Spring was past, and again the summer led me and Ann back into the green
wood. Aunt Jacoba’s sickness was no whit amended, and the banishment
of her only and comely son gnawed at her heart; but the more she needed
tending and cheering the more Ann could do for her and the dearer she
became to the heart of the sick woman.
Kunz was ever in Venice. Herdegen wrote right loving letters at first
from Padua, but then they came less often, and the last Ann ever had
to show me was a mere feint which pleased me ill indeed, inasmuch as,
albeit it was full of big words, it was empty of tidings of his life or
of his heart’s desire. What all this must mean Ann, with her clear sense
and true love, could not fail to see; nevertheless she ceased not from
building on her lover’s truth; or, if she did not, she hid that from all
the world, even from me.
We came from the forest earlier than we were wont, on Saint Maurice’s
day, forasmuch as that Ann could not be longer spared and, now more than
ever, I could not bear to leave her alone.
Uncle Christian rode to the town with us, and if he had before loved her
well, in this last long time of our all being together he had taken her
yet more into his heart. And now, whereas he had given her the right
to warn him against taking too much wine, he was fain to call her
his little watchman, by reason that it is the watchman’s part to give
warning of the enemy’s onset.
But while Ann was so truly beloved at the Forest lodge, on her return
home she found no pleasant welcome. In her absence the coppersmith
Pernhart had wooed her mother in good earnest, and the eldest daughter
not being on the spot, had sped so well that the widow had yielded. Ann
once made bold to beseech her mother with due reverence to give up
her purpose, but she fell on her child’s neck, as though Ann were the
mother, entreating her, with many tears, to let her have her will.
Ann of a certainty would not now be long under her roof to cherish the
younger children, and it was not in her power as their mother to guide
them in the way in which their father would have them to walk. For
this Ulman Pernhart was the fittest man. Her dead husband had been a
schoolmate of her suitor’s, and of his brother the very reverend lord
Bishop, and he had thought highly of Master Ulman. This it was gave
her strength to follow the prompting of her heart. In this way did the
mother try to move her child to look with favor on the desire of her
fiery Italian heart, now shame-faced and coaxing, and anon with tears in
her eyes; and albeit the widow was past five and thirty and her suitor
nigh upon fifty, yet no man seeing the pair together would have made
sport of their love. The Venice lady had lost so little of her youthful
beauty and charms that it was in truth a marvel; and as to Master
Pernhart, he was not a man to be overlooked, even among many.
As he was at this time he might be taken for the very pattern of a
stalwart and upright German mastercraftsman; nay, nor would a knight’s
harness of mail have ill-beseemed him. Or ever he had thought of
paying court to Mistress Giovanna I had heard the prebendary Master
von Hellfeld speak of Pernhart as a right good fellow, of whom the city
might be proud; and he then spoke likewise of Master Ulman’s brother,
who had become a servant of the Holy Church, and while yet a young man
had been raised to the dignity of a bishop.
When the great schism had come to a happy ending, and one Head, instead
of three, ruled the Church, Pope Martin V. had chosen him to sit in
his council and kept him at Rome, where he was one of the powers of the
Curia.
Albeit his good German name of Pernhart was now changed to Bernardi,
he had not ceased to love his native town and his own kin, and had so
largely added to the wealth and ease of his own mother and his only
brother that the coppersmith had been able to build himself a dwelling
little behind those of the noble citizens. He had been forlorn in his
great house of late, but no such cause as that was needed to move him
to cast his eye on the fair widow of his very reverend brother’s best
friend.
While Ann was away in the forest Mistress Giovanna had let Pernhart into
the secret of her daughter’s betrothal to Herdegen, and so soon as the
young maid was at home again he had spoken to her of the matter, telling
her, in few but hearty words, that she would be ever welcome to his
house and there fill the place of his lost Gertrude; but that if she was
fain to wed an honest man, he would make it his business to provide her
outfit.
These things, and much more, inclined me in his favor, little as I
desired that he should wed the widow, for Herdegen’s sake; and when
I met him for the first time as betrothed to Ann’s mother, and the
grandlooking man shook my hand with hearty kindness, and then thanked
me with warmth and simplicity for whatsoever I had done for her who
henceforth would be his dearest and most precious treasure, I returned
the warm grasp of his hand with all honesty, and it was from the bottom
of my heart that I answered him, saying that I gladly hailed him as a
new friend, albeit I could not hope for the same from my brother.
He heard this with a strange smile, half mournful, but, meseemed, half
proud; then he held forth his horny, hard-worked hand, and said that to
be sure it was an ill-matched pair when such a hand as that should clasp
a soft and white one such as might come out of a velvet sleeve; that
whereas, in order to win the woman he loved, he had taken her tribe of
children into the bargain, and fully purposed to have much joy of them
and be a true father to them, my lord brother, if his love were no less
true, must make the best of his father-in-law, whose honor, though he
was but of simple birth, was as clean as ever another man’s in the eyes
of God.
And as we talked I found there was more and nobler matter in his brain
and heart than I had ever weened I might find in a craftsman. We met
often and learned to know each other well, and one day it fell that I
asked him whether he had in truth forgiven the Junker through whom he
had lost the one he loved best.
He forthwith replied that I was not to lay the blame on one whom he
would ever remember as a brave and true-hearted youth, inasmuch as it
was not my cousin, but he himself who had put an end to the love-making
between Gotz and Gertrude. It was after the breach between Gotz and his
parents that it had been most hard to turn a deaf ear to the prayers of
the devoted lover and of his own child. But, through all, he had borne
in mind the doctrine by which his father had ever ruled his going,
namely, not to bring on our neighbor such grief as would make our own
heart sore. Therefore he examined himself as to what he would feel
towards one who should make his child to wed against his will with a
suitor he liked not; and whereas his own dignity as a man and his care
for his daughter’s welfare forbade that he should give her in marriage
to a youth whose kinsfolks would receive her with scorn and ill-feeling,
rather than with love and kindness, he had at last set his heart hard
against young Waldstromer, whom he had loved as his own son, and forced
him to go far away from his sweetheart. I, in my heart, was strangely
wroth with my cousin in that he had not staked his all to win so fair a
maid; nay, and I made so bold as to confess that in Gertrude’s place I
should have gone after my lover whithersoever he would, even against my
father’s will.
And again that proud smile came upon Ulman Pernhart’s bearded lips, and
his eye flashed fire as he said: “My life moves in a narrow round, but
all that dwell therein bend to my will as the copper bends under my
hammer. If you think that the Junker gave in without a struggle you are
greatly mistaken; after I had forbidden him the house, he had tempted
Gertrude to turn against me and was ready to carry her off; nay, and
would you believe it, my own mother sided with the young ones. The
priest even was in readiness to marry them privily, and they would
have won the day in spite of me. But the eyes of jealousy are ever
the sharpest; my head apprentice, who was madly in love with the maid,
betrayed the plot, and then, Mistress Margery, were things said and
done--things concerning which I had best hold my peace. And if you crave
to know them, you may ask my mother. You will see some day, if you do
not scorn to enter my house and if you gain her friendship--and I doubt
not that you will, albeit it is not granted to every one--she will be
glad enough to complain of my dealings in this matter--mine, her
own son’s, although on other points she is wont to praise my virtues
over-loudly.”
This discourse raised my cousin once more to his old place in my
opinion, and I knew now that the honest glance of his blue eyes, which
doubtless had won fair Gertrude’s heart, was trustworthy and true.
Master Ulman Pernhart was married in a right sober fashion to fair
Mistress Giovanna, and I remember to this day seeing them wed in Saint
Laurence’s Church. It was a few months before this that I was taken
for the first time to a dance at the town hall. There, as soon as I had
forgotten my first little fears, I took my pleasure right gladly to the
sound of the music, and I verily delighted in the dance. But albeit I
found no lack of young ladies my friends, and still less of youths who
would fain win my favor, I nevertheless lost not the feeling that I had
left part of my very being at home; nay, that I scarce had a right to
these joys, since my brothers were in a distant land and Ann could
not share them with me, and while I was taking my pleasure she had the
heart-ache.
Then was there a second dance, and a third and fourth; and at home there
came a whole troop of young men in their best apparel to ask of Cousin
Maud, each after his own fashion, to be allowed to pay court to me;
but albeit they were all of good family, and to many a one I felt no
dislike, I felt nothing at all like love as I imagined it, and I would
have nothing to say to any one of them. And all this I took with a light
heart, for which Cousin Maud many a time,--and most rightly--reproved
me.
But at that time, and yet more as the months went on, I hardly knew
my own mind; another fate than my own weighed most on my soul; and I
thought so little of my own value that meseemed it could add to no man’s
happiness to call me his. All else in life passed before my eyes like a
shadow; a time came when all joy was gone from me, and my suitors sought
me in vain in the dancing-hall, for a great and heavy grief befell me.
All was at an end--even now I scarce can bear to write the
words--between Ann and Herdegen; and by no fault of hers, but only and
wholly by reason of his great and unpardonable sin.
But I will write down in order how it came about. So early as at
Martinmas I heard from Cousin Maud--and my grand-uncle had told
her--that Herdegen had quitted Padua and that it was his intent to take
the degree of doctor at Paris whither the famous Gerson’s great genius
was drawing the studious youth of all lands; and his reason for this
was that a bloody fray had made the soil of Italy too hot for his feet.
“These tidings boded evil; all the more as neither we nor Ann had a word
from Herdegen in his own hand to tell us that he had quitted the country
and his school. Then, in my fear and grief, I could not help going to my
grand-uncle, but he would have nothing to say to me or to Cousin Maud,
or else he put us off with impatient answers, or empty words that meant
nothing. Thus we lived in dread and sorrow, till at last, a few days
before Pernhart was married, a letter came to me from Eppelein, and I
have it before me now, among other papers all gone yellow.
“From your most duteous and obedient servant Eppelein Gockel to the
lady Margery Schopper,” was the superscription. And he went on to excuse
himself in that he knew not the art of writing, and had requested the
service of the Magister of the young Count von Solms.
“And inasmuch as I erewhile pledged my word as a man to the illustrious
and worshipful Mistress Margery, in her sisterly care, that I would
write to her if we at any time needed the favor of her counsel and help,
I would ere now have craved for the Magister’s aid if the all-merciful
Virgin had not succored us in due season.
“Nevertheless my heart was moved to write to you, gracious and
worshipful Mistress Margery, inasmuch as I wist you would be in sorrow,
and longing for tidings of my gracious master; for it is by this time
long since I gave his last letter for the Schopperhof in charge to the
German post-runner; and meseems that my gracious master has liked to
give his precious time to study and to other pastimes rather than to
those who, being his next of kin, are ever ready and willing to be
patient with him; as indeed they could if they pleased enquire of my
lord the knight Sebald Im Hoff as to his well-being. My gracious master
gave him to know by long letters how matters were speeding with him,
and of a certainty told him how that the old Marchese and his nephews,
malicious knaves, came to blows with us at Padua by reason of the old
Marchese’s young and fair lady, who held my gracious master so dear that
all Padua talked thereof.
“Nevertheless it was an evil business, inasmuch as three of them fell
on us in the darkness of night; and if the merciful Saints had not
protected us with their special grace nobler and more honorable blood
should have been shed than those rogues. Also we came to Paris in good
heart; and safe and sound in body; and this is a city wherein life is
far more ravishing than in Nuremberg.
“Whereas I have known full well that you, most illustrious Mistress
Margery, have ever vouchsafed your gracious friendship to Mistress Ann
Spiesz--and indeed I myself hold her in the highest respect, as a lady
rich in all virtue--I would beseech her to put away from her heart all
thought of my gracious master as soon as may be, and to strive no more
to keep his troth, forasmuch as it can do no good: Better had she look
for some other suitor who is more honest in his intent, that so she may
not wholly waste her maiden days--which sweet Saint Katharine forbid!
Yet, most worshipful Mistress Margery, I entreat you with due submission
not to take this amiss in your beloved brother, nor to withdraw from him
any share of your precious love, whereas my gracious master may rightly
look higher for his future wife. And as touching his doings now in his
unmarried state, of us the saying is true: Like master, like man. And
whereas I, who am but a poor and simple serving man, have never been
fain to set my heart on one only maid, no less is to be looked for in my
gracious master, who is rich and of noble birth.”
This epistle would of a certainty have moved me to laughter at any other
time but, as things stood, the matter and manner of the low varlet’s
letter in daring to write thus of Ann, roused me to fury. And yet he
was a brave fellow, and of rare faithfulness to his master; for when the
Marchese’s nephew had fallen upon Herdegen, he had wrenched the sword
out of the young nobleman’s hand at the peril of his own life and had
thereafter modestly held his peace as to that brave deed. It was, in
truth, hard not to betray the coming of this letter, even by a look; yet
did I hide it; but when another letter was brought, not long after, all
care and secrecy were vain.
Oh! that dreadful letter. I could not hide the matter of it; but I let
pass her mother’s wedding before I confessed to Ann what my brother had
written to me.
That cruel letter lies before me now. It is longer than any he had
written me heretofore, and I will here write it fair, for indeed I could
not, an I would, copy the writing, so wild and reckless as it is.
“All must be at an end, Margery, betwixt Ann and me”--and those first
words stung me like a whip-lash. “There. ‘Tis written, and now you
know it. I was never worthy of her, for I have sold my heart’s love for
money, as Judas sold the Lord.
“Not that my love or longing are dead. Even while I write I feel dragged
to her; a thousand voices cry to me that there is but one Ann, and when
a few weeks ago the young Sieur de Blonay made so bold as to vaunt of
his lady and her rose-red as above all other ladies and colors, my sword
compelled him to yield the place of honor to blue--for whose sake you
know well.
“And nevertheless I must give her up. Although I fled from temptation,
it pursued me, and when it fell upon me, after a short battle I was
brought low. The craving for those joys of the world which she tried to
teach me to scorn, is strong within me. I was born to sin; and now as
matters stand they must remain. A wight such as I am, who shoots through
life like a wild hawk, cannot pause nor think until a shaft has broken
his wings. The bitter fate which bids me part from Ann has stricken me
thus, and now I can only look back and into my own soul; and the fairer,
the sweeter, the loftier is she whom I have lost, the darker and more
vile, meseemeth, is all I discover in myself.
“Yet, or ever I cast behind me all that was pure and noble, righteous
and truly blissful, I hold up the mirror to my own sinful face, and
will bring, myself to show to you, my Margery, the hideous countenance I
behold therein.
“I will not cloke nor spare myself in anything; and yet, at this hour,
which finds me sober and at home, having quitted my fellows betimes this
night, I verily believe that I might have done well, and not ill, and
what was pleasing in the sight of God, and in yours, my Margery, and in
the eyes of Ann and of all righteous folk, if only some other hand had
had the steering of my life’s bark.
“Margery, we are orphans; and there is nothing a man needs so much, in
the years while he is still unripe and unsure of himself, as a master
whom he must revere in fear or in love. And we--I--Margery, what was my
grand-uncle to me?
“You and I again are of one blood and so near in age that, albeit one
may counsel the other, it is scarce to be hoped that I should take your
judgment, or you mine, without cavil.
“Then Cousin Maud! With all the mother’s love she has ever shown us, all
I did was right in her eyes; and herein doubtless lies the difference
between a true mother, who brought us with travail into the world, and
a loving foster-mother, who fears to turn our hearts from her by
harshness; but the true mother punishes her children wherein she deems
it good, inasmuch as she is sure of their love. My cousin’s love was
great indeed, but her strictness towards me was too small. Out of sheer
love, when I went to the High School she kept my purse filled; then, as
I grew older, our uncle did likewise, though for other reasons; and now
that I have redenied Ann, to do his pleasure, I loathe myself. Nay, more
and more since I am raised to such fortune as thousands may envy me;
inasmuch as my granduncle purposes to make me his heir by form of law.
Last night, when I came home with great gains from play in my pocket, I
was nigh to put an end to the woes of this life....
“But have no fear, Margery. A light heart soon will bring to the top
again what ruth, at this hour, is bearing to the deeps. Of what use is
waiting? Am I then the first Junker who has made love to a sweet maid of
low birth, only to forget her for a new lady love?
“Sooth to say, Margery, my confessor, to whom--albeit with bitter
pains--I am laying open every fold of my heart--yes, Margery, if Ann’s
cradle had been graced with a coat of arms matters would be otherwise.
But to call a copper-smith father-in-law, and little Henneleinlein
Madame Aunt! In church, to nod from the old seats of the Schoppers to
all those common folk as my nearest kin, to meet the lute-player among
my own people, teaching the lads and maids their music, and to greet him
as dear grandfather, to see my brethren and sisters-in-law busy in the
clerks’ chambers or work-shops--all this I say is bitter to the taste;
and yet more when the tempter on the other side shows the gaudy young
gentleman the very joys dearest to his courtly spirit. And with what
eloquence and good cheer has Father Ignatius set all this before mine
eyes here in Paris, doubtless with honest intent; and he spoke to my
heart soberly and to edification, setting forth all that the precepts of
the Lord, and my old and noble family required of me.
“Much less than all this would have overruled so feeble a wight as I am.
I promised Father Ignatius to give up Ann, and, on my home-coming, to
submit in all things to my uncle and to agree with him as to what each
should yield up and renounce to the other--as though it were a matter of
merchandise in spices from the Levant, or silk kerchiefs from Florence;
and thereupon the holy Friar gave me his benediction, as though my
salvation were henceforth sure in this world and the next.
“I rode forth with him even to the gate, firm in the belief that I had
thrown the winning number in life’s game; but scarce had I turned my
horse homeward when I wist that I had cast from me all the peace and joy
of my soul.
“It is done. I have denied Ann--given her up forever--and whereas she
must one day hear it, be it done at once. You, my poor Margery, I make
my messenger. I have tried, in truth, to write to Ann, but it would not
do. One thing you must say, and that is that, even when I have sinned
most against her, I have never forgotten her; nay, that the memory of
that happy time when she was fain to call herself my Laura moved me to
ride forth to Treviso, where, in the chapel of the Franciscan Brethren,
there may be seen a head of the true Laura done by the limner Simone di
Martino, the friend of Petrarca, a right worthy work of art. Methought
she drew me to her with voice and becks. And yet, and yet--woe, woe is
me!
“My pen has had a long rest, for meseemed I saw first Petrarca’s lady
with her fair braids, and then Ann with her black hair, which shone with
such lustrous, soft waves, and lay so nobly on the snow-white brow. Her
eyes and mien are verily those of Laura; both alike pure and lofty.
But here my full heart over-flows; it cannot forget how far Ann exceeds
Laura in sweet woman’s grace.
“Day is breaking, and I can but sigh forth to the morning: ‘Lost, lost!
I have lost the fairest and the best!’
“Then I sat long, sunk in thought, looking out of window, across the
bare tree-tops in the garden, at the grey mist which seems as though it
ended only at the edge of the world. It drips from the leafless boughs,
and mine eyes--I need not hide it--will not be kept dry. It is as though
the leaves from the tree of my life had all dropped on the ground--nay,
as though my own guilty hand had torn them from the stem.”
“I have but now come home from a right merry company! It is of a truth a
merciful fashion which turns night into day. Yes, Margery, for one
whose first desire is to forget many matters, this Paris is a place of
delight. I have drunk deep of the wine-cup, but I would call any man
villain who should say that I am drunk. Can I not write as well as ever
another--and this I know, that if I sold myself it was not cheap. It
has cost me my love, and whereas it was great the void is great to
fill. Wherefore I say: ‘Bring hither all that giveth joy, wine and
love-making, torches and the giddy dame in velvet and silk, dice and
gaming, and mad rides, the fresh greenwood and bloody frays!’ Is this
nothing? Is it even a trivial thing?
“How, when all is said and done, shall we answer the question as to
which is the better lot: heavenly love, soaring on white swan’s wings
far above all that is common dust, as Ann was wont to sing of it, or
earthly joys, bold and free, which we can know only with both feet on
the clod?
“I have made choice and can never turn back. Long life to every
pleasure, call it by what name you will! You have a gleeful, rich, and
magnificent brother, little Margery; and albeit the simple lad of old,
who chose to wife the daughter of a poor clerk, may have been dearer to
you--as he was to my own heart--yet love him still! Of his love you are
ever sure; remember him in your prayers; and as for that you have to
say to Ann, say it in such wise that she shall not take it over much to
heart. Show her how unworthy of her is this brother of yours, though in
your secret soul you shall know that my guardian saint never had, nor
ever shall have, any other face than hers.
“Now will I hasten to seal this letter and wake Eppelein that he may
give it to the post-rider. I am weary of tearing up many sheets of
paper, but if I were to read through in all soberness that I have
written half drunk, this letter would of a certainty go the way of many
others written by me to you, and to my beloved, faithful, only love, my
lost Ann.”