Albrecht

XVIII

HOW HERR VON ZIMMERN CAME AGAIN

For a night and for a day Erna's love of her husband burned again with its most ardent flame; but Albrecht, so far from rejoicing as she did in the mighty feat he had done at the stag-hunt, seemed to be repentant that his old-time mood should have got the better of him, and when Erna told the tale of his prowess to her great-aunt the baron hastened to change the conversation, and that with the air of regretting and being ashamed of having given way to the impulse of the moment.

So strangely changed was Erna from the maiden who had welcomed Albrecht to Rittenberg that she could not even understand a feeling so nice, but only felt with a secret irritation that contempt which any mortal feels for a prejudice which he has outgrown; and nothing appears more foolish and contemptible than a scruple that has been outlived. Albrecht and Erna had changed each other, but the impetus in each case had been so strong that both were carried beyond the point where their tastes and desires came together. It was as if two stars had attracted each other, and then shot past the place where they met, parting again from the stress of the very force which had drawn them toward one another. Every day they seemed to have less in common. The glories of the spiritual drew Albrecht as strongly and as irresistibly as the delights of the senses attracted Erna, to whom all this was a new world. They had passed each other, and now they were parting more and yet more widely.

However little he understood the cause of this, Count Stephen was keenly aware of the fact that Albrecht and Erna were not fully in harmony, and he neglected no effort which might increase the breach between husband and wife. He had set himself to win the love of his cousin, and it was an important part of his game to nourish the growing lack of sympathy between Von Waldstein and the countess. Nor was the count without a deal of cleverness in the way he set to work to accomplish his purpose. He said nothing directly; he made no move openly; but with a thousand insidious words which in themselves meant little but which together were a mighty power for evil, he nourished the sparks of discontent in Erna's mind, and continually kept her attention fixed upon the fact that her husband was more engrossed in his studies with the priest than with her wishes and her beauty. He surrounded her with a dangerous and seductive atmosphere of devotion and of passionate admiration, furnishing her conscience with a ready excuse, should it take alarm, by claiming the right to admire her in virtue of his cousinship.

How much of this Albrecht saw or knew, Von Rittenberg could not divine. Sometimes he had an uncomfortable feeling that the baron was better aware than appeared of what was going on, but as Albrecht gave no sign he consoled himself with the belief that his host was too deeply absorbed in his pious studies to heed whether one made love to Erna or not.

It was not many days after the stag-hunt that Herr von Zimmern suddenly appeared at the castle. Whence he came no one knew, but as they sat at breakfast in the hall he entered, and with no more greeting than if he had parted from them all on the evening before, he took his place at the board and ate with the rest.

Count Stephen regarded him closely. There was something in the manner of this man which attracted his attention, and it had seemed to him that a shadow crossed the brow of the master of the castle when the new-comer appeared. Von Rittenberg instinctively felt that here might be an ally. He understood that Von Zimmern had been a retainer of the baron, and it seemed to him natural enough to suppose that the man might be in possession of secrets concerning the former life of Albrecht which, discreetly poured into the ear of Erna, would aid him in his dishonorable wooing.

He greeted Von Zimmern with warmth, recalling their meeting at Mayence, and expressing pleasure at seeing him again. The cunning eyes of Herr Frederich twinkled upon him as he spoke, and Stephen felt that here was a man to understand him, and more than before was he sure that in Albrecht's former tutor he should find one to assist him in his schemes. He watched for what speech should be between the baron and the other, and as they left the hall, he saw the master of the castle lay his hand upon the man's shoulder. Hastily the count approached them, and while he seemed intent upon searching in his pouch for something which he wanted, he contrived to overhear what was said between them.

"Herr Frederich," Albrecht said, his voice so even that the listener could not determine whether he spoke in approval or in disapprobation, "we had not thought to see thee again at Rittenberg. When I set thee at liberty, it was to rejoin thy family."

"My family, gracious Sir," the other replied in a voice as passionless as Albrecht's own, "my family I found not. Only their graves were left to tell that they had ever been."

The hand of the baron dropped from the shoulder of the cripple, and an expression of pain contracted his features. He stood an instant in silence, and then with an evident struggle he held out his hand.

"Regret cannot change the past," he said; "but for the future – "

He seemed suddenly to become conscious that the count was so near him, and broke off in his speech, going hastily out of the hall. Nor did it escape the notice of Count Stephen that Von Zimmern looked after him with an expression of hatred so intense that his whole face was transformed by it into the likeness of a demon.

The coming of Herr Frederich to Rittenberg seemed to increase the gayety that already reigned there. He devoted himself to devising fresh amusements; and although Count Stephen suspected that his jollity was but feigning, he was the merriest of them all, and provoked them constantly to laughter and to jesting.

"Body of Saint Fridolin!" cried Lady Adelaide, when one night he had made them all shout with laughter over the merry tales which he told as they sat around the fire in the hall, "thou art a mad wag. One can see that no care or sorrow ever trouble thine heart."

And Count Stephen saw how Albrecht regarded the story-teller from where he sat somewhat in the shadow, sighing as if he were aware that under this gayety there were both pain and bitterness.

From day to day as the time went on, Count Stephen discovered that without his having asked aid from Herr von Zimmern, the latter was working for him. There was nothing open, and nothing which by itself might not have been the result of accident. It was only that Herr Frederich would engage Albrecht in conversation or lead him away that Count Stephen might be left alone with Erna; or again he would remark casually that he had seen the countess sitting by herself, and that her husband was with Father Christopher; hints which enabled Von Rittenberg to be with his cousin almost constantly, and much of the time without witnesses.

As warmly as he dared, the count pressed his suit. He was too determined to win to risk a rash declaration in words of the passion which really consumed him. He was a man so accustomed to succeed in such a quest as this that the difficulty of the present endeavor increased his ardor an hundred-fold. The looks, half of reproof and half of invitation, which Erna gave him, the beauty in which she glowed yet more richly every day, incited him to a madness which was fast reaching a point beyond his control. He trembled as he approached his cousin, and he felt that she was aware of his passion; and yet, though he saw her cast down her eyes when he came and follow him with longing looks when he went, he dared not speak. He was too well aware that when he spoke he put all to the test, and that he must lose or gain upon a single cast. He knew his cousin well enough, and the Von Rittenberg blood, to feel sure that if she did not listen with yielding favor to his suit, she would no longer tolerate his presence at the castle; and he feared to put into word that which he yet told her by look and mien a hundred times each day.

He was not without some fear, too, of Albrecht. Count Stephen was a brave man, but the baron was one of whom the bravest could not think lightly, and when it came to a question of wronging him through his wife, the count was well persuaded that if this thing were ever discovered, it would be no easy matter to hold against the wronged husband. Just now Albrecht was greatly engaged in looking after the state of his thralls and churls, and seeing that they were properly housed for the coming winter; a business in which he had been encouraged by Father Christopher, but which the guest declared should be the affair of the steward and not of the lord of the castle. Also Albrecht set himself to bringing peace among the dependants of Rittenberg, and so far as might be justice between man and man, and friendliness. He was evidently none the less attached to his wife, but every day was Count Stephen more confident that Erna found herself less in sympathy with her husband and more nearly drawn to him.

One morning Erna found her cousin sitting alone by the great window of the hall, and came toward him with a smiling and mischievous face.

"Now," she said, "thou shalt see something wicked. I have only half looked at it myself, and I doubt it would be wise that I look further; but thou art not one, I trow, who will wince lightly."

"The wickedness which thou shalt tempt me into," he answered, "I will gladly bear the penalty of, at least, fair Cousin. What wickedness can be hidden in that roll of satin?"

"Thou shalt see," she answered, unrolling the embroidered cover, and bringing to light a parchment scroll. "It has been put away this many a day, and I only now bethought me of it."

"If it is written wickedness," the count observed, languidly regarding it, "it is likely to do me small harm. I have never bothered my head to learn their clerkly nonsense."

"This is in signs that one may understand if he cannot read," Erna replied, putting into his hand the parchment.

It was the scroll of Ovid which for years she had kept hidden away because of the worldliness of its pictures. The count regarded the images wherewith some gross clerk had decorated the works of the heathen poet, and the smile upon his broad lips deepened into a laugh. He was surprised that Erna should have shown him a parchment so marked, and he looked up from one of the pictures to see if she were really aware what she had given him. She intercepted his glance, and smiling bent forward to see what the picture might be at which he looked. As her eyes fell upon it a crimson flush covered her face, and she caught the parchment from his hands.

"Let me have it," she exclaimed. "I did not know it was like that. I should have examined it before I showed it to thee. I only thought it might amuse thee."

As she spoke she turned quickly, hearing footsteps behind her. Albrecht and Herr von Zimmern had come together into the hall, and were witness of her confusion.

"Herr Frederich has a plan for repairing the southern tower which he wishes to tell to thee," Albrecht said to his wife, apparently without noting her excitement.

He stood there so calm, so noble in his bearing and his appearance, that even Count Stephen, for the moment deeply concerned lest the scroll of Ovid should fall into the husband's hands, could not but admire him. He did not look at the guest, and in his manner toward his wife there was nothing to denote that he suspected that aught was wrong.

"But perhaps," the voice of Herr von Zimmern suggested, "this is not the time to talk of such matters. Perhaps we interrupt something. That scroll may be of importance."

He spoke with a careful appearance of humility; yet the count, watching him with attention which was quickened by irritation, detected a gleam of malice in his eye, and from that moment suspected the friendship of the cripple.

"The scroll is naught of importance," Erna replied haughtily; and for that time no more was said of the scroll of Ovid.

XIX

HOW ERNA AND ALBRECHT TALKED OF LIFE

Not entirely had Albrecht and Erna lost the old fashion of reading and of talking together, although after the coming of Count Stephen and yet more after Herr von Zimmern had returned to the castle, so greatly was the time taken up with the chase and with jocund sports and with feasting, that there was little space in which to carry on the former studies. One morning when the rain was beating against the castle casements and the spirits of the storm were shrieking over the forest, they sat together in a chamber, and talked of the things which now were of chief interest to the husband.

"I cannot tell how it hath chanced," Albrecht said, "that we read so little together now."

"In the long winter there will be time enough for that," Erna answered. "Thou wouldst not have me like a clerk that cannot get his nose clear of a book. In sooth, I might as well be a nun at once and done with it."

Her husband looked at her in troubled silence a moment.

"Meseemeth, sweetheart," he said wistfully, "that I have made thee like to that which I was myself when first I came to thee out of the wood."

"And meseemeth, certes," she answered, with a faint touch of scorn in her tone, "that I have made thee like to that which I was when thou camest. I was but a dull brooder over pious scrolls, and not in the least did I know what life meant."

"And what does life mean to thee now?" he asked.

"That thou needest not to ask, for of a surety thou knewest when thou didst come to Rittenberg."

"But tell me, sweetheart."

"Life means delight; it is to be glad and jocund. To be sad and moping is to be dead," Erna cried impulsively. "Life is the chase and the dance and the feast; it is joy. Life is to-day, and not to-morrow; life is to do, not to wait; it is to rejoice, not to mourn. Callest thou that life which mews itself up in a cell like the dungeon of a felon, and flickers out like a candle in the dark? I trow that that is not life; it is only the poor, pale shadow of it."

"That is life as thou sayest," Albrecht returned, "that rejoices, and that takes delight in the chase and the feast and the dance; but even the beasts of the forest and the nixies and the kobolds can share all of these things. Surely thou dost not count this the whole of life?"

"Not the whole; no. Yet it is all that one can be sure of finding pleasure in; all that – "

"Nay," Albrecht interrupted softly; "since thou thyself hast taught me that man has other within him than the sense of the beasts and the wood-folk in the forest yonder, thou shalt not now belie thyself by putting thy kind on a level with the brutes. It is to foster the spirit which he alone of all living beings hath, that man should make his cumber, rather than to feed upon the delights of the body."

"Beshrew me," cried Erna, "but thou talkest as if I had indeed taken thee in hand to instruct thee as a master teacheth a pupil."

"It can scarce be," he responded, "that two live together, the more if they love each the other, without that they do teach and mould each the other. Thou hast in sooth instructed me in much more than thou knowest, sweetheart; and I would that I had as well influenced thee as thou hast me. Of a truth our lives now are that which we have made each other; and it behooveth us to look to it well that it be the life of the soul rather than of the body, which engageth us."

"In good sooth," Erna laughed back mockingly, "now thou talkest like a priest. Father Christopher shall give thee his gown, and thou shalt be sent to preach to the Huns and the Saxons in the north."

Albrecht cast down his eyes and sighed so heavily that Erna put her hand upon his arm and added coaxingly:

"Nay, dear heart, thou shalt not be vexed with me. I did but jest. I feel all that thou sayest, but the joy of life overcomes me. I cannot see why I should let to-day slip when to-morrow may be I know not what; when old age will come so soon, and I shall have strength for naught but to sit in the chimney-corner and think of what I would have done or of what others may still do."

"Thou art right, sweetheart," Albrecht said, "in that thou wouldst live to-day; but thou art wrong in that thou thinkest the best joys are in the sports of mirth and wantonness. Surely thou hast tasted the pleasures of the spirit within thee, and thou knowest that these are no less but rather more than those of the body. And for old age and its coming, since thou canst not tell of to-morrow, thinkest thou that it were a better preparation for a joyful morrow to live in jollity and in earthly wise, or to cherish the soul that is within thee to the end that in after time it shall be a companion to thee?"

Erna tossed up her hands with a wilful gesture of mockery and determination. Then she sprang to her feet and threw her arms about her husband's neck and kissed him.

"Come," she cried, "thou wert not wont to be so dull and so clerkly. Leave these things for Father Christopher. Is not my kiss better than aught thou canst find in the scroll of Saint Cuthbert? When we are old we will sit in the ingle together and learn all manner of pious lore for the good of our souls; but now we are young, and it is wisdom to seize upon youth while it is ours."

"Truly," he answered; "and yet it were well, too, to consider that the youth of the spirit should not be disregarded more than the youth of the body. Of a truth," he went on, his voice dropping, and a new light coming into his eyes, "what am I, sweetheart, to tell thee what the spirit is, when thou hast changed me from a wood thing that knew not of the spirit of man, into that I am; and yet so vast and so holy do these things of the spirit appear to me that I tremble, and all my heart is stirred. It is as if one approached the place of a god, is it not, Erna, only to think upon the possibilities of what is within us. How can I be content to become once more that which I have been, a creature as insensible to all this as the wolf that howls in the forest down there, and only cares for what he shall eat to-day? I am overwhelmed only to see how great and how noble are the things to which the soul of man may reach out."

Erna was silent a moment, impressed by his earnestness; then she shook herself and laughed.

"Hast thou then been a beast in the forest, or one of the wood-creatures?" she demanded mockingly. "Of what good is all this talk? Let us go down to the hall and hear Count Stephen sing the ballads he hath learned at court."

"And it seemeth to me," Albrecht said, detaining her yet a moment longer, "that thou goest to the forest too much. The creatures of the wood are on the side of body; and not that only, but they make for evil, and thou canst not tell how they may lure thee on to do that which is forbidden."

"Am I not, then, of strength great enough to guard myself from the ill counsels of the wood-folk?" she asked, smiling upon him. "Methinks that they can do small harm to Christian folk."

"They can do no harm to him that is in himself armed against them," Albrecht answered gravely; "but they are ever in wait for those whose mind may turn toward them and toward forbidden pleasures."

Erna flushed faintly, and her lips parted as if she would speak in impatience or anger; then she controlled herself, and replied with a show of gayety:

"Then it were wise not to forbid me aught, since then there will be no chance for me to follow after forbidden things."

And so she departed out of the chamber, and sought out Count Stephen with the petition that he sing to her; a request which he was not slow to grant.

XX

HOW THEY RODE TO FLY THE FALCON

The wood was filled with whispers in the autumn afternoon, as if the trees were telling one another things which were to come to them soon, gossip leaning toward gossip with confidential mien. The sense of unseen creatures, presences quick with the keen life of their kind yet not sharing in human being, was diffused through the air like the scent of the fallen leaves. The Countess Erna, who rode here to-day, felt a vague dread, even in the sunlight and with her troop to come to her aid in case harm threatened her. She had a feeling as if she were watched and followed by the wood-folk, and had it not been that she was much engrossed with the consciousness of Count Stephen's presence she might have turned homeward.

As it was she struck her palfrey sharply with her whip, and went galloping through the wood, with her cousin close after. On her wrist was her favorite falcon, his bell tinkling as she rode. The west wind fanned her cheeks, hot with the flush which had sprung in them at the soft words Von Rittenberg had been whispering into her ears as they came through the pine wood below the castle steep. She heard the hoof-beats of his horse behind her like an echo, which repeated the things he had been saying, and although she knew beyond peradventure that she should lose in his esteem by not showing him that she was angry, yet withal so little had she been in sooth displeased, that she could but illy feign displeasure.

As they rode, the mind of the countess was busy with an endeavor to understand her own feelings, as a fly which hath been ensnared by the spider struggles to regain the freedom of his wings. She was herself entangled in a web of circumstance and of passion, and she glowed with a warmth which was at once shame and desire. She was not without some proper indignation against Count Stephen, and yet she desired with a curiosity which was not all unwilling, to learn what more he would dare to whisper in her ear before they came again to the castle from this hunt upon which she had ridden against the wish of her husband. Her blood seemed on fire. She repeated to herself the words in which she had for the first time set at naught the wishes of Albrecht, and with strange inconsistency she was angry that he had not forced her to remain at the castle. She said to herself that when she had declared her defiance of his will that she go not with the count to fly the falcon, her husband should have constrained her to obedience. She could not divine why it was that Albrecht seemed to look upon her as a being higher than himself, and to yield to her will as if it were that of one who had the right to command. He seemed less strong and noble than she had believed him when he failed to bend her pride to his wish.

Erna was a woman, and she did not ask herself what would have been her feelings had she at this moment been a prisoner at home, instead of careering thus across the forest with the soft west wind blowing in her face and a tingling sense of the hoof-beats of Count Stephen's steed just behind her. Though it be not when they are most kindly entreated that women be most just, yet are they not to be constrained into doing justice to those who love them.

Very lovely was the countess to-day, as she rode through the greenwood. She was clad in a robe of green cloth, the color of the new tips of the pine branches in the springtime. Her cap was embroidered with gold, and its tuft of heron's plume was held in its place by a clasp of jewels. Her hawk was a jerfalcon as white as the snow new-fallen, upon which the sun shines ere yet it hath been smirched or sullied; and his hood and jesses were of crimson, of the same hue as her gloves, which were richly enwrought with golden thread in quaint devices. The spotless plumage of the bird against the red of the glove was wondrously fair to see, and wondrously fair was the lady as she carried the falcon against her breast.

Little did it please the temper of Erna that Herr von Zimmern should have taken it upon himself to suppose that she rode to-day because he had been to the trouble of riding in the early morning to the meadow by the lake and bringing word again that the ducks, now on their way southward, were there. She was well assured in her own mind that she had been minded to please no one but herself when she had insisted in setting out despite the wish of Albrecht that she go not. Certainly she had no longing to show friendliness to Herr von Zimmern for his service, since to say sooth the prejudice which she had from his first coming held against the cripple had in no wise softened with time, albeit he had seemed to be devoted to Albrecht and to her; neither had it been her wish, she assured herself, to pleasure Count Stephen, however his earnestness in the matter might seem to give color to such a supposition. She was only of the mind to come, and to show her husband, who each day became more and more wearisomely given to devout matters, that she was not to be ruled by his unreasonable whims and to shut herself up as if she were a nun in a cloister instead of being lady of Rittenberg, the fairest holding in all the country round.