VII
HOW THE TIME WORE TO THE WEDDING DAY
Much had matters altered at Rittenberg since Baron Albrecht came thither, and yet still more did they change after his betrothal to the castle's chatelaine. The whole household took on a festive air, until even the humblest retainer seemed to be affected by the joyous spirit which Albrecht had brought. The change in Erna herself doubtless had not a little to do with this, since it hath ever been found that the mood of the mistress is likely to give the key-note to her dependants. The countess had laid aside all her old air of pensive contemplation, the pious mien which had so wearied her cousin Count Stephen; and had so taken on an air of gayety that all in the castle felt it, and each in one way or another, according to the nature of each, responded to it.
Now and then over this gayety seemed to steal the faint shadow of some unknown dread from the forest. The retainers whispered among themselves that there had been strange portents and signs that the wood-folk were astir and full of excitement. Now and then one of Erna's damsels would hint that wild rumors were afloat. The churls that drove the swine and the geese afield had seen vague forms flitting among the shadows of the glades; they had heard what they could not tell, yet what had filled them with terror; and while no one could say why the unhuman beings who peopled the dim recesses of the forest should be thus aroused, there was much dread of them in the timorous bosoms of the serfs and serving-wenches at Rittenberg.
But however greatly these things perturbed the simple-minded serving-folk, they did not trouble the happiness of Albrecht and Erna. Between the knight and his betrothed there were now many sweet confidences, in which, indeed, nothing especial was imparted by one to the other, but which nevertheless gave them great satisfaction. They had met little opposition to their wishes, and indeed, when one considered the rank of the countess, and how completely a stranger was the baron, it might be wondered much that there was not more difficulty in his obtaining his bride. But the times were uncertain, the castle had no male head, Charlemagne was far away, and who knew what might happen if they waited to ask the imperial consent to the alliance; while the baron had won everybody to his side by his winsomeness. He pressed for a speedy marriage, and no one said him nay. They had in the war-full years learned to do quickly whatever was to be done at all, and there seemed no need to hinder the joy of the young people, which might at any moment be broken, should a summons come from the Great Emperor calling all the knights to his standard.
Toward her lover Erna was by turns arch and tender, as if she had not yet mastered the art to conceal her feelings, even in sport. She said to him once, as they stood together by the window in the great hall of the castle, looking down into the valley where the solemn pine-forests stretched far and far to the very horizon:
"Hast thou learned yet why one does not kiss any maid save the one whom alone he loves?"
"I have at least learned that there is no kiss in the whole world so sweet as thine," he answered.
Father Christopher was of all the house most deeply moved by the betrothal of his mistress, and although he had become much attached to the baron, he was not without forebodings for the result of this marriage.
"It is in thy hands, my daughter," he said solemnly to Erna, "to shape the life of this man. He is noble and generous and true, and I believe that his heart is all that one might wish. But he knows little of spiritual things, and I consent to unite thee to him that thou, who hast been richly blessed by Heaven, mayst teach him the high things of life. His soul will be required at thine hands in the Day of Judgment; for while the souls of all husbands are in the keeping of their wives, his will be doubly so in thine, for that thou hast been taught the heavenly way, and I gather that his childhood has been but an heathenish one, and his youth without godly instruction. On thy head be it, daughter, if he be not led to the light; and great will be thy blessing if thou doest but win him to paths of spiritual life."
If Erna received these words with less pious enthusiasm than would have been the case a few short weeks before, she was yet much moved by them, and most solemnly did she promise the old priest that she would spare no effort to draw her lover toward those higher things for which he did indeed as yet show small concern.
"Father," she answered humbly, "I know not what I may do, but as much as is in me I will not spare to work and to pray for the salvation of him whom I love."
"With love and faith," the priest replied, "and the blessing of the holy ones, there is nothing that a woman may not do in the heart of her husband."
It was on the same morning that these words passed between Father Christopher and Erna, that the betrothed pair rode out of the castle into the forest, followed by a groom who carried on the pommel of his saddle a covered basket.
"I feel so safe in the forest when thou art with me," Erna said, as after descending the hill they turned from the broad way into a narrow track overgrown with ferns and wild shrubs, and heavily shaded above by the interlaced branches of the murmuring pine-trees.
"There is naught to fear in the forest," he answered, smiling, "save only when – Nay, we will not talk of that. Whither do we go?"
Erna looked at him with a doubt, born of his broken speech, in her eyes; but the brightness of his smile reassured her.
"The little daughter of the charcoal-burner is ill," she answered, "and I am carrying her food and a healing draught from the leech."
"But why shouldst thou trouble about the daughter of the charcoal-burner?"
"Why should I not? Is she not human, and has she not a soul like ours?"
"Like thine, perchance," the knight responded. "Thou hast a soul like a child's, all white and fair."
And for all the rest of their way through the forest he was so deeply sunk in thought that he said scarcely a single word, so that Erna could not but wonder what had come over the spirit of her merry betrothed. From time to time he looked at her and sighed, as if he were reasoning with himself whether he did well to be still with her; and at last, as they rode homeward, she questioned him of what was in his mind.
"It is the doubt," he told her, "whether I had the right to make thee love me. It did not come to me to consider that until now; and now – "
"And now," she said in a ringing voice, as he broke off and left his sentence unfinished, "now it is too late."
The knight shook himself, as if to shake off a gloomy doubt, and struck his spurs into his splendid chestnut stallion.
"Yes," he cried in a voice of exultation; "now it is too late!"
And away they went, galloping madly down the shaded woodland way, bursting soon into laughter and singing as they dashed along.
These moods of Albrecht became more and more noticeable as by the intimacy of their betrothal the lovers were brought more closely together. Erna pondered sometimes when alone whether it were possible that her lover had upon his conscience some dark deed which made him in truth unworthy to claim her love; but no sooner did such a suggestion present itself to her mind than it was rejected with indignation. She was as sure of his innocence as of her own, and perhaps no proof could have persuaded her to the contrary. Yet she did secretly feel that there might be some mystery hidden behind the outward frankness of Albrecht; though even if there were she loved him with a passion that was now too strong to be restrained by any vague suspicions or dim forebodings.
When the baron was asked if he wished to send for any of his people to be present at his nuptials, he had answered:
"My mother died when I was an infant, and I have neither brothers nor sisters. My father lost his life in a snow-slide three years since, so that I am the last of my race. I will send my squire home for a certain fardel that shall be my Morgengabe; and if I may have leave, he shall bring back with him my old foster-father, who has taught me knightly customs and the fashion of Christian folk."
"He shall be right welcome for thy sake," the countess had answered. "How is he called, and who is he? Is he of thy kin?"
"Nay; he is only a friend of my father," the baron replied with a strange smile, "but he hath dealt well by me. He is called Herr von Zimmern, and he hath an infirmity in his walk, concerning which I would that thy people vex him not."
"He shall be courteously dealt with by them all," was Erna's response, "even as if he were thyself."
So the squire and one of the men-at-arms rode off into the forest to take the road to Castle Waldstein in the Neiderwasser valley, to fetch the Morgengabe, the gift of gold or of gems which the bridegroom gives to the bride on the morning after their marriage; and the knight abode at Rittenberg, being always by the side of Erna, so that it was not strange that the two became more and more like to each other in their thoughts with every day that the sun brought on its rising to the Ober-Schwarzwald.
And so the time wore until the day before that set for the wedding morn, and on that day arrived the squire who had been sent to the castle of Waldstein.
VIII
OF THE EVE BEFORE THE WEDDING
With the squire came the foster-father of Baron Albrecht, and a singular-looking mortal did he prove to be. He had apparently been a tall man and a strong, but that one of his ankles was lame, as if it had been houghed, either by some accident of warfare or by the cruelty of some enemy, so that he must needs forever thenceforth go halting through life. His eyes were keen and piercing, and there was in them a sinister gleam, a smouldering evil fierceness, from which Erna shrank in dread, although for the sake of Albrecht she strove to conceal her feelings and to treat the newly come guest not only with kindness but with warmth. The sight of his burning eyes, his shaggy hair which hung in tumbled black masses about his shoulders, his knotted powerful hands, which he had an uncanny fashion of clenching as he talked or as he thought deeply, together with his sunburned face, seamed and marred by deep lines which might tell of both sins and sufferings to the eye that was wise enough to read them, made her shudder; and when she thought how this strange man had been the companion of Albrecht, she no longer wondered that her lover should show so little knowledge or sympathy with spiritual things, since in the keeping of Herr von Zimmern had his youth been passed.
The dependants of the household were one and all afraid of the new-comer, and indeed some among them were ready to swear on the book of the Gospels that this was the same man that in the guise of a beggar had been in the castle just before the going of Count Stephen von Rittenberg. They muttered among themselves that there was evil in the cripple, and Elsa even whispered in the ear of her mistress, crossing herself not a little meanwhile, that it was believed among the folk of the castle that Von Zimmern was really some demon of the forest who was striving to win power over the soul of Baron Albrecht, that he might lure it to destruction.
"Fy upon thee for a fool!" Lady Adelaide said testily. "There be demons enough in the wood, it is true, but it is not to be believed that they would venture into the houses of Christian folk where mass is said by a consecrated priest. Leave thy silly gossiping, or it may hap that the countess shall get some hint of it, and then if it go not ill with those who dare to chatter about them that belong to the train of her future lord, I ken little of the Von Rittenberg blood."
It was evident that Herr von Zimmern had the happiness of Baron Albrecht much at heart, so greatly was he delighted at his approaching marriage. He was wellnigh oppressive in the warmth of his manner. He spoke with the greatest feeling to Erna, while to the Lady Adelaide he was so complimentary that her old heart, already perchance somewhat fluttered by the unusual doings at Rittenberg, was all in a tremble of delight, and had she been but the better part of a century younger there would have been no telling what might have come of her liking for the flattering guest.
It was in the evening of the day on which the squire returned, and it was on the morrow that the bridal rites were to be celebrated, when after supper the household and their guests sat together by torchlight in the castle hall. The Baron Albrecht was in the wildest spirits, and played innumerable harmless little tricks upon the priest and upon his betrothed. He was so full of glee that one could not but smile to behold his joyousness, and to be touched by the sight of a happiness so genuine and so keen.
Erna had astonished them all that night by appearing in the hall clad in a robe of saffron-hued silken stuff, while on her neck she wore a triple string of pearls. So simple was her attire in general that they stared at her in surprise as she came in dressed in this sumptuous guise. She flushed a little as she felt their glances, but she only held her head somewhat higher, smiling on them all, but most upon her betrothed, and so took her place in the tall carved chair where she always sat at supper. Now that the meal was over, she had moved to a lower seat, and there she leaned back in a corner, as if she were half timid in her new robes; but the Lady Adelaide muttered to herself in satisfaction that this marriage was like to make a woman out of her niece after all; for the shrewd old dame knew that when a damsel begins to give her heart to the frivolities of attire she cannot long remain an iceberg.
Not far from the young countess sat Herr von Zimmern, a dark figure, the more sombre by contrast with her golden brightness. He seemed to watch the company with the deepest interest, and if there were in his intentness something too eager to be wholly pleasing, no one regarded this, since the little company were all absorbed in observing the jocund merriment of Albrecht and the blushing fairness, half timid and half sportive, of Erna.
Suddenly Albrecht sprang up as they sat together chatting gayly, and seized a boar-spear which chanced to be standing in the corner where Erna sat.
"See!" he cried, aiming at the head of a deer which was fixed high against the wall over the great hollow fireplace.
Like a shaft of light the spear flew gleaming down the long hall, straight as a sun-ray and swift as the wind. It transfixed the brown head exactly between the eyes, although in the dim and flickering light of the torches such a shot might well have seemed impossible, and there stood quivering.
A cry of applause greeted this feat.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Herr von Zimmern. "That is a pupil to be proud of."
"It is, indeed," responded Father Christopher. "If thou hast taught him to throw the spear, thou hast truly no reason to look upon thy pains as wasted."
"All that I know of knighthood he has taught me," Albrecht said heartily. "He found me an unlicked whelp of the forest, and whatever I am he has made me."
"Then," Erna rejoined with tender archness, turning toward Von Zimmern, "I have to thank thee that thou hast trained a husband for me."
"Only," burst in Albrecht, with a rich laugh, "if in anything I do not suit, remember it is he and not I who is to bear the blame."
"Nay," she said, giving the black-browed guest her white hand with a gesture of infinite grace, "I thank thee for thy work, even though he should contrive to spoil it himself."
"Come!" cried Albrecht, playfully threatening her with his hand, "that is rank insubordination, and as such – "
"As such, Sir Baron," interrupted his foster-father, with a smile that hardly made him less ugly than before, "you must bear it still a while. There has been no promise to obey or to honor as yet."
The Lady Adelaide simpered, and laid her hand upon the arm of her niece.
"Think of it, Erna," she whispered, "how wilt thou like to obey?"
"Oh, of that I have small notion!" the countess retorted aloud. "When it comes to that, we shall see!"
The gay spirits of her lover had infected her, and she answered with a manner quite unlike her own. Herr von Zimmern chuckled, and drew from his otter-skin pouch a tiny roll of soft leather.
"So well doth this sentiment approve itself to me," he said, "that humbly and with my Lord Baron's permission I make bold to offer you a token in honor of a marriage to be conducted on principles so reasonable."
There was a mocking note in his voice, albeit his face was too perfectly controlled to betray any undesirable emotion. As he spoke he unrolled the leather, and brought to light a ring of red gold in which was set a large carbuncle engraved with strange characters. Erna could not restrain a cry of admiration at sight of so splendid a jewel, and Lady Adelaide broke out into voluble expressions of delight.
"It is not so much," Herr von Zimmern said coolly, as he cast a side glance at Albrecht, "but it is cunningly fashioned, and – "
"But on the wedding eve," interrupted Albrecht, somewhat abruptly, "no one gives a ring to the bride save only her betrothed. All in good season, Herr Frederich, she will doubtless be glad to wear thy ring, but to-night it is mine that must fetter her."
As he spoke, he leaned forward, and took the carbuncle ring from the hand of Erna, who was about to slip it on her slender finger, and before any one could object or protest he had thrust it into the embroidered pouch by his side, and had in its place produced a second ring in which blazed a ruby so splendid that it seemed to emit sparks of fire.
Across the face of Von Zimmern shot a glance of baffled rage and anger so fierce that the priest, who alone caught sight of it, shuddered and secretly crossed himself under his robe; but it was gone as quickly as it came, and Herr Frederich smiled as he said:
"My gems must needs be poor beside yours, my master, but the ring had powers which made it not unworthy the acceptance of the bride."
"Do not I know its power?" responded Albrecht, gayly. "There is time enough for the proving of its might without troubling the bridal therewith."
As he spoke, he put the glowing ruby on the white finger of his betrothed, and raising the hand to his lips, he kissed it fervently.
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" exclaimed Lady Adelaide, "what a gem! It is like a coal of fire. It is worth a king's ransom."
"It is not rich enough to be worthy of the hand that graces it," Albrecht cried joyously.
Then, without waiting for further speech, he suddenly caught up a lute which lay upon the broad ledge of the open window, and after a few notes by way of prelude burst out into this song:
"My love has eyes like the roe,
And a voice like the wood-dove's call;
While her bosom is white as the snow
Of the foam on the torrent's fall.
Fine her hair as the mist
By the sun golden kissed,
And my heart she holds in its thrall.
"My love has lips like the glow
Of rubies red from the mine;
And her glances thrill me so
For her I'd life resign.
For their fire makes my heart
Wake to tremble and start,
With a passion no words may divine.
"My love has a throat like the swan
That haunts the river reeds;
Not shapelier the dappled fawn
That feeds in the flower-set meads.
When I clasp her, no bliss
Has all earth like her kiss,
No sweetness her sweetness exceeds!"
The effect of these ardent verses upon the company was apparently rather one of astonishment than of admiration. The Lady Adelaide simpered and assumed an expression of virtuous disapproval; Herr von Zimmern laughed significantly and openly; while a look of pain came over the face of Father Christopher.
"It is a ballad rather for the singing of an effeminate and sensual Southron," he said, "than for the brave and virtuous lips of a Northern knight."
"It is a foolish tune which Herr Frederich here taught me," returned Albrecht, in too good spirits to be cast down by the reproof. "There is no harm in it that I can see, save that it cannot tell half that a lover feels!"
"Body of Saint Fridolin!" muttered Lady Adelaide, greatly scandalized.
Erna cast down her eyes and said nothing; but though her glance fell only upon the rushes with which the stone floor was strewn, she saw still the form of Albrecht as he stood erect in splendid manly beauty, with the boar-spear poised above his head, ready to fling it like a dart of light down the long hall to transfix the head of the deer above the chimney-place.