Three years were past since Herdegen had first gone to the High School,
and we had never seen him but for a few weeks at the end of the first
year, when he was on his way from Erfurt to Padua. In the letters he
wrote from thence there was ever a greeting for Mistress Anna, and often
there would be a few words in Greek for her and me; yet, as he knew full
well that she alone could crack such nuts, he bid me to the feast only
as the fox bid the stork. While he was with us he ever demeaned himself
both to me and to her as a true and loving brother, when he was not at
the school of arms proving to the amazement of the knights and nobles
his wondrous skill in the handling of the sword, which he had got in
the High School. And during this same brief while be at divers times
had speech of Ursula, but he showed plainly enough that he had lost all
delight in her.
He had found but half of what he sought at Erfurt, but deemed that he
was ripe to go to Padua; for there, alone, he thought--and Magister
Peter said likewise--could he find the true grist for his mill. And when
he told us of what he hoped to gain at that place we could but account
his judgment good, and wish him good speed and that he might come home
from that famous Italian school a luminary of learning. When, at his
departing, I saw that Ann was in no better heart than I was, but looked
right doleful, I thought it was by reason of the sickness which for some
while past had now and again fallen on her good father. Kunz likewise
had quitted school, and he could not complain that learning weighed
too heavily on his light heart and merry spirit. He was now serving his
apprenticeship in our grand uncle’s business, and whereas the traffic
was mainly with Venice he was to learn the Italian tongue with all
diligence. Our Magister, who was well-skilled in it, taught him therein,
and was, as heretofore, well content to be with us. Cousin Maud would
never suffer him to depart, for it had grown to be a habit with her to
care for him; albeit many an one can less easily suffer the presence of
a man who needs help, than of one who is himself of use and service.
Master Peter himself, under pretence of exercising himself in the
Italian tongue, would often wait upon Dame Giovanna. We on our part
would remember the fable of the Sack and the Ass and laugh; while Ann
slipped off to her garret chamber when the Magister was coming; and she
could never fail to know of it, for no son of man ever smote so feebly
as he with the knocker on the door plate.
Thus the years in which we grew from children into maidens ran past in
sheer peace and gladness. Cousin Maud allowed us to have every pastime
and delight; and if at times her face was less content, it was only by
reason that I craved to wear a longer kirtle than she deemed fitting
for my tender years, or that I proved myself over-rash in riding in the
riding school or the open country.
My close friendship with Ann brought me to mark and enjoy many other
and better things; and in this I differed from the maidens of some noble
families, who, to this day, sit in stalls of their own in church, apart
from such as have no scutcheon of arms. But indeed Ann was an honored
guest in many a lordly house wherein our school and playmates dwelt.
In summer days we would sometimes go forth to the farm belonging to us
Schoppers outside the town, or else to Jorg Stromer our worthy cousin
at the mill where paper is made; and at holy Whitsuntide we would ride
forth to the farm at Laub, which his sister Dame Anna Borchtlin had by
inheritance of her father. Nevertheless, and for all that there was to
see and learn at the paper-mill, and much as I relished the good fresh
butter and the black home-bread and the lard cakes with which Dame
Borchtlin made cheer for us, my heart best loved the green forest where
dwelt our uncle Conrad Waldstromer, father to my cousin Gotz, who still
was far abroad.
Now, since I shall have much to tell of this well-beloved kinsman and
of his kith and kin, I will here take leave to make mention that all the
Stromers were descended from a certain knight, Conrad von Reichenbach,
who erewhile had come from his castle of Kammerstein, hard by Schwabach,
as far forth as Nuremberg. There had he married a daughter of the
Waldstromers, and the children and grandchildren, issue of this
marriage, were all named Stromer or Waldstromer. And the style Wald--or
wood--Stromer is to be set down to the fact that this branch had, from
a long past time, heretofore held the dignity of Rangers of the great
forest which is the pride of Nuremberg to this very day. But at the
end of the last century the municipality had bought the offices and
dignities which were theirs by inheritance, both from Waldstromer
and eke from Koler the second ranger; albeit the worshipful council
entrusted none others than a Waldstromer or a Koler with the care of
its woods; and in my young days our Uncle Conrad Waldstromer was chief
Forester, and a right bold hunter.
Whensoever he crossed our threshold meseemed as though the fresh and
wholesome breath of pine-woods was in the air; and when he gave me his
hand it hurt mine, so firm and strong and loving withal was his grip,
and that his heart was the same all men might see. His thick, red-gold
hair and beard, streaked with snowy white, his light, flax-blue eyes and
his green forester’s garb, with high tan boots and a cap of otter fur
garnished with the feather of some bird he had slain--all this gave him
a strange, gladsome, and gaudy look. And as the stalwart man stepped
forth with his hanger and hunting-knife at his girdle, followed by his
hounds and badger-dogs, other children might have been affrighted,
but to me, betimes, there was no dearer sight than this of the
terrible-looking forester, who was besides Cousin Gotz’s father.
Well, on the second Sunday after Whitsunday, when the apple blossoms
were all shed, my uncle came in to town to bid me and Cousin Maud to the
forest lodge once more; for he ever dwelt there from one Springtide till
the next, albeit he was under a bond to the Council to keep a house in
the city. I was nigh upon seventeen years old; Ann was past seventeen
already, and I would have expressed my joy as freely as heretofore but
that somewhat lay at my heart, and that was concerning my Ann. She was
not as she was wont to be; she was apt to suffer pains in her head, and
the blood had fled from her fresh cheeks. Nay, at her worst she was all
pale, and the sight of her thus cut me to the heart, so I gladly agreed
when Cousin Maud said that the little house by the river was doing her
a mischief, and the grievous care of her deaf-mute brother and the other
little ones, and that she lacked fresh air. And indeed her own parents
did not fail to mark it; but they lacked the means to obey the leech’s
orders and to give Ann the good chance of a change to fresh forest air.
When my uncle had given his bidding, I made so bold as to beseech him
with coaxing words that he would bid her go with me. And if any should
deem that it was but a light matter to ask of a good-hearted old man
that he should harbor a fair young maid for a while, in a large and
wealthy house, he will be mistaken, inasmuch as my uncle was wont, at
all times and in all places, to have regard first to his wife’s goodwill
and pleasure.
This lady was a Behaim, of the same noble race as my mother, whom God
keep; and what great pride she set on her ancient and noble blood she
had plainly proven in the matter of her son’s love-match. This matter
had in truth no less heavily stricken his father’s soul, but he had held
his peace, inasmuch as he could never bring himself to play the lord
over his wife; albeit he was in other matters a strict and thorough man;
nay a right stern master, who ruled the host of foresters and hewers,
warders and beaters, bee-keepers and woodmen who were under him with
prudence and straitness. And yet my aunt Jacoba was a feeble, sickly
woman, who rarely went forth to drink in God’s fresh air in the lordly
forest, having lost the use of her feet, so that she must be borne from
her couch to her bed.
My uncle knew her full well, and he knew that she had a good and pitiful
heart and was minded to do good to her kind; nevertheless he said his
power over her would not stretch to the point of making her take a
scrivener’s child into her noble house, and entertaining her as an
equal. Thus he withstood my fondest prayers, till he granted so much as
that Ann should come and speak for herself or ever he should leave the
house.
When she had hastily greeted my cousin and me, and Cousin Maud had told
her who my uncle was, she went up to him in her decent way, made him a
curtsey, and held out her hand, no whit abashed, while her great eyes
looked up at him lovingly, inasmuch as she had heard all that was good
of him from me.
Thereupon I saw in the old forester’s face that he was “on the scent”
of my Ann--to use his own words--so I took heart again and said: “Well,
little uncle?”
“Well,” said he slowly and doubtingly. But he presently uplifted Ann’s
chin, gazed her in the face, and said: “To be sure, to be sure! Peaches
get they red cheeks better where we dwell than here among stone walls.”
And he pulled down his belt and went on quickly, as though he weened
that he might have to rue his hasty words: “Margery is to be our welcome
guest out in the forest; and if she should bring thee with her, child,
thou’lt be welcome.”
Nor need I here set down how gladly the bidding was received; and Ann’s
parents were more than content to let her go. Thenceforth had Cousin
Maud, and our house maids, and Beata the tailor-wife, enough on their
hands; for they deemed it a pleasure to take care to outfit Ann as
well as me, since there were many noble guests at the forest lodge,
especially about St. Hubert’s day, when there was ever a grand hunt.
Dame Giovanna, Ann’s mother, was in truth at all times choicely clad,
and she ever kept Ann in more seemly and richer habit than others of her
standing; yet she was greatly content with the summer holiday raiment
which Cousin Maud had made for us. Likewise, for each of us, a green
riding habit, fit for the forest, was made of good Florence cloth; and
if ever two young maids rode out with glad and thankful hearts into the
fair, sunny world, we were those maids when, on Saint Margaret’s day in
the morning--[The 13th July, old style.]--we bid adieu and, mounted on
our saddles, followed Balzer, the old forester, whom my uncle had sent
with four men at arms on horseback to attend us, and two beasts of
burthen to carry Susan and the “woman’s gear.”
As we rode forth at this early hour, across the fields, and saw the
lark mount singing, we likewise lifted up our voices, and did not stop
singing till we entered the wood. Then in the dewy silence our minds
were turned to devotion and a Sabbath mood, and we spoke not of what
was in our minds; only once--and it seems as I could hear her now--these
simple words rose from Ann’s heart to her lips: “I am so thankful!”
And I was thankful at that hour, with my whole heart; and as the great
hills of the Alps cover their heads with pure snow as they get nearer
to heaven, so should every good man or woman, when in some happy hour
he feels God’s mercy nigh him, deck his heart with pure and joyful
thanksgiving.
At last we drew up on a plot shut in by tall trees, in front of a
bee-keeper’s hut, and while we were there, refreshing on some new milk
and the store Cousin Maud had put into our saddle bags, we heard the
barking of hounds and a noise of hoofs, and ere long Uncle Conrad was
giving us a welcome.
He was right glad to let us wait upon him and fell to with a will; but
he made us set forth again sooner than was our pleasure, and as we fared
farther the old forest rang with many a merry jest and much laughter. To
Ann it seemed that my uncle was but now opening her eyes and ears to the
mystery of the forest, which Gotz had shown me long years ago. How many
a bird’s pipe did he teach her to know which till now she had never
marked! And each had its special significance, for my uncle named them
all by their names and described them; whereas his son could copy them
so as to deceive the ear, twittering, singing, whistling and calling,
each after his kind. To the end that Ann and my uncle should learn to
come together closely I put no word into his teaching.
Not till we came to the skirts of the clearing, where the forest lodge
came in sight against the screen of trees, was my uncle silent; then,
while he lifted me from the saddle, he asked me in a low tone if I had
already warned Ann of my aunt’s strange demeanor. This I could tell him
I had indeed done; nevertheless I saw by his face that he was not easy
till he could lead Ann to his wife, and had learnt that the maid had
found such favor in her eyes as, in truth, nor he nor I were so bold as
to hope. But with what sweet dignity did the clerk’s daughter kiss
the somewhat stern lady’s hand--as I had bidden her, and how modestly,
though with due self-respect, did she go through Dame Jacoba’s
inquisition. For my part I should have lost patience all too soon, if I
had thus been questioned touching matters concerning myself alone; but
Ann kept calm till the end, and at the same time she spoke as openly as
though the inquisitor had been her own mother. This, in truth, somewhat
moved me to fear; for, albeit I likewise cling to the truth, meseemed
it showed it a lack of prudence and foresight to discover so freely and
frankly all that was poor or lacking in her home; inasmuch as there
was much, even there, which could not be better or more seemly in the
richest man’s dwelling. In truth, to my knowledge there was not the
smallest thing in the little house by the river of which a virtuous
damsel need feel ashamed. But at night, in our bed-chamber, Ann
confessed to me that she had taken it as a favor of fortune that she
should be allowed, at once, to lay bare to the great lady who had been
so unwilling to open her doors to her, exactly what she was and to whom
she belonged.
“To be deemed unworthy of heed by my lady hostess,” said she, “would
have been hard to bear; but whereas she truly cared to question me, a
simple maid, and I have nothing hid, all is clear and plain betwixt us.”
My aunt doubtless thought in like manner; for she was a truthful woman,
and Ann’s honest, firm, and withal gentle way had won her heart. And
yet, since she was strait in her opinions, and must deem it unseemly in
me and my kinsfolk to receive a maid of lower birth as one of ourselves,
she stoutly avowed that Ann’s worthy father, as being chief clerk in the
Chancery, might claim to be accounted one of the Council. Never, as she
said to my uncle, would she have suffered a workingman’s daughter to
cross her threshold, whereas she had a large place, not alone at her
table but in her heart, for this gentle daughter of a worthy member of
the worshipful Council.
And such speech was good to my ears and to my uncle Conrad’s; but the
best of all was that already, by the end of a week or two, Ann seemed
likely to supplant me wholly in the love my aunt had erewhile shown to
me; Ann thenceforth was diligent in waiting on the sick lady, and such
loving duty won her more and more of my uncle’s love, who found his
weakly, suffering wife much on his hands, and that in the plainest sense
of the words, since, whenever he might be at home, she would allow no
other creature to lift her from one spot to another.
Now, whereas Uncle Conrad had taught Ann to mark the divers voices of
the forest, so did she open my eyes to the many virtues of my aunt,
which, heretofore, I had been wont to veil from my own sight out of
wrath at her hardness to my cousin Gotz.
Ann, in her compassion and thankfulness, had truly learnt to love her,
and she now led me to perceive that she was in many ways a right wise
and good woman. Her low, sheltered couch in the peaceful chimney-corner
was, as it were, the centre of a wide net, and she herself the
spider-wife who had spun it, for in truth her good counsel stretched
forth over the whole range of forest, and over all her husband’s rough
henchmen. She knew the name of every child in the furthest warders’
huts, and never did she suffer one of the forest folks to die unholpen.
She was, indeed, forced to see with other eyes and give with other hands
than her own, and notwithstanding this she ever gave help where it was
most needed, since she chose her messengers well and lent an ear to all
who sought her.
She soon found work for us, making us do many a Samaritan-task; and many
a time have we marvelled to mark the skill with which she wove her web,
and the wisdom coupled with her open-handed bounty.
No one else could have found a place in the great books which she filled
with her records; but to her they were so clear that the craft of the
most cunning was put to shame when she looked into them. Never a
soul, whether master or man, said her nay in the lightest thing, to my
knowledge, and this was a plea for the one fault which had hitherto set
me against her.
Everything here was new to Ann; and what could be more delightful,
what could give me greater joy than to be able to show all that was
noteworthy and pleasant, and to me well-known, to a well-beloved friend,
and to tell her the use and end of each thing. In this two men were
ever ready to help me: Uncle Conrad and the young Baron von Kalenbach, a
Swabian who had come to be my uncle’s disciple and to learn forestry.
This same young Baron was a slender stripling, well-grown and not
ill-favored; but it seemed as though his lips were locked, and if a
man was fain to hear the sound of his voice and get from him a “yea” or
“nay” there was no way but by asking him a plain question. His eye, on
the other hand, was full of speech, and by the time I had been no more
than three weeks at the Lodge it told me, as often as it might, that
he was deeply in love with me; nay, he told the reverend chaplain in so
many words that his first desire was that he might take me home as his
wife to Swabia, where he had rich estates.
Never would I have said him yea, albeit I liked him well; nor did I
hide it from him; nay indeed, now and again I may have lent him courage,
though truly with no evil intent, since I was not ill pleased with the
tale his eyes told me. And I was but a young thing then, and wist not
as yet that a maid who gives hope to a suitor though she has no mind to
hear him, is guilty of a sin grievous enough to bring forth much sorrow
and heart-ache. It was not till I had had a lesson which came upon me
all too soon, that I took heed in such matters; and the time was at hand
when men folks thought more about me than I deemed convenient.
As I have gone so far as to put this down on paper, I, an old woman now,
will put aside bashfulness and freely confess that both Ann and I were
at that time well-favored and good to look upon.
I was of the greater height and stouter build, while she was more
slender and supple; and for gentle sweetness I have never seen her like.
I was rose and white, and my golden hair was no whit less fine than
Ursula Tetzel’s; but whoso would care to know what we were to look upon
in our youth, let him gaze on our portraits, before which each one of
you has stood many a time. But I will leave speaking of such foolish
things and come now to the point.
Though for most days common wear was good enough at the Forest Lodge,
we sometimes had occasion to wear our bravery, for now and again we went
forth to hunt with my uncle or with the Junker, on foot or on horseback,
or hawking with a falcon on the wrist. There was no lack of these noble
birds, and the bravest of them all, a falcon from Iceland beyond seas,
had been brought thence by Seyfried Kubbeling of Brunswick. That same
strange man, who was my right good friend, had ere now taught me to
handle a falcon, and I could help my uncle to teach my friend the art.
I went out shooting but seldom, by reason that Ann loved it not ever
after she had hit one of the best hounds in the pack with her arrow;
and my uncle must have been well affected to her to forgive such a shot,
inasmuch as the dogs were only less near his heart than his closest kin.
They had to make up to him for much that he lacked, and when he stood
in their midst he saw round him, yelping and barking on four legs, well
nigh all that he had thought most noteworthy from his childhood up. They
bore names, indeed, of no more than one or two syllables, but each had
its sense. They were for the most part the beginning of some word which
reminded him of a thing he cared to remember. First he had, in sport,
named some of them after the metrical feet of Latin verse, which had
been but ill friends of his in his school days, and in his kennel
there was a Troch, Iamb, Spond and Dact, whose full names were Trochee,
Iambus, Spondee and Dactyl. Now Spond was the greatest and heaviest
of the wolfhounds; Anap, rightly Anapaest, was a slender and swift
greyhound; and whereas he found this pastime of names good sport he
carried it further. Thus it came to pass that the witless creatures who
shared his loneliness were reminders of many pleasant things. One of
a pair of fleet bloodhounds which were ever leashed together was named
Nich, and the other Syn, in memory that he had been betrothed on the
festival of Saint Nicodemus and wedded on Saint Synesius’ day. A noble
hound called Salve, or as we should say Welcome, spoke to him of the
birth of his first born, and every dog in like manner had a name of some
signification; thus Ann took it not at all amiss that he should call a
fine young setter after her name. There had long been a Gred, short for
Margaret.
Nevertheless we spent much more time in seeing the sick to whom my aunt
sent us on her errands, than we did in shooting or heron-hawking. She
ever packed the little basket we were to carry with her own hands, and
there was never a physic which she did not mingle, nor a garment she had
not made choice of, nor a victual she had not judged fit for each one it
was sent to.
Thus many a time our souls ached to see want and pain lying in darksome
chambers on wretched straw, though we earned thanks and true joy when we
saw that healing and ease followed in our steps. And whatever seemed to
me the most praiseworthy grace in my Aunt Jacoba, was, that albeit she
could never hear the hearty thanksgiving of those she had comforted and
healed, she nevertheless, to the end of her days, ceased not from caring
for the poor folks in the forest like a very mother.
My Ann was never made for such work, inasmuch as she could never endure
to see blood or wounds; yet was it in this tending of the sick that
I had reason to mark and understand how strong was the spirit of this
frail, slender flower.
Since a certain army surgeon, by name Haberlein, had departed this life,
there was no leech at the Forest lodge, but my aunt and the chaplain,
a man of few words but well trained in good works and a right pious
servant of the Lord, were disciples of Galen, and the leech from
Nuremberg came forth once a week, on each Tuesday; and since the death
of Doctor Paul Rieter, of whom I have made mention, it was his successor
Master Ulsenius. His duty it was to attend on the sick mistress, and on
any other sick folks if they needed it; and then it was our part to wait
on the leech, and my aunt would diligently instruct us in the right way
to use healing drugs, or bandages.
The first time we were bidden to a woman who gathered berries, who had
been stung in the toe by an adder; and when I set to work to wash the
wound, as my aunt had taught me, Ann turned as white as a linen cloth.
And whereas I saw that she was nigh swooning I would not have her help;
but she gave her help nevertheless, though she held her breath and half
turned away her face. And thus she ever did with sores; but she ever
paid the penalty of the violence she did herself. As it fell Master
Ulsenius came to the Forest one day when my aunt’s waiting-woman had
fared forth on a pilgrimage to Vierzelmheiligen, and my uncle likewise
being out of the way, the leech called us to him to lend him a helping
hand. Then I came to know that a fall unawares with her horse had been
the beginning of my aunt’s long sickness. She had at that time done her
backbone a mischief, and some few months later a wound had broken forth
which was part of her hurt.
Now when all was made ready Aunt Jacoba begged of Ann that she should
hold the sore closed while Master Ulsenius made the linen bands wet. I
remembered my friend’s weakness and came close to her, to take her place
unmarked; but she whispered: “Nay, leave me,” in a commanding voice,
so that I saw full well she meant it in earnest, and withdrew without a
word. And then I beheld a noble sight; for though she was pale she did
as she was bidden, nor did she turn her eyes off the wound. But her
bosom rose and fell fast, as if some danger threatened her, and her
nostrils quivered, and I was minded to hold out my arms to save her from
falling. But she stood firm till all was done, and none but I was aware
of her having defied the base foe with such true valor.
Thenceforth she ever did me good service without shrinking; and
whensoever thereafter I had some hateful duty to do which meseemed I
might never bring myself to fulfil, I would remember Ann holding my
aunt’s wound. And out of all this grew the good saying, “They who will,
can”--which the children are wont to call my motto.