crossed the castle courtyard to join Father Christopher in the chapel,
as had been arranged between them when the priest had requested the
knight to receive shrift before he was united in marriage with Erna. The
baron's bearing had in it little of that humility which might have
seemed becoming in one who was on his way to confess his sins. His
handsome head was carried well erect, and there was in his eye not only
the joy of the bridegroom, but also a mischievous sparkle as of one who
apprehends some merry jest which is forward. As he walked rapidly across
the court, he hummed to himself under his breath a merry tune, ill
suited to his pious errand.
The gloom and cool quiet of the chapel, as he entered the sacred place,
checked for the moment Albrecht's song, and he went more soberly up the
aisle between the rudely sculptured forms of dead and gone Von
Rittenbergs, recumbent on their tombs in dismal state, until he found
himself face to face with Father Christopher, who stood awaiting his
penitent at the chancel. The chapel had already been decorated for the
bridal, which indeed was to take place in little more than an hour's
time, and all the air was fragrant with the odors of the boughs of pine.
The damsel Elsa, who had had always a liking for the baron, and who
liked him none the less since the kiss he had given her in the hall for
her love-song, had taken it upon herself to see that the chapel was
properly adorned and her skill and taste were alike evident from the
result.
"I have kept thee waiting long, Father," Albrecht said, as he approached
the priest; "but my servitor, whose illness was the cause of my first
coming to the castle, is once more stricken down, and in the delirium of
his fever he called for me so piteously that his fellow could not
forbear to fetch me to his bedside. He believes, in his madness, that he
is beset by wolves, and that none else save his master may avail to
preserve him."
"It indeed waxes late," Father Christopher answered, "and it is well on
toward an hour since the countess left me here. I have passed the time
in prayers for her and thee, and perchance thou hast not so long a list
of sins to confess that there will be lack of time, although it draweth
toward noon and the hour of marriage."
As he spoke he moved toward the confessional, and with an expression of
gravity which was new to him, the knight followed; but just at the
moment when Albrecht kneeled to begin the recital of whatever
transgressions might lie on his conscience, there arose without a
horrid din, which penetrated the sacred place, rudely breaking up the
stillness of the consecrated shrine. The leathern curtains which hung
before the entrance were flung rudely aside, and with piercing cries a
half-naked figure rushed forward, waving its arms and calling for help
most piteously.
Albrecht and the priest both sprang to their feet, startled and amazed
at this unexpected interruption; and the fleeing figure rushed down the
nave to fling itself at the feet of the baron, where it knelt, clasping
his knees and revealing in the dull light the disordered features of the
fever-stricken man-at-arms.
"The wolves, Master!" he shrieked in accents of terror. "Save me! Save
me!"
Down the aisle of the chapel came limping the sinister figure of Herr
von Zimmern, who seemed to be in pursuit of the sick man.
"I tried to stop him," he said, with a singular smile which brought a
sudden frown to Albrecht's brow, "but he escaped from me, and because of
my infirmity I could not keep pace with him. He is stark mad till this
fit passes, but after, he will perchance be as well-witted as ever he
has been."
He stooped over the sick man, and endeavored to persuade him to allow
himself to be led away; but the man-at-arms could not be torn from his
hold upon the knees of Albrecht, to whom he clung with the desperate
clutch of a wretch who clings for life to some last hope.
"It is useless," Father Christopher said, after they had for some
moments united their efforts in a vain endeavor to bring the sick man to
reason. "He is too fully possessed by his fears and the madness of his
sickness to be within the reach of our words. He will yield to no one
save to the baron, and unless thou art willing, Sir Knight, to lead him
back to his chamber, I know not if he may not remain here till the very
hour set for thy marriage. It would but ill accord with the place to use
violence, and he is not minded to quit his hold on thee."
The madman had by this time thrown himself upon the pavement, as with
heart-rending cries he called upon his master to rescue him in his
peril, and not to leave him to be devoured alive. His yells had called
half the servants of the castle to the spot, and the more superstitious
of them crossed themselves in fear at sight of an omen so doubtful and
fearful on the morn of their mistress' wedding day. They whispered
together of their fears, and some of them recalled the signs which had
attended the coming of the baron to the castle.
"The wood-folk are wroth," one old crone whispered to her favorite
gossip. "They have smitten the churl, and who knows what power they may
have over the master? Holy Wood of the Cross, but I fear me for the
well-born countess!"
The confusion every moment waxed greater. The sick man had torn off his
clothing until he grovelled upon the cold stone floor wellnigh as naked
as he had been born, while his powerful hands, as yet all unwasted by
his sickness, were clasped about the legs of Albrecht with a grip like
that of the mountain bear in its fury when the huntsmen have reft away
its cubs and it clutches the dogs in a last desperate struggle.
Herr von Zimmern stooped down and took the man-at-arms strongly by the
shoulder.
"Come!" he cried in a deep, penetrating voice; "we must get away. The
gracious baron will save thee, only thou must go with him away from this
place of danger."
The sick man seemed to comprehend, for he loosed his hold and sprang to
his feet.
"Go with him, my son," Father Christopher said. "Mercy comes before even
a sacrament, and none save thee can lead this madman to his chamber."
"But my shrift?" demanded Albrecht, half under his breath.
"Thou must needs be married without it," the priest responded. "But I
charge thee," he added solemnly, speaking so that his words reached the
ears of the baron only, "if thou hast aught of crime on thy conscience,
that thou do not betray the Lady Erna into a union with thy sin."
The young man looked straightforwardly into the eyes of the old priest,
as in the same tone he answered:
"If it be not a sin to desire her love and to long more than for life to
be lifted toward heaven by her, I have no sin on my conscience, Father."
The priest raised his hand in blessing, and the bystanders, although
they knew nothing of the import of the words which had hastily passed
between him and the knight, understood the motion, and bowed their heads
in reverence. Albrecht as if struck with sudden awe fell upon his knees,
and so received the benediction which served him instead of shrift on
his wedding day. Then rising he took the arm of the demented
man-at-arms, who for the moment seemed somewhat more quiet, perhaps
through exhaustion, and so led him away, all the bystanders following
until the chapel, with its stony knights in eternal rest, its fragrance
of pine boughs and of forest flowers, was left for a little deserted.
X
HOW THEY WERE WED.
It seemed to the Lady Adelaide as a matter not unlike a scandal and
almost savoring of impiety for the last of the Von Rittenbergs to be wed
without the sanction of the emperor, and with none of that pomp and
circumstance which had accompanied the bridals of the members of the
house from time immemorial. She pleaded that at least the neighboring
nobles might be summoned, but in even this she was overruled, her niece
declaring that if they summoned one of the friends of the family they
must needs bid them all, and that this she would not do. She was
content, so she might but be united to the knight whom she loved, that
none but those of the castle stand by, and that she be married with no
more pomp than would attend the coupling of a kitchen-wench with the
keeper of the swine.
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" Lady Adelaide cried in scandalized horror.
"Thou art a changeling. Thou wert never born of our blood; the elf-folk
in the forest changed thee in thy cradle. And yet thou art enough of a
Von Rittenberg to have thine own way," she muttered under her breath,
giving up the vain discussion.
So far as the emperor was concerned, Lady Adelaide was really not much
disquieted at heart, since with feminine wit she reasoned that when once
the thing was done, there was little likelihood that Charlemagne, busy
with his wars and the cares of state, would take the trouble of breaking
it. She took it upon herself to order that a messenger be ready to set
out for Aix-la-Chapelle, where the emperor might perhaps be found at
this season, to bear to his Majesty the announcement of the alliance and
to tender the homage of Baron Albrecht. It had been suggested that Herr
von Zimmern be entrusted with this mission, but he refused it.
"I have had you on my hands from your cradle," he said to Albrecht with
that strange mingling of respect and scorn with which he was wont to
address his master, "and now that you are disposed of I am to be free.
Was not that our bargain?"
"Truly," the baron returned, smiling; "I promised thee thy freedom on my
wedding day."
Greatly did Herr von Zimmern seem interested in this marriage, perhaps
from this reason, albeit his service did not appear to be so irksome
that he had great reason to complain of it. He set himself to do
whatever might come within the compass of his station to hasten it
onward; and yet it came into the mind of Lady Adelaide, who had not
lived the better part of a century without learning something, and who
whatever her natural short-comings was still a woman, and thus
understood many things which do not appear upon the surface,--it being
the kind provision of Nature that women, who cannot compass reason,
shall be gifted with intuition,--that he was not in his secret heart so
pleased as he took pains to seem. She pondered somewhat upon this
contradiction, but she could come to no conclusion in regard to it, and
so in the end she ceased troubling herself about it, the rather as she
had just at this time many other things with which to cumber her head.
There was not long delay in the setting out of the bridal train when the
hour had come. At high noon the sound of rebecs and pipes and tambours
made merry all the castle as the bridal train moved toward the chapel.
Even as far as the solemn, moaning pine-tops that murmured ever the
strange secrets of the wood, the blithe strains sounded; and if indeed
the wood-folk concerned themselves with the doings of the people in the
castle they must this day have understood that the mood of the dwellers
at Rittenberg was a jocund one.
And after the musicians came the pages, all in brave attire; and after
the pages walked the damsels, shining and glowing in raiment bright and
gay, and decked with many a gaud of gold and jewel; and behind the
damsels came the bride herself in all her state and all her fairness.
The Countess Erna was clad all in white, her long robe, which was
trimmed with the snowy down from the breasts of swans, borne behind her
by a pair of pretty pages, scarce large enough for even that weight.
About her neck were wound strings of pearls, so large and so many that
the ivory throat was scarcely to be seen because of them. In her hair
was the tuft of white heron's feathers which marked her rank as head of
the Von Rittenbergs, held in place by a single pearl so large and so
round and of so silvery lustre that it was a wonder to see. The gem had
been given to her father by a Greek whose life he had saved long ago in
one of the emperor's campaigns in Italy, and never before had Erna worn
it.
After the countess followed Lady Adelaide and those of the damsels of
the castle who pertained rather to her than to her niece, although, to
say sooth, so little state had Erna kept hitherto that all the maidens
had seemed to belong to her aunt more than to her; and behind, at a
proper distance, came those of the household who were not of consequence
to walk with the bridal train itself.
The Baron Albrecht, for his part, was on this day clad in green velvet
of the color of a beech-leaf in the shade, slashed with samite of the
hue of the same foliage when the sun shines upon it. Richly was his
raiment wrought in gold with curious devices of leaf and blossom, and
set thickly with gems which made the eyes blink to look at them, so
bright was their radiance. The clasps of his mantle, and even those of
his sandals were of precious stones, while about his neck was a collar
of jewels such as had never before been seen at Rittenberg. On his cap
of marten's fur was fastened a carbuncle as large as the egg of the
wood-pigeon and as red as the heart's blood of a rock-dove when it is
spilled upon the bird's white breast.
All of the retainers of the castle were there to witness the marriage,
and even some of the serfs crept unrebuked to the doors of the chapel,
where they could hear most of the service and haply see a little, albeit
it was not to be expected that they could understand if they did hear,
although under the pious rule of Countess Erna they were commanded to
attend Mass.
The solemn words were said at last, and with an emotion which was
unusual, Father Christopher united the maid whose guardian he had been
from her earliest infancy to the knight. Even at the altar there came
upon the priest a dim and nameless fear what might be the results of
this marriage. In the elevation of that hallowed moment he seemed to
catch some faint glimpse of startling possibilities which were to depend
upon the union, of momentous consequences which transcended the bounds
of ordinary experiences, and of some mystery that thrilled him without
his being able to grasp or to understand it. He felt for the instant a
wonderful uplifting, as of one called to take part in some mighty
conflict, of which the outcome was doubtful, but in which the cause was
glorious. It was as if he were seized upon by some mystic power such as
thrills the heart of a seer in the moment of his ecstasy; as if his hand
almost touched some profound and mighty secret upon which depended the
fate of mankind. As if in a vision he felt about him the might of the
forest and the terror of its witchery; the powers of night and of hell
seemed to surge around him in awful conflict with those of light; he was
as if for the moment rapt away from the holy place in which he stood,
and encompassed by the blackness in which the wild and dread beings of
the wilderness worked their sinful spells against mankind.
Only an instant did the vision, if vision it were, hold him, and then
the candles upon the altar shone again upon him; but the soul of Father
Christopher was filled with wild surmise and strange questionings what
this might mean. He pronounced the nuptial benediction with lips that
hardly knew what they said, and with eyes which scarcely saw the pair
kneeling before him in all the glory of youth and beauty and the bravery
of their splendid attire.
It was to be expected that Erna should be deeply affected by the rite
which bound her for life and death to the knight by her side. Her
religious nature was keenly susceptible to all the offices of the
Church, and although she might at this moment be strongly swayed by
passion and by personal sentiment, the occasion was one of too much
solemnity to fail of touching her profoundly. What most impressed the
good priest was the reverential bearing of the groom during the rite.
There was in the mien of Albrecht a gravity and a respect which was to
Father Christopher surprising, accustomed as he was to the levity and
joyousness of the knight. The baron seemed even more serious and
religious in his attitude than the bride, so that the priest could not
but wonder at this reversal of their usual attitudes.
After the ceremony there was a feast in the great hall of the castle,
and not a little wine was drunk, albeit the most of it was consumed
below the salt. Never had Albrecht been so gay. The seriousness which
Father Christopher had noted in the chapel had vanished, and he was like
a roistering, jocund woodland god, overflowing with merriment. His mirth
was contagious, and as he jested and sang, and in gleeful wise teased
the Lady Adelaide, even the priest was constrained to laugh until the
tears ran down upon his wrinkled cheeks.
It was after the feast was over, and the torches had been lighted, that
Herr von Zimmern approached Erna.
"Gracious lady," he said, "I have ventured to provide a pastime for your
wedding day. As we came hither through the forest the other day, we met
a band of wandering gypsies from the South. They are skilful in the song
and the dance, and I ventured to bid them to be here to-night. They are
in the courtyard, and await your presence to begin their sports."
Erna hesitated a little, even while she thanked him; but Albrecht sprang
up joyously.
"Oh, the gypsies!" he cried. "They are almost as good as the wood-folk
themselves, for they live in the open air and love the forest."
Seeing that her husband was pleased, Erna yielded despite whatever
secret disinclination she may have felt, and the company went out upon a
balcony that overlooked the courtyard. There in a gay and picturesque
group under the flaring torches were the wandering band, their tawdry
finery showing in the wavering and uncertain light like real bravery of
attire. The jugglers tossed the glittering balls; the dancers twined
themselves lightly through the measures of their strange dances, and the
poor tame bear was made to go clumsily through his uncouth antics. The
serfs were clustered in wondering knots in the shadows; the torches
flamed, and the quaint instruments of the vagrant musicians sounded
weirdly on the night air in the plaintive tunes of the wild folk. Erna
felt an unknown feeling stealing over her, as if some incantation were
being performed which was to transform her into a new creature. She
fancied that secretly Herr von Zimmern watched her steadily; and half in
pleasure and half in fear she shrank close to her husband's side, as if
in him were strength and reliance.
At length a gypsy girl came forward into the ring which her fellows made
for her, and after a short prelude on the instruments of the musicians,
began to sing. Her voice was of passionate sweetness, full of the
languor of the South, the luxurious sensuousness which is as sweet as
love and as enervating. Erna's whole body trembled with a sensation such
as she had never known, and she seemed to herself at once to cling
closer to Albrecht and to desire to flee from him. The song was one of
the gypsy's life and love.
"When day is breaking,
The gypsy, waking,
His way is taking
Through thicket and thorn.
No bird upward sailing
On glad wing prevailing,
More jocund is hailing
The gay, laughing morn.
"No walls may cage him,
No cares engage him,
No wars enrage him,
No castles can hold;
He roams with the breezes,
He loves where he pleases,
Ambition ne'er teases
His heart free and bold.
"The gypsy lover
From dreams that hover
Awakes to discover
His loved one nigh;
Oh, the joy of the hour
When hid in some bower
His passion's full power
No word can deny!
"Then lip to lip meeting,
Gives love's fullest greeting,
And hearts hotly beating
Respond each to each.
Then breast to breast straining
Fresh raptures is gaining,
And past all restraining
Love's ecstasies reach!"
Despite herself, Erna felt the hot blushes chasing one another over her
face. She leaned backward to be in the shadow, while Albrecht bent over
to touch under the chin the damsel Elsa, who stood close by behind the
chair of the Lady Adelaide.
"By my sword!" he cried gayly; "but the gypsy maid's song is of warmer
stuff than thine."
Herr Frederich chuckled, and Erna flushed more deeply still.
"Come," she said, rising, "we have had enough. The night air is becoming
chill."
"And besides," Herr Frederich said softly, "it is time that the bride
were conducted to her chamber."
She turned away from him, giving no sign if she heard; and the little
party returned to the great hall, where indeed the maidens of the castle
soon assembled to lead Erna to the bridal chamber, to the white and
perfumed bride-bed which Father Christopher had blessed with prayer in
his soul no less than upon his lips.
All white and blessed, like a blossom of the hawthorne over whose snow
the flush of early morn casts a rosy tint, Erna lay to await the quick
coming of the bridegroom, while the unknown world of married love
stretched out before her, mystic, enticing, yet not without dread. One
by one the steps of her maidens died down the corridor, and ringing upon
its stone floor she heard the footsteps of Albrecht, swift with
eagerness. And as if with an instinct half prophetic she almost
comprehended that this marriage meant the saving or the wrecking of
souls; so that when her husband came into the chamber and bent over to
kiss her, warm and flushed, and glowing with love and with laughter, she
threw her arms about his neck with sudden and inexplicable tears.
XI
HOW ALBRECHT CONFESSED.
The dawn was only just beginning to glow when Erna awakened next
morning; but Albrecht had already arisen, and was standing, fully
dressed, by the bedside. She started up from her pillow and regarded him
with surprise.
"Where art thou going?" she asked. "Surely thou wert not trying to steal
away without my knowing?"
Albrecht bent over and kissed her fondly.
"I am going," he answered, in a tone of strange tenderness and
solemnity, "to the chamber of Father Christopher. I was interrupted
yesterday when I should have made confession."
"Come again quickly!" Erna cried, putting up her white arms to clasp
them about her husband's neck.
He returned the embrace with passionate eagerness.
"How can I ever repay thee," he murmured, "for what thou givest me! But
at least, sweetheart," he added, as he freed himself from her clinging
arms, "I have at last learned what thou didst mean when thou didst
reprove me for kissing the damsel in the hall; and henceforth I cannot
care for the kisses of any save of thee only."
There was in Albrecht's mien something which was new to Erna, and which
affected her profoundly. After he was gone she lay thinking of the
grave, half-wondering expression of his handsome face. She felt some
subtile change in him so strongly that it seemed as if the real
alteration must be in herself. The jocund, sportive air with which he
had always treated her, even since their betrothal, seemed to have given
place to a tender and almost adoring manner which touched her deeply
while it made her flush with pleasure.
Father Christopher was at his orisons when Albrecht presented himself at
the door of his little chamber, high up in the western tower, from whose
narrow windows the kindly and pious old man could see the first gleams
of the morning sun, and the last fading glimmer of the dying day, and
from which he could look far over the wild and haunted forest which
stretched like a sea about the hill on which the castle stood. The
priest rose from his knees and opened the door, the surprise he felt at
the sight of the baron appearing undisguisedly in his face.
"Good morrow, Father," the knight said, advancing somewhat hesitatingly
into the chamber.
"Good morrow, my son," the priest responded, regarding his visitor
curiously. "Is it well with the countess?"
"All is well with her," answered Albrecht, gravely, and with something
not unlike timidity appearing in his manner; "unless," he added with
sudden vehemence, "it be not well that she hath wed with me."
The face of Father Christopher became instantly grave.
"Why dost thou say that?" he demanded almost fiercely, coming closer to
the knight.
"Nay, Father," Albrecht said, meeting the eyes of the other with a deep
and grave regard that did not falter, "I know not that it be not well,
and I have not knowingly done her harm. Only," he continued, his tone
changing suddenly into one of entreaty and profound emotion, "I cannot
tell what I may have done. Bless me, Father, and I will tell thee all. I
have sore need of thy guidance."