautiful E, my lovely little
daughter. Gradually I learned what had reached their ears. Yesterday
evening, on his way home from here, the man outside, Casper Eysvogel,
sullied your--our--good name, child, in a way I have just learned the
particulars. He boasted, in the presence of those estimable old
gentlemen, the Brothers Ebner, that he had flung at my feet the ring
which bound you to his son. You had been surprised at midnight, he said,
in the arms of a Swiss knight, and that base scoundrel Siebenburg, his
daughter's husband, dared at the gaming-table, before a number of knights
and gentlemen--among them young Hans Gross, Veit Holzschuher, and others-
to put your interview with the Swiss in so false a light that No, I
cannot bring my lips to utter it----
"You need hear only this one thing more: the wretch said that he thanked
his patron saint that they had discovered the jade's tricks in time. And
this, child, was the real belief of the whole contemptible crew! But now
that the water is up to their necks, and they need my helping hand to
save them from drowning-now they will graciously take Ernst Ortlieb's
daughter if he will give them his property into the bargain, that they
may destroy both fortune and child. No--a thousand times no! It is not
seemly, at this hour, to yield to the spirit of hate; but she who is
lying in her last sleep above would not have counselled me by a single
word to such suicidal folly. I did not learn the worst until I went to
the Council, or I would have turned the importunate fellow from the door
this morning. Tell the old man so, and add that Ernst Ortlieb will have
nothing more to do with him."
Here the deeply incensed father pointed to the door.
Els had listened with eyes dilating in horror. The result surpassed her
worst fears.
She had felt so secure in her innocence, and the countess had interceded
for her so cleverly that, absorbed by anxieties concerning Eva, Cordula,
and her mother, she had already half forgotten the disagreeable incident.
Yet, now that her fair name was dragged through the mire, she could
scarcely be angry with those who pointed the finger of scorn at her; for
faithlessness to a betrothed lover was an offence as great as infidelity
to a husband. Nay, her friends were more ready to condemn a girl who
broke her vow than a wife who forgot her duty.
And if Wolff, in his biding-place in the citadel, should learn what was
said of his Els, to whom yesterday old and young raised their hats in
glad yet respectful greeting, would he not believe those who appealed to
his own father?
Yet ere she had fully realised this fear, she told herself that it was
her duty and her right to thrust it aside. Wolff would not be Wolff if
even for a moment he believed such a thing possible. They ought not,
could not, doubt each other. Though all Nuremberg should listen to the
base calumny and turn its back upon her, she was sure of her Wolff. Ay,
he would cherish her with twofold tenderness when he learned by whom this
terrible suffering had been inflicted upon her.
Drawing a long breath, she again fixed her eyes upon her mother's
portrait. Had she now rushed out to tell the old man who had so cruelly
injured her--oh, it would have lightened her heart!--the wrong he had
done and what she thought of him, her mother would certainly have stopped
her, saying: "Remember that he is your betrothed husband's father." She
would not forget it; she could not even hate the ruined man.
Any effort to change her father's mood now--she saw it plainly--would be
futile. Later, when his just anger had cooled, perhaps he might be
persuaded to aid the endangered house.
Herr Ernst gazed after her sorrowfully as, with a gesture of farewell,
she silently left the room to tell her lover's father that he had come in
vain.
The old merchant was waiting in the entry, where the wails of the
servants and the women in the neighbourhood who, according to custom,
were beating their brows and breasts and rending their garments, could be
heard distinctly.
Deadly pale, as if ready to sink, he tottered towards the door.
When Els saw him hesitate at the top of the few steps leading to the
entry, she gave him her arm to support him down. As he cautiously put
one foot after the other on the stairs, she wondered how it was possible
that this man, whose tall figure and handsome face were cast in so noble
a mould, could believe her to be so base; and at the same moment she
remembered the words which old Berthold Vorchtel had uttered in her
presence to his son Ulrich: "If anything obscure comes between you and a
friend, obtain a clear understanding and peace by truth."
Had the young man who had irritated his misjudged friend into crossing
swords with him followed this counsel, perhaps he would have been alive
now. She would take it herself, and frankly ask Wolff's father what
justified him in accusing her of so base a deed.
The lamps were already lighted in the hall, and the rays from the central
one fell upon Herr Casper's colourless face, which wore an expression of
despair. But just as her lips parted to ask the question the odour of
musk reached her from the death-chamber, whose door Eva had opened. Her
mother's gentle face, still in death, rose before her memory, and she was
forced to exert the utmost self-control not to weep aloud. Without
further reflection she imposed silence upon herself and--yesterday she
would not have ventured to do it--threw her arm around Herr Casper's
shoulders, gazed affectionately at him, and whispered: "You must not
despair, father. You have a faithful ally in this house in Els."
The old man looked down at her in astonishment, but instead of drawing
her closer to him he released himself with courteous coldness, saying
bitterly: "There is no longer any bond between us and the Ortliebs,
Jungfrau Els. From this day forth I am no more your father than you are
the bride of my son. Your will may be good, but how little it can
accomplish has unfortunately been proved."
Shrugging his shoulders wearily as he spoke, he nodded a farewell and
left the house.
Four bearers were waiting outside with the sedan-chair, three servants
with torches, and two stout attendants carrying clubs over their
shoulders. All wore costly liveries of the Eysvogel colours, and when
their master had taken his seat in the gilded conveyance and the men
lifted it, Els heard a weaver's wife, who lived near by, say to her
little boy: "That's the rich Herr Eysvogel, Fritzel. He has as much
money to spend every hour as we have in a whole year, and he is a very
happy man."