'"A maiden in the wintry leaf
Will spread her own disease of grief."
I love the Minnesingers! Dear, sweet-mannered men they are! Such
lovers! And men of deeds as well as song: sword on one side and harp on
the other. They fight till set of sun, and then slacken their armour to
waft a ballad to their beloved by moonlight, covered with stains of
battle as they are, and weary!'
'What a girl! Minnesingers! Yes; I know stories of those Minnesingers.
They came to the castle--Margarita, a bead of thy cross is broken. I
will attend to it. Wear the pearl one till I mend this. May'st thou
never fall in the way of Minnesingers. They are not like Werner's troop.
They do not batter at doors: they slide into the house like snakes.'
'Lisbeth! Lisbeth!' they heard Gottlieb calling impatiently.
'We come, Gottlieb!' and in a low murmur Margarita heard her say: 'May
this day pass without trouble and shame to the pious and the chaste.'
Margarita knew the voice of the stranger before she had opened the door,
and on presenting herself, the hero gave her a guardian-like salute.
'One may see,' he said, 'that it requires better men than those of Werner
to drive away the rose from that cheek.'
Gottlieb pressed the rosy cheek to his shoulder and patted her.
'What do you think, Grete? You have now forty of the best lads in
Cologne enrolled to protect you, and keep guard over the house night and
day. There! What more could a Pfalzgrafin ask, now? And voluntary
service; all to be paid with a smile, which I daresay my lady won't
refuse them. Lisbeth, you know our friend. Fear him not, good Lisbeth,
and give us breakfast. Well, sweet chuck, you're to have royal honours
paid you. I warrant they've begun good work already in locking up that
idle moony vagabond, Farina--'
'Him? What for, my father? How dared they! What has he done?'
'O, start not, my fairy maid! A small matter of breakage, pet! He tried
to enter Cunigonde Schmidt's chamber, and knocked down her pot of lilies:
for which Berthold Schmidt knocked him down, and our friend here, out of
good fellowship, knocked down Berthold. However, the chief offender is
marched off to prison by your trusty guard, and there let him cool
himself. Berthold shall tell you the tale himself: he'll be here to
breakfast, and receive your orders, mistress commander-in-chief.'
The Goshawk had his eye on Margarita. Her teeth were tight down on her
nether lip, and her whole figure had a strange look of awkwardness, she
was so divided with anger.
'As witness of the affair, I think I shall make a clearer statement, fair
maiden,' he interposed. 'In the first place, I am the offender. We
passed under the window of the Fraulein Schmidt, and 'twas I mounted to
greet the lilies. One shoot of them is in my helm, and here let me
present them to a worthier holder.'
He offered the flowers with a smile, and Margarita took them, radiant
with gratitude.
'Our friend Berthold,' he continued, 'thought proper to aim a blow at me
behind my back, and then ran for his comrades. He was caught, and by my
gallant young hero, Farina; concerning whose character I regret that your
respected father and I differ: for, on the faith of a soldier and true
man, he's the finest among the fine fellows I've yet met in Germany,
trust me. So, to cut the story short, execution was done upon Berthold
by my hand, for an act of treachery. He appears to be a sort of captain
of one of the troops, and not affectionately disposed to Farina; for the
version of the affair you have heard from your father is a little
invention of Master Berthold's own. To do him justice, he seemed equally
willing to get me under the cold stone; but a word from your good father
changed the current; and as I thought I could serve our friend better
free than behind bars, I accepted liberty. Pshaw! I should have
accepted it any way, to tell the truth, for your German dungeons are
mortal shivering ratty places. So rank me no hero, fair Mistress
Margarita, though the temptation to seem one in such sweet eyes was
beginning to lead me astray. And now, as to our business in the streets
at this hour, believe the best of us.'
'I will! I do!' said Margarita.
'Lisbeth! Lisbeth!' called Gottlieb. 'Breakfast, little sister! our
champion is starving. He asks for wurst, milk-loaves, wine, and all thy
rarest conserves. Haste, then, for the honour of Cologne is at stake.'
Aunt Lisbeth jingled her keys in and out, and soon that harmony drew a
number of domestics with platters of swine flesh, rolls of white wheaten
bread, the perpetual worst, milk, wine, barley-bread, and household
stores of dainties in profusion, all sparkling on silver, relieved by
spotless white cloth. Gottlieb beheld such a sunny twinkle across the
Goshawk's face at this hospitable array, that he gave the word of onset
without waiting for Berthold, and his guest immediately fell to, and did
not relax in his exertions for a full half-hour by the Cathedral clock,
eschewing the beer with a wry look made up of scorn and ruefulness, and
drinking a well-brimmed health in Rhine wine all round. Margarita was
pensive: Aunt Lisbeth on her guard. Gottlieb remembered Charles the
Great's counsel to Archbishop Turpin, and did his best to remain on earth
one of its lords dominant.
'Poor Berthold!' said he. ''Tis a good lad, and deserves his seat at my
table oftener. I suppose the flower-pot business has detained him.
We'll drink to him: eh, Grete?'
'Drink to him, dear father!--but here he is to thank you in person.'
Margarita felt a twinge of pity as Berthold entered. The livid stains of
his bruise deepened about his eyes, and gave them a wicked light whenever
they were fixed intently; but they looked earnest; and spoke of a combat
in which he could say that he proved no coward and was used with some
cruelty. She turned on the Goshawk a mute reproach; yet smiled and loved
him well when she beheld him stretch a hand of welcome and proffer a
brotherly glass to Berthold. The rich goldsmith's son was occupied in
studying the horoscope of his fortunes in Margarita's eyes; but when
Margarita directed his attention to Guy, he turned to him with a glance
of astonishment that yielded to cordial greeting.
'Well done, Berthold, my brave boy! All are friends who sit at table,'
said Gottlieb. 'In any case, at my table:
"'Tis a worthy foe
Forgives the blow
Was dealt him full and fairly,"
says the song; and the proverb takes it up with, "A generous enemy is a
friend on the wrong side"; and no one's to blame for that, save old Dame
Fortune. So now a bumper to this jovial make-up between you. Lisbeth!
you must drink it.'
The little woman bowed melancholy obedience.
'Why did you fling and run?' whispered Guy to Berthold.
'Because you were two against one.'
'Two against one, man! Why, have you no such thing as fair play in this
land of yours? Did you think I should have taken advantage of that?'
'How could I tell who you were, or what you would do?' muttered Berthold,
somewhat sullenly.
'Truly no, friend! So you ran to make yourself twenty to two? But don't
be down on the subject. I was going to say, that though I treated you in
a manner upright, 'twas perhaps a trifle severe, considering your youth:
but an example's everything; and I must let you know in confidence, that
no rascal truncheon had I flung in my life before; so, you see, I gave
you all the chances.'
Berthold moved his lips in reply; but thinking of the figure of defeat he
was exhibiting before Margarita, caused him to estimate unfavourably what
chances had stood in his favour.
The health was drunk. Aunt Lisbeth touched the smoky yellow glass with a
mincing lip, and beckoned Margarita to withdraw.
'The tapestry, child!' she said. 'Dangerous things are uttered after the
third glass, I know, Margarita.'
'Do you call my champion handsome, aunt?'
'I was going to speak to you about him, Margarita. If I remember, he has
rough, good looks, as far as they go. Yes: but thou, maiden, art thou
thinking of him? I have thrice watched him wink; and that, as we know,
is a habit of them that have sold themselves. And what is frail
womankind to expect from such a brawny animal?'
'And oh! to lace his armour up,
And speed him to the field;
To pledge him in a kissing-cup,
The knight that will not yield!