At the edge of the meadow Kuni paused to reflect. She would gladly have
flung herself down on the dewy grass to rest, stretched at full length on
the cool turf. She was worn out, and her foot ached and burned painfully
after her long walk in the warm August night; but something else exerted
a still stronger attraction over her poor longing heart; the desire to
see Lienhard again and give him the pinks as a token of gratitude for so
much kindness.
He was still sitting with the other gentlemen at the table in front of
the tavern. One of the torches threw its light full on his manly face.
Kuni knew that he could not see her in the darkness surrounding her
figure, yet it seemed as though she was meeting the gaze of his sparkling
dark eyes. Now he was speaking. How she longed to know what he said.
Summoning up her courage, she glided along in the shadow of the wall and
sat down behind the oleander bush on the sharp edge of the tub. No one
noticed her, but she was afraid that a fit of coughing might betray her
presence, so she pressed her apron firmly over her lips and sat straining
her ears to listen. In spite of the violent aching of her foot and the
loud rattling in her chest, she thought it a specially favourable
dispensation of Providence that she had found her way here just at this
moment; for Lienhard was still speaking. The others had asked him to
tell them connectedly how the beautiful Katharina Harsdtirffer had become
his wife, in spite of the opposition of her stern father and though the
Honourable Council had punished him for such insubordination with
imprisonment and exile.
He had already related this in detail when Kuni came to listen. Now,
pointing to Wilibald Pirckheimer, who sat opposite, he went on with his
story, describing how, thanks to the mediation of the latter and of the
great artist, Albrecht Durer, he had obtained an audience at Innsbruck
with the Emperor Maximilian, how the sovereign had interceded personally
in behalf of himself and his betrothal, and how, in consequence of this
royal intervention, he had attained the goal of his wishes.
"Our Honourables," he concluded, "now willingly permitted me to return
home, and Hans Harsdtirffer, Katharina's father-Heaven rest his soul--
relinquished his opposition to our marriage. Perhaps he would have done
so earlier, but for the keen antagonism which, owing to their totally
different natures, had arisen between the stern man and my lighthearted
father, and displayed itself in the Council as well as in all the affairs
of life. Not until his old opponent, to whom I owed my existence, was on
his death-bed, did Herr Hans clasp hands with him in reconciliation, and
consent to our betrothal."
"And I know," Wilibald Pirckheimer interrupted, that among the many
obstacles which his foes placed in his path, and which clouded his active
life, you two, and your loyal love, gave him more light and greater
consolation than anything else. I have often heard him gladly
acknowledge this, and as for you, friend Lienhard."
"I know," replied the young Honourable modestly, checking him, "that he
was right in deeming the immature youth, which I was at the time of my
first wooing, unworthy of his daughter."
"Though you had been the peer in strength and beauty of the valiant
Achilles, and in wisdom of the subtle Ulysses, son of Laertes, I would
not contradict you," interrupted Pirckheimer; "for, gentlemen, this
gallant husband's wife is a jewel of a peculiar kind. Nuremberg is proud
of calling Frau Katharina her daughter. Far as the German language is
spoken, her equal would be sought in vain."
"You are an enviable man," said little Dr. Eberbach, turning to
Lienhard. "But probably you will permit me one question. Even when a
boy,--as we heard, you loved the child Katharina. As a youth, you took
this love across the Alps to Padua and Bologna. But when, like the noble
Virgil, I perceive that 'Nowhere is there aught to trust-nowhere,'--
[Virg. AEn. iv, 373.]--and find that the esteemed Catullus's words,
'No man passes through life without error,'--[Catull. Dist. I, 5.]--
are verified, I would fain learn whether in Italy also you held fast, in
small things as well as great ones, to the--among us men--rare bird of
the fidelity sworn to the woman whom we love. I, who compared to you,
am like a faun with pointed ears beside the handsome Ares, nevertheless
know by experience how easily the glowing eyes of that country kindle
conflagrations. Was the armour of a former love really strong enough to
guard your heart from every flame, even before any vow bound you to the
child whom you chose so early for the companion of your life"?
"It was the same before the priest's consecration as afterward," replied
the young Councillor, gravely and firmly.
Then, changing his manner, he held out his brimming glass toward the
Thuringian and gaily continued:
"It ought not to seem so amazing to a man of your learning, my
incredulous Herr Doctor. Surely your far-famed Propertius says,
'Love is benefited by many things, a faithful nature and resolute
persistence.' Believe me, doctor, even without the counsel of your
experienced Roman, I should have kept faith with the lovely child at
home. From my boyhood, Katharina was to me the woman, the one above all
others, the worthy Tryphon, my teacher of Greek in Bologna, would have
said. My heart's darling has always been my light, as Helios was that
of the Greeks, though there were the moon and so many planets and stars
besides."
"And the vagrant we saw just now, on whom you bestowed a golden shower
of remembrance as Father Zeus endowed the fair Danae?" asked Doctor
Peutinger of Augsburg, shaking his finger mischievously at his young
friend. "We humanists follow the saying of Tibullus: 'Whoever confesses
let him be forgiven,' and know the world sufficiently to be aware that
within the walls of Ilium and without enormities are committed."--
[Horace, Epist. 1, 2, 16.]
"A true statement," replied Lienhard. "It probably applies to me as much
as to the young girl, but there was really nothing between us which bore
the most distant resemblance to a love intrigue. As a magistrate,
I acquitted her of a trivial misdemeanour which she committed while my
wedding procession was on its way to the altar. I did this because I was
unwilling to have that happy hour become a source of pain to any one.
In return, she grew deeply attached to me, who can tell whether from
mere gratitude, or because a warmer feeling stirred her strange heart?
At that time she was certainly a pretty, dainty creature, and yet, as
truly as I hope to enjoy the love of my darling wife for many a year,
there was nothing, absolutely nothing, between me and the blue-eyed,
dark-haired wanderer which the confessor might not have witnessed.
I myself wonder at this, because I by no means failed to see the
ropedancer's peculiar changeful charms, and the tempter pointed them out
to me zealously enough. Besides, she has no ordinary nature. She had
accomplished really marvellous feats in her art, until at Augsburg,
during the Reichstag, when in the Emperor's presence, she risked the most
daring ventures--"
"Could it be the same person who, before our poor Juliane's eyes, had the
awful fall which frightened the child so terribly?" asked Doctor
Peutinger earnestly.
"The very same," replied Lienhard in a tone of sincere pity; but the
Augsburg doctor continued, sighing:
"With that sudden fright, which thrilled her sensitive nature to its
inmost depths, began the illness of the angel whose rich, loving heart
throbbed so tenderly for you also, Herr Lienhard."
"As mine did for the peerless child," replied the young Councillor with
eager warmth. "While Juliane, who sickened at the sight of the girl
dancing on the edge of the grave, was pointing out to me some pages in
the manuscript of Lucian, which I was to take from you to Herr Wilibald
yonder, the unfortunate performer met with the terrible accident.
We thought that she was killed, but, as if by a miracle, she lived.
Ropedancing, of course, was over forever, as she had lost a foot. This,
we supposed, would tend to her welfare and induce her to lead a regular,
decorous life; but we were mistaken. In spite of her lameness, Kuni's
restless nature drove her back to the highroad. Yet she would have been
at liberty to remain in the convent as a lay sister without taking the
vows."
"My wife, too, had opened our house to her for Juliane's sake," added
Doctor Peutinger. "The sick child could not get the fall which had
frightened her so terribly out of her head. Her compassionate heart was
constantly occupied with the poor girl, and when she urged her mother to
provide for her, she willingly gratified her wish and often inquired
about the sufferer's health. How Juliane rejoiced when she heard that
the bold and skilful dancer's life would be saved! But when, through
the abbess, my wife offered her a situation in our home, the vagabond
disdained what the mother and daughter had planned for her, Heaven knows
how kindly."
"She treated the gift which we--my wife and I--left in the convent for
her in the same way," added Lienhard. "Why did she refuse the aid I
offered no less willingly? Probably because she was too proud to accept
alms from a man from whom her ardent heart vainly desired something
better."
Here Lienhard Groland hesitated, and it sounded like a confession as he
eagerly continued:
"And, gentleman, she often seemed to me well worthy of a man's desire.
Why should I deny it? Within and without the walls of Troy--we have just
heard it--sin is committed, and had not the image of another woman stood
between us, as the Alps rise between Germany and Italy-perhaps--But of
what avail are conjectures? Will you believe that there were hours when
I felt as though I ought to make some atonement to the poor girl?"
"In your place I should have done it long ago, for the benefit of both,"
protested little Doctor Eberbach merrily. "The commands of conscience
should be obeyed, even when, by way of exception, it requires something
pleasant. But how grave you look, sir. No offence! You are one of the
rare specimens of featherless birds endowed with reason, who unite to the
austerity of Cato the amiability of Titus."
"All due honour to Cato," added Wilibald Pirckheimer with a slight bend
of his stately head; "but in my young days we had a better understanding
of the art of reconciling stern duty with indulgent compassion, when
dealing with a beautiful Calypso whom our sternness threatened to wound.
But everything in the good old days was not better than at the present
time, and that you, whom I honour as the most faithful of husbands, may
not misunderstand me, Lienhard: To bend and to succumb are two different
things."
"Succumb!" Sir Hans von Obernitz, the Nuremberg magistrate, here
interposed indignantly. "A Groland, who, moreover, is blessed with a
loyal, lovely wife, succumb to the sparkling eyes of a vagabond wanton!
The Pegnitz would flow up the castle cliff first. I should think we
might have less vulgar subjects to discuss."
"The daring, skilful ropedancer certainly does not belong to the latter,"
Doctor Peutinger eagerly retorted. "Besides, who would not desire to
know how the free, hot-blooded daughter of the highway settled the
account with you, friend Lienhard? Love disdained is said to be the
mother of hatred, and from the days of Potiphar's wife has often caused
cruel vengeance. Had this girl whom Sir Hans holds in such light esteem
really possessed an evil nature, like others of her class--"
"That she does not," Lienhard Groland here warmly interrupted the
Augsburg guest.
"Whatever Kuni may lack, and whatever errors she may have committed, she
is, and will remain a rare creature, even among the few whose lofty
spirit can not be bowed or broken by the deepest calamity. When I met
her here again at The Blue Pike, among the most corrupt vagabonds, ill
and poor, perhaps already the victim of death, I thought it a fitting
time to renew the gift which she had refused. I would gladly do more for
the poor girl, and my wife at home certainly would not be vexed; she,
too, is fond of Kuni, and--I repeat it--this girl has a good, nay, the
best nature. If, instead of among vagabonds, she had been born in a
respectable household--"
Here the young envoy was suddenly interrupted. His table companions also
raised their heads in surprise--a strange noise echoed through the night
air.
Little Doctor Eberbach started up in affright, Hans von Obernitz, the
Nuremberg magistrate, grasped the hilt of his sword, but Doctor Schedel
instantly perceived that the sound which reached his aged ears was
nothing but a violent, long-repressed fit of coughing. He and the other
gentlemen were gazing at the oleander tree whence, before any one
approached it, a groan of pain was heard.
The experienced physician shook his white locks gravely and said:
"Whoever uttered that is near the end of his sufferings."
He made a movement to rise as he spoke; he felt that his help was needed.
But another incident diverted the attention of his companions and
himself.