When Arnold, the warder from Berne, helped Eva from the saddle, a blaze
of light greeted her from the imperial residence. The banquet was just
beginning.
Frau Gertrude had more than one piece of good news to tell while
assisting the young girl. Among the sovereign’s guests was her uncle the
magistrate, who had accompanied the Emperor to the beekeeper’s, and
with his wife, whom she would also find there, had been invited to the
banquet. Besides--this, as the best, she told her last--her father,
Herr Ernst Ortlieb, had returned from Ulm and Augsburg, and a short
time before had come to the fortress to conduct Jungfrau Els, by the
Burgrave’s gracious permission, to her betrothed husband’s hiding place.
Fran Gertrude had lighted her way, and a long separation might be borne
for such a meeting.
The ex-maid was obliged to bestir herself that Eva might have a few
minutes for her sister and Wolff, yet she would fain have spent a much
longer time over the long, thick, fair hair, which with increasing
pleasure she combed until it flowed in beautiful waving tresses over the
rich Florentine stuff of her plain white mourning robe.
The Swiss had also provided white roses from the Burgrave’s garden to
fasten at the square neck of Eva’s dress. The latter permitted her to
do this, but her wish to put a wreath of roses on the young girl’s head,
according to the fashion of the day, was denied, because Eva thought
it more seemly to appear unadorned, and not as if decked for a festival
when she approached the Emperor as a petitioner. The woman whose life
had been spent at court perceived the wisdom of this idea, and at last
rejoiced that she had not obtained her wish; for when her work was
finished Eva looked so bewitching and yet so pure and modest, that
nothing could be removed or--even were it the wreath of roses--added
without injuring the perfect success of her masterpiece.
Lack of time soon compelled the young girl to interrupt the exclamations
of admiration uttered by the skilful tiring woman herself, her little
daughter, the maidservant, and the friend whom Fran Gertrude had invited
to come in as if by accident.
While following the warder’s wife through various corridors and rooms,
Eva thought of the hour in her own home before the dance at the Town
Hall, and it seemed as if not days but a whole life intervened, and she
was a different person, a complete contrast in most respects to the Eva
of that time.
Before the dance she had secretly rejoiced in the applause elicited by
her appearance; now she was indifferent to it--nay, the more eagerly the
spectators expressed their delight the more she grieved that the only
person whom she desired to please was not among them.
How easy it had been to be led to the dance, and how hard was the errand
awaiting her! Her heart shrank before the doubt awakened by the flood
of light pouring from the windows of the imperial residence; the
doubt whether her lover would not avoid her if--ah, had it only been
possible!--if he should meet her among the guests yonder; whether the
eloquent Father Ignatius, who had followed him, might not already have
won from the knight a vow compelling him to turn from her and summon all
his strength of will to forget her.
But, no! He could no more renounce his love than she hers. She would
not, dare not, let such terrible thoughts torture her now.
Heinz was far away, and the fate of her love would be decided later.
The cause of her presence here was something very different, and
the conviction that it was good, right, and certain of his approval,
dispelled the pain that had overpowered her, and raised her courage.
Unspeakably hard trials lay behind her, and harder ones must, perhaps,
yet be vanquished. But she no longer needed to fear them, for she
felt that the strength which had awakened within her after she became
conscious of her love was still sustaining and directing her, and would
enable her to govern matters which she could not help believing that she
herself would be too weak to guide to their goal. She felt freed from
her former wavering and hesitation, and as formerly in the modest house
of the Beguines, now in the stately citadel she realised that, in sorrow
and severe trial, she had learned to assert her position in life by her
own strength. Her father, whom she was to meet presently, would
find little outward change in her, but when he had perceived the
transformation wrought in the character of his helpless “little saint”
it would please him to hear from her how wonderfully her mother’s last
prophetic words were being fulfilled.
She was emerging from the forge fire of life, steeled for every
conflict, yet those would be wrong who believed that, trusting to her
own newly won strength, she had forgotten to look heavenward. On the
contrary, never had she felt nearer to her God, her Saviour, and the
gracious Virgin. Without them she could accomplish nothing, yet for the
first time she had undertaken tasks and sought to win goals which were
worthy of beseeching them for aid. Love had taught her to be faithful
in worldly life, and she said to herself, “Better, far better I can
certainly become; but firmer faith cannot be kept.”
Wolff’s hiding place was a large, airy room, affording a view of the
Frank country, with its meadows, fields, and forests. Eva saw there
by the light of the blazing pine chips her father, sister, and
brother-in-law.
Yet the meeting between all these beloved ones after a long separation
partook more of sorrow than of joy. Els had really resolved to leave the
Eysvogel mansion, yet she met her Aunt Christine with the joyful cry: “I
shall stay! Wolff’s father and I have become good friends.”
In fact, a few hours before Herr Casper had looked at her kindly and
gratefully, and when she showed him how happy this rendered her, warmly
entreated her in a broken voice not to leave him. She had proved herself
to be his good angel, and the sight of her was the only bright spot in
his clouded life. Then she had gladly promised to stay, and intended to
keep her word. She had only accompanied her father, who had unexpectedly
returned for a short time, because she could trust the nun who shared
her nursing of the paralysed patient, and he rarely recognised his
watcher at night.
How long Els had been separated from her lover! When Eva greeted the
reunited pair they had already poured forth to each other the events
which had driven them to the verge of despair, and which now once more
permitted them with budding hope to anticipate new happiness.
Eva had little time, yet the sisters found an opportunity to confide
many things to each other, though at first their father often
interrupted them by opposing his younger daughter’s intention of going
to the Emperor as a supplicant.
The girl whose wishes but a short time ago he had refused or gratified,
according to the mood of the moment, like those of a child, had since
gained, even in his eyes, so well founded a claim to respect, she
opposed him in her courteous, modest way with such definiteness of
purpose, Biberli’s fate interested him so much, and the prospect of
seeing his daughters brought before the court was so painful, that
he admitted the force of Eva’s reasons and let her set forth on her
difficult mission accompanied by his good wishes.
Els had dropped her maternal manner; nay, she received her sister as
her superior, and began to describe her work in the hospital to Wolff in
such vivid colours that Eva laid her hand on her lips and hurried out of
the room with the exclamation, “If you insist upon our changing places,
we will stand in future side by side and shoulder to shoulder! Farewell
till after the battle!”
She could not have given much more time to her relatives under any
circumstances, for the Burgravine’s maid of honour who was to attend
her to the reception was already waiting somewhat impatiently in Frau
Gertrude’s room, and took her to the castle without delay.
The place where they were to stay was the large apartment adjoining the
dining hall.
The confidence which Eva had regained on her way to her relatives
vanished only too quickly in the neighbourhood of the sovereign and the
sight of the formal reception bestowed on all who entered. Her heart
throbbed more and more anxiously as she realised for the first time
how serious a step she had taken; nay, it was long ere she succeeded in
calming herself sufficiently to notice the clatter of the metal vessels
and the Emperor’s deep voice, which often drowned the lower tones of the
guests. Reverence for royalty was apparent everywhere.
How much quieter this banquet was than those of the princes and nobles!
The guests knew that the Emperor Rudolph disliked the boisterous manners
of the German nobility. Besides, the sovereign’s mourning exerted a
restraint upon mirth and recklessness. All avoided loud laughter, though
the monarch was fond of gaiety and heroically concealed the deep grief
of his own soul.
When the lord high steward announced to the maid of honour who had
brought Eva here that dessert was served, the latter believed that the
dreaded moment when she would be presented to the Emperor was close at
hand, but quarter of an hour after quarter of an hour passed and she
still heard the clanking of metal and the voices of the guests, which
now began to grow louder, and amidst which she sometimes distinguished
the strident tones of the court fool, Eyebolt, and the high ones of the
Countess Cordula.
Time moved at a snail’s pace, and she already fancied her heart could
no longer endure its violent throbbing, when at last--at last--the heavy
oak chairs were pushed noisily back over the stone floor of the dining
hall.
From the balcony of the audience chamber a flourish of trumpets echoed
loudly along the arches of the lofty, vaulted ceiling of the apartment,
and the Emperor, leading the company, crossed the threshold attended by
several dignitaries, the court jesters, and some pages.
His august sister, the Burgravine Elizabeth, leaned on his arm. The
papal ambassador, Doria, in the brilliant robe of a cardinal, followed,
escorting the Duchess Agnes, but he parted from her in the hall. Among
many other secular and ecclesiastical princes and dignitaries appeared
also Count von Montfort and his daughter, the old First Losunger of
Nuremberg, Berthold Vorchtel, and Herr Pfinzing with his wife.
Several guests from the city entered at the same time through another
door, among whom, robed in handsome festal garments, were Eva’s new
Swabian acquaintances. How gladly she would have hastened to them! But
a grey-haired stately man of portly figure, whose fur-trimmed cloak hung
to his ankles--Sir Arnold Maier of Silenen, led them to a part of the
hall very distant from where she was standing.
To make amends, Count von Montfort and Cordula came very near her; but
she could not greet them. Each person--she felt it--must remain in his
or her place. And the restraint became stronger as the Duchess Agnes,
giving one guest a nod, another a few words, advanced nearer and nearer,
pausing at last beside Count von Montfort.
The old huntsman advanced respectfully towards the Bohemian princess,
and Eva heard the fourteen-year-old wife ask, “Well, Count, how fares
your wish to find the right husband for your wilful daughter?”
“Of course it must be fulfilled, Duchess, since your Highness deigned to
approve it,” he answered, with his hand upon his heart.
“And may his name be known?” she queried with evident eagerness, her
dark eyes sparkling brightly and a faint flush tingeing the slight shade
of tan on her child face.
“The duty of a knight and paternal weakness unfortunately still seal my
lips,” he answered. “Your Highness knows best that a lady’s wish--even
if she is your own child--is a command.”
“You are praised as an obedient father,” replied the Bohemian with
a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Yet you probably need not conceal
whether the happy man, who is not only encouraged, but this time also
chosen by the charming huntress of many kinds of game, is numbered among
our guests.”
“Unfortunately he is denied the pleasure, your Highness,” replied the
count; but Cordula, who had noticed Eva, and had heard the Duchess
Agnes’s last words, approached her royal foe, and with a low,
reverential bow, said: “My poor heart must imagine him far away from
here amid peril and privation. Instead of breaking ladies’ hearts, he is
destroying the castles of robber knights and disturbers of the peace of
the country.”
The duchess, in silent rage, clenched her white teeth upon her quivering
lips, and was about to make an answer which would scarcely have
flattered Cordula, when the Emperor, who had left his distinguished
attendants, approached Eva, with the Burgravine still leaning on his
arm.
She did not notice it; she was vainly trying to interpret the meaning of
Cordula’s words. True, she did not know that when no messenger brought
Heinz Schorlin’s intercession for Biberli, in whose fate the countess
felt a sincere interest, she had commanded her own betrothed husband
to ride his horse to death in order to tell the master of the sorely
imperilled man what danger threatened his faithful servant, and remind
him, in her name, that gratitude was one of the virtues which beseemed a
true knight, even though the matter in question concerned only a servant
Boemund Altrosen had obeyed, and must have overtaken Heinz long ago
and probably aided him to rout the Siebenburgs and their followers.
But Cordula read the young Bohemian’s child heart, and it afforded
her special pleasure to deal her a heavy blow in the warfare they were
waging, which perhaps might aid another purpose.
The surprise and bewilderment which the countess’s answer had aroused in
Eva heightened the spell of her beauty.
Had she heard aright? Could Heinz really have sued for the countess’s
hand and been accepted? Surely, surely not! Neither was capable of such
perfidy, such breach of faith. Spite of the testimony of her own ears,
she would not believe it. But when she at last saw the Emperor’s tall
figure before her, and he gazed down at her with a kind, fatherly
glance, she answered it with her large blue eyes uplifted beseechingly,
and withal as trustilly, as if she sought to remind him that, if he only
chose to do so, his power made it possible to convert everything which
troubled and oppressed her to good.
The tearful yet bright gaze of those resistless eyes pierced the
Emperor’s very soul, and he imagined how this lovely vision of purity
and innocence, this rare creature, of whom he had heard such marvellous
things from Herr Pfinzing during their ride through the forest, would
have fired the heart of his eighteen-year-old son, so sensitive to every
impression, whom death had snatched from him so suddenly. And whilst
remembering Hartmann, he also thought of his dead son’s most loyal and
dearest friend, Heinz Schorlin, who was again showing such prowess in
his service, and had earned a right to recognition and reward.
He did not know his young favourite’s present state of mind concerning
his desire for a monastic life, but he had probably become aware that
his swiftly kindled, ardent love for yonder lovely child had led him
into an act of culpable imprudence. Besides, that very day many things
had reached his ears concerning these two who suited each other as
perfectly as Heinz Schorlin seemed--even to the Hapsburg, who was
loyally devoted to the Holy Church--unfit for a religious life.
The Emperor could do much to further the union of this pair, yet he too
was obliged to exercise caution. If he joined them in wedlock as though
they were his own children he might be sure of causing loud complaints
from the priesthood, and especially the Dominicans, who were very
influential at the court of Rome--nay, he must be prepared for
opposition directed against himself as well as the young pair. The prior
of the order had already complained to the nuncio of the lukewarmness
of the Superior of the Sisters of St. Clare, who idly witnessed the
estrangement from the Church of the soul of a maiden belonging to a
distinguished family; and Doria had told the sovereign of this provoking
matter, and expressed the prior’s hope that Sir Heinz Schorlin, who
enjoyed the monarch’s favour, would be won for the monastic life.
Opposition to this marriage, which he approved, and therefore desired to
favour, was also to be expected from another quarter. Therefore he must
act with the utmost caution, and in a manner which his antagonists could
not oppose.
At this reflection a peculiar smile, familiar to the courtiers as an
omen of a gracious impulse, hovered around his lips, which during the
past month had usually revealed by their expression the grief that
burdened his soul and, raising his long forefinger in playful menace, he
began:
“Aha, Jungfrau Eva Ortlieb! What have you been doing since I had the
boon of meeting so rare a beauty at the dance? Do you know that you have
caused a turmoil amongst both ecclesiastical and secular authorities,
and that many a precious hour has been shortened for me on your account?
You have disturbed both the austere Dominican Fathers and the devout
Sisters of St. Clare. The former think the gentle nuns treat you too
indulgently, and the latter charge the zealous followers of St. Domingo
with too much strictness concerning you.
“And, besides, if you were not so well aware of it yourself, you would
scarcely believe it: for the sake of an insignificant serving man, who
is under your special protection, I, who carry the burden of so many
serious and weighty affairs, am beset by those of high and low degree.
How much, too, I have also suffered on account of his master, Sir Heinz
Schorlin--again in connection with you, you lovely disturber of the
peace! To say nothing of the rest, your own father brings a charge
against him. The accusation is made in a letter which Meister Gottlieb,
our protonotary, was to withhold by Herr Ortlieb’s desire, but through a
welcome accident it fell into my hands. This letter contains statements,
my lovely child, which I--Nay, don’t be troubled; the roses on your
cheeks are glowing enough already, and for their sake I will not
mention its contents; only they force me to ask the question--come
nearer--whether, though it caused you great annoyance that a certain
young Swiss knight forced his way into your father’s house under cover
of the darkness, you do not hope with me, the more experienced friend,
that this foolhardy fellow, misguided by ardent love, with the aid of
the saints to whom he is beginning to turn, may be converted to greater
caution and praiseworthy virtue? Whether, in your great charity--which I
have heard so highly praised--you would be capable”--Here he paused and,
lowering his voice to a whisper, added:
“Do me the favour to lend your ear--what a well-formed little thing
it is!--a short time longer, to confide to the elderly man who feels
a father’s affection for you whether you would be wholly reluctant to
attempt the reformation of the daring evil-doer yourself were he to
offer, not only his heart, but the little ring with--I will guarantee
it--his honourable, knightly hand?”
“Oh, your Majesty!” cried Eva, gazing at the gracious sovereign with an
expression of such imploring entreaty in her large, tearful blue eyes
that, as if regretting his hasty question, he added soothingly:
“Well, well, we will reach the goal, I think, at a slower pace. Such a
confession will probably flow more easily from the lips when sought
by the person for whom it means happiness or despair, than when a
stranger--even one as old and friendly as I--seeks to draw it from a
modest maiden.”
Here he paused; he had just recognised Lady Wendula Schorlin. Waving his
hand to her in joyous greeting, he ordered a page to conduct her to him
and, again turning to Eva, said: “Look yonder, my beautiful child: there
is someone in whom you would confide more willingly than in me. I think
Sir Heinz’s mother, who is worthy of all reverence and love--”
Here surprise and joy forced from Eva’s lips the question, “His mother?”
and there was such amazement in the tone that, as the Lady Wendula,
bowing low, approached the Emperor, after exchanging the first greetings
which pass between old friends who have been long separated, he asked
how it happened that though Eva seemed to have already met the matron,
she heard with such surprise that she was the mother of his brave
favourite.
Lady Wendula then confessed the name she had given herself, that she
might study the young girl without being known; and again that peculiar
smile flitted across the Emperor Rudolph’s beardless face, and lingered
there, as he asked the widow of his dead companion in arms whether,
after such an examination, she believed she had found the right wife for
her son; and she replied that a long life would not give her time enough
to thank Heaven sufficiently for such a daughter.
The maiden who was the subject of this whispering, whose purport only a
loving glance from the Lady Wendula revealed, pressed her hand upon her
heart, whose impetuous throbbing stifled her breath. Oh, how gladly she
would have hastened to the mother of the man she loved and his young
sister, who stood at a modest distance, to clasp them in her arms,
and confide to them what seemed too great, too much, too beautiful for
herself alone, yet which might crumble at a single word from her lover’s
lips like an undermined tower swept away by the wind! But she was forced
to have patience, and submit to whatever might yet be allotted to her.
Nor was she to lack agitating experiences, for the Emperor’s murmured
question whether she desired to hear herself called “daughter” by this
admirable lady had scarcely called forth an answer, which, though mute,
revealed the state of her heart eloquently enough, than he added in a
louder tone, though doubtfully: “Then, so far, all would be well; but,
fair maiden, my young friend, unfortunately, was by no means satisfied,
if I heard aright, with knocking at the door of a single heart. Things
have reached my ears--But this, too, must be----”
Here he suddenly paused, for already during this conversation with
the ladies there had been a noise at the door of the hall, and now the
person whom the Emperor had just accused entered, closely followed by
the chamberlain, Count Ebenhofen, whose face was deeply flushed from his
vain attempts to keep Sir Heinz Schorlin back.
Heinz’s cheeks were also glowing from his struggle with the courtier,
who considered it a grave offence that a knight should dare to appear
before the Emperor at a peaceful social assembly clad in full armour.
His appearance created a joyful stir among the other members of the
court--nay, in spite of the sovereign’s presence, cordial expressions of
welcome fell from the lips of ladies and nobles. The Bohemian princess
alone cast an angry glance at the blue ribbon which adorned the helmet
of the returning knight; for “blue” was Countess von Montfort’s colour,
and “rose red” her own.
The ecclesiastics whom Heinz passed whispered eagerly together. The
Duchess Agnes’s confessor, an elderly Dominican of tall stature, was
listening to the provost of St. Sebald’s, a grey-haired man a head
shorter than he, of dignified yet kindly aspect, who, looking keenly at
Heinz, remarked: “I fear that your prior hopes too confidently to win
yonder young knight. No one walks with that bearing who is on the eve of
renouncing the world. A splendid fellow!”
“To whom armour is better suited than the cowl,” observed the Bishop of
Bamberg, a middleaged prelate of aristocratic appearance, approaching
the others. “Your prior, my dear brothers, would have little pleasure,
I think, in the fish he is so eagerly trying to drag from the Minorite’s
net into his own. He would leap ashore again all too quickly. He is not
fit for the monastery. He would do better for a priest, and I would bid
him welcome as a military brother in office.”
“Bold enough he certainly is,” added the Dominican. “I would not
advise every one to enter the Emperor’s presence and this distinguished
gathering in such attire.”
In fact, Heinz showed plainly that he had come directly from the
battlefield and the saddle, for a suit of stout chain armour, which
covered the greater part of his tolerably long tunic, encased his limbs,
and even the helmet which he bore on his arm, spite of the blue ribbon
that adorned it, was by no means one of the delicate, costly ones worn
in the tournament. Besides, many a bruise showed that hard blows and
thrusts had been dealt him.