Chapter 7

"There is a good wholesome truth in the story," returned Tausdorf; "only the painter has veiled it in images. The beautiful, wicked Circe is intended to prefigure the human passions, the impulse of the senses. Whoever empties her cup, she robs him of reason, and makes him like the beasts in the wood. Recollect, Henry, how you were wrath, not long ago, with your play-fellow for some trifle, and screamed, and struck about you, and would not be satisfied,--then you had become a little wild beast in your anger."

"I will not do so again," said Henry, ashamed and kissed the knight's hand.

"But what is the meaning of the herb moly, which protected the great hero from this enchantress?"

"It is religion," replied Tausdorf, embracing the boy in deep emotion. "If in every purpose you remember that God looks on; if you ask yourself whether it would be acceptable to him; and if in the slightest doubt of this you abandon it, then you have got the right talisman against sin."

"I will be truly good, Herr Tausdorf; I will, indeed," said the boy, and gently rested his auburn head against the knight's breast, when the sound of horses' feet was heard before the window.

"That is my mother!" he shouted, wiping away his tears, and running out of the room. Tausdorf started from his seat--"Air! the child has made me warm with his questions. It is hard to teach good to others, when one has to accuse one's self of evil. Oh Circe! Circe!"

Again he looked at the picture of Ulysses.

"With armed hand the hero broke the mighty spell which held his companions prisoners. He did his duty. Have I too done mine? I have redeemed myself from the magic circle, but is that enough? Should I not have taken the power of evil from this woman, who seems to have come here to weave the meshes for some net of mischief, heaven only knows what? If I did not choose to denounce the creature, should I not at least have called the attention of the council to her, that no one might come to harm? Yet no. In what she has done she has only wronged myself. The ill that my denunciation might cause her would be revenge, and that does not become a man towards frail woman. Let her do as she pleases, we are all in God's hand."

"My dear friend!" exclaimed Althea, who then entered, and immediately let go of Henry's hand to fly into the arms of her intended husband. The old Schindel followed. Tausdorf hastened to welcome him with the knightly pledge, that he might not have at once to meet the look of his bride, towards whom he knew his heart was not perfectly at ease.

"Are you quite recovered?" asked Althea affectionately; "you look pale, as if you had slept but little last night."

This innocent appeal to the past night covered poor Tausdorf with a burning blush, which, as an estimable rarity in a man of his age, gave a double charm to his features. He turned away, however, to hide the treacherous colour, and Schindel addressed his niece:

"Will it please you, niece, to give me an answer? The poor fool waits below in the corner of the street, and stays for permission to come up."

"You love to torment people, uncle. I have a deadly aversion to this family, and of all of them, the avaricious, spiteful Christopher is the most abhorrent to me."

"Shame! shame, niece! What good Christian would recollect an injury so long? Know you not from the Scriptures, that you are to forgive your brother seventy times, and again seven times seventy?"

"It is not that alone; but a secret dread possesses me whenever the creeper comes near me. I always feel as if my evil angel stood at my side, ready to plunge me into destruction."

"Psha! Superstitious fancies, which do not become so sensible a woman. Your intended shall decide."

"Well," cried Althea; "decide, dear Tausdorf. You know that a year ago Christopher Friend solicited my hand and was rejected. Now I may add, what I before concealed; in the vexation of his disappointment, he spoke of you most unbecomingly. But he now perceives his injustice, and seeks for a reconciliation."

"Forgive, and you shall be forgiven," said Tausdorf good-naturedly.

"My own words!" cried Schindel.

"Oh, for that," said Althea impatiently, "I am as prompt as willing; but he requires a formal reconciliation, and as the seal of it would have our presence at his banquet to-morrow; this I deem as superfluous as it would be disagreeable to me."

"Who says A must say B too," retorted Schindel. "Christopher will not believe in the sincerity of your forgiveness, and thinks that you scorn him if you refuse to appear at his banquet. You owe some compliance, besides, to his rich and powerful family, to which in addition you are allied."

"Still the untiring peacemaker and mediator! and inexhaustible in arguments, where the point is to reconcile the nobility and citizens!"

"I can't help it, niece, since, as a nobleman and a proprietor at Schweidnitz, I have become a sort of doubtful thing, and don't well know whether I am a bird or a mouse. I am compelled, therefore, to speak in the way of reconciliation on both sides, lest a feud should break out, and it should eventually fare with me as with the flittermouse in the fable. May I call up the petitioner?"

"Call him in God's name, uncle," said Tausdorf: "I read my Althea's _yes_ in her lovely and peaceful countenance."

"Excellently spoken!" cried the uncle, and hurried out.

"Heaven grant that we may never repent this _yes_," said Althea with heavy heart. "I only wish the wild Francis were not of the party!"

"Why is he so terrible to you?" asked Tausdorf, smiling.

"Because he is so rough, so fond of frays and drinking, and because he detests the nobles so irreconcilably. Since too he has been forced to submit to the long imprisonment, on account of the late unlucky affair, there is no managing with him."

"I have never seen him; but I should not like to subscribe to the damnatory sentence pronounced against him by the nobles of our acquaintance. Hot-headed men are frequently the best. As I have heard from good authority, this Francis fought bravely against the Turks, and I find it natural and pardonable that a soldier should not willingly suffer himself to be played upon. His late misfortune grieved me much. As he was absolved after all, he certainly did not belong to Bieler's murderers; and to suffer a year's undeserved imprisonment must embitter even the heart of a lamb."

"Heaven grant that you may never come in contact with this lamb; you would find in him a furious wolf. I tremble at the thoughts of it, for I think fire and water could not meet more hostilely than your dispositions. Your person would show him a true mirror of what he ought to be and is not; that would shame him, and shame exasperates vulgar minds. His roughness and your cultivation, his furious violence and your noble calmness, his inclination to every excess and your purity----"

"Still! still!" interrupted Tausdorf, ashamed, and gently pressing his hand upon the lips of the animated eulogist. "Do not forget that I also am no more than a frail man, and that exaggerated praise from an estimable mouth can corrupt even better than I am."

"Come along," cried Schindel, dragging in the sky-blue Christopher.

With a pitiful sinner-face he approached Tausdorf, and timidly stretched out his hand to him.

"All is forgotten and forgiven," cried the knight, shaking him by the hand; "only as a first proof of friendship, do me the favour not to speak a single syllable of the past."

"You are too good, sir," replied Christopher, smiling; "but I will not fail to requite so great a favour to the best of my power."

He then went to Althea, and, kissing her hand, said--"You owe me some reparation, noble lady, for the banquet which was put off four years ago on account of that murderous history. I may, therefore, the more boldly presume that you will this time favour me with your invaluable company at a feast, which, please God, I intend giving to-morrow, at Barthel Wallach's, for my own house is just undergoing a thorough repair."

"Will your brother, Francis, be there?" asked Althea hastily.

"Heaven forbid!" rejoined Christopher; "We do not want this quarreller and roarer. I have taken good care not to invite him. At first I feared that he might intrude himself, unasked; but to my great delight I have learnt that he goes on this day to a drinking-party at Freiburg, so that we are quite safe from him. I have asked but a small party, a few quiet nobles, and two or three honest citizens of the first class. After the cloth is taken off, we'll have a little dance amongst ourselves."

"We will come," said Althea with lightened heart.

"Excellent!" cried Christopher, rubbing his hands, while a singular piercing glance of triumph fell from his eyes upon the fair widow, who immediately changed colour. "Now I can set about the preparations for my feast with a right joyful heart. I thank my dear friends for their courtesy, and commend myself to their recollection."

He made a profound bow and departed, accompanied out by Schindel and Tausdorf; but Althea looked after them anxiously, and sighed--"Oh that I could recall my word!"

* * * * *

The morrow of the 27th of July was come. In Barthel Wallach's great room on the ground floor, just before the entrance, sat Christopher Friend with his guests at the epicurean banquet, while the upper seat was graced by the betrothed pair. The first course was removed; the strong dark Hungary went unremittingly about the table in the great cups; and while the females, according to the good old custom, seemed only to kiss the goblet, the men drained it frequently till their faces glowed, and many a broad jest cast the reflection of this red upon the delicate cheeks of the ladies. Tausdorf only sat still and wrapt up in himself, and with his fork scratched letters on the pewter-dish before him.

"What ails you?" said the mild Althea sportively, and passed her white hand across his eyes. "You are not yourself, and cannot plead in excuse that your thoughts are absent with the object of your passion, for she sits by you in her honoured person, and you trouble yourself but little about her."

"My good Althea!" sighed Tausdorf, and with a mournful smile kissed the hand that caressed him.

"And what are you graving so earnestly upon the plate? I must see it, and woe betide you if it should be the name of a fortunate rival."

She bent down more closely to read what he had written.

"_Memento mori!_ For God's sake, how is it that you are seized on a sudden with these death-thoughts at a pleasure-banquet?"

"It is a way of mine to think on death in the midst of enjoyment. I deem it pardonable at least, as in return one can blend with death the thought of the eternal joy that waits us in the world beyond."

"My worthy Herr von Tausdorf," interrupted Christopher with a disagreeable laugh, "I do not doubt your oratorical powers, or your piety, and am convinced that you could, if you pleased, make an excellent funeral sermon extempore; but that would be too dull an entertainment with the full goblet: therefore take up the glass before you, and pledge me as fairly as I pledge you to the health of your noble bride."

Tausdorf seized the goblet, but again lost himself in a sea of thought, and forgot to pledge.

"Well, dreamer," said the intended bride with good-humoured reproach, "do you hesitate to drink the health of your Althea?"

He raised the cup mechanically, drank, and set it down again. Schindel, who sat near him, was surprised.

"What is the matter with you, Tausdorf? I never saw you thus before?"

"I do not comprehend myself. An anxiety has possessed me, as if I were to commit a murder. It must have been so that the poor king, Saul, felt when the evil spirit was upon him. I am ashamed of this childish feeling, and yet I can so little master it, that I shudder every time the door opens, thinking that some great misfortune must enter under a dreadful form."

"All this comes only of thick blood," replied Schindel; "you must be bled."

As he spoke the word, the door was flung open, and Francis Friend burst into the room with his usual impetuosity.

"Ah, woe!" cried Althea.

Schindel clasped his hands in terror, while Christopher asked piteously, "Why, whence do you come, brother? I thought you were long ago at Freiburg, and enjoying yourself?"

"He is a fool," replied Francis, "who hunts after pleasure miles off, when he knows where to find it at once. I heard yesterday of your present feasting, upon which I thought directly of surprising you, and put off mine."

"Well, all that's true," said Christopher; "you have surprised us all, and most agreeably: so let us draw together. Set yourself here at my right hand, and enjoy with us the meat and drink that God has sent us."

"Spare all this idle talk," cried Francis, "I'll find out a good place for myself;" and he carried his chair to the upper part of the room, seating himself between Tausdorf and Schindel, and saying to the former, "I see by your place near my cousin that you are the knight Tausdorf. I'm glad to have an opportunity of knowing you, for though I do not in general care much about the nobles, you please me well. There is a command and intelligence about you such as one does not usually see in your knights. For the rest, I am the wild Frank Friend, of whom no doubt you have heard all manner of stories, and more bad than good. In troth, I am a mad companion, but I mean it fairly with him who means it fairly with me, and I now heartily wish you joy of your marriage with my handsome cousin Althea here."

Tausdorf returned a fitting compliment, while Schindel, who had got behind Althea's chair, whispered to her, "The bear does not seem in one of his worst bear-moods to-day. Heaven help us farther."

In the mean time the second course was served up. Francis ate little, but stuck so much the more diligently to the wine, and kept up a constant talk with Tausdorf, in a tone of frank importunity, which did not sit amiss upon him. Soon the conversation turned upon the Turkish war; and he was ready to leap out of his skin for joy on finding that Tausdorf had served against the infidels in Transylvania, at the very time he had been fighting with them in Hungary.

"Heaven confound me!" he cried, while his face glowed with drinking; and holding up the goblet--"Why, you please me better and better, comrade, and therefore we'll now pledge each other in a brave draught, and swear eternal friendship and brotherhood."

Tausdorf hesitated at this unexpected proposal, and was about to decline it courteously, when Althea pressed his hand under the table, and in low brief words requested him to accede for her sake; upon which he took up the crystal goblet, and Francis did the same to pledge him; but in the moment that the glasses touched, both rang hollowly, and burst with a sharp jarring sound, which echoed lamentably through the wide hall, while the noble wine poured down in streams upon the floor, to the indignation of the avaricious Christopher, who called out, "You are, and always will be, Frank the clumsy, and do nothing like rational people; all with noise and fury. You have broken now my beautiful crystal cups with your rough pledging."

"Yes, every thing is to be laid to me," growled Francis: "I pledged my goblet as neatly as possible; it was not till afterwards that both broke, and how that chanced, the devil only knows."

"It is not your brother's fault," said Tausdorf, drying the wine from his doublet. "I do not myself understand how it happened."

"We have examples," observed Schindel thoughtfully, "that empty glasses have broken upon people calling out loudly in the same key to which they were tuned; but these goblets were full, and all was still in the room. God grant that this accident may not prognosticate the rupture of your new-formed friendship as early as the glasses!"

"No fear of rupture," cried Francis, shaking Tausdorf's hand cordially. "We must both agree to that first, but our hearts have been amalgamated and hardened together in the same war-fire, and will hold together for life and death."

"Gentlemen," said the butler, entering with a respectful bow, "there are some well-dressed personages--masks,--standing without, before the door, who would ask of the honourable company through me whether they may come in to amuse you with song and dance, and other allowable pleasantries."

"They are welcome," cried the restless Francis, starting up. "This tedious sitting at table has long been abominable to me."

He ran to the door and opened it. Three gipsies danced in, playing with pipe, triangle, and tambourine: these were followed by three females in black clothes, slashed with red, and wearing black masks.

"Trim wenches, brother," said Francis, with eager look, to Tausdorf, upon whose chair he was leaning. "So slim, and at the same time so full! By heavens! it makes one wish to become a gipsy for the pleasure of possessing them."

"This masking is not to my taste," replied Tausdorf. "The burning eyes that sparkle from the fixed black faces have to me something almost supernatural. The open brow, and an open heart whether in joy or grief, are what I love."

"I understand you, my poor knight," said Francis mockingly. "You are already in the cage, and dare no longer take any pleasure in a handsome face, at least not _show_ it, lest your lady wife should be angry, and hold a criminal court upon her faithless shepherd."

"Do you know any of the party?" asked Althea, to interrupt this conversation.

"Not I," answered Francis. "The devil knows where stupid Kit has picked up the handsome wenches; but my acquaintance with them shall soon be made, and then I'll let you know more about them."

With this he would have forced himself upon the masks, but the gipsy with the triangle, an old gray-beard, waved him back, and gave the women a sign to begin their revels. The music immediately struck up, and the three gipsies commenced a wild fantastic dance, in which the twines of their round well-formed arms, the turnings and bendings of their slim, delicate figures, the springing and agility of their feet, were shown off in full perfection. One of them, whose auburn hair was adorned with coloured ribbons and Bohemian stones, particularly distinguished herself by the gracefulness of her movements; and Francis, after having looked on for some time, tore open his doublet, exclaiming, "Zounds! what a figure! It warms an honest fellow who has got a few bottles of Tokay in him."

"This mad springing may please you," said Althea contemptuously; "it is just calculated for the taste of a drunkard; but to me it seems like the wild dance of fiends about a lost soul. It grates me to see that a woman can so far forget the female dignity as to expose herself thus."

"Heaven deliver me from a tribunal where you preside," said Francis laughing; "why, it must be worse than that of the emperor at Prague. Your virtue is of so fierce a nature, there's no reasoning with it. That which is to please must be a little free: your decorum and modesty are the most tedious things on the face of the earth."

The trio was at an end. The gipsies fanned themselves with their motley-coloured handkerchiefs, but they would not move their masks, and on that account rejected the wine which was proffered to them by the master of the feast.

"These girls seem to be buttoned up to their chins," said Francis, "but for all that I'll have a peep behind their black masks, or die for it. Above all, I must try the fair-haired witch." And in the delirium of the moment, he dashed his goblet through the window, and leaped upon a chair, shouting "Huzza! huzza! away with the tables; we have had enough of eating, and will dance you one till the floor shakes, and the rafters crack again."

"Man! are you alone here?" exclaimed Tausdorf indignantly; but in his frenzy, Francis heard him not, and, springing from the chair over the table with a neck-breaking leap, alighted again just before the mask with the auburn hair.

"Take away," said Christopher with vexation. "When once he breaks out, there is no managing with him."

The tables were removed, the seats placed close to the walls, and the guests made room for the dancers. Passing over the usual forms of courtesy, Francis seized his chosen one with a rude grasp, and shouted to the musicians, "A waltz! a waltz! but quick! quick!"

The music began, and the feet of the dancers kept pace with its rapidity. The space about them grew wider and wider, for the spectators could hardly get their feet out of the way in time from the stamping of the intoxicated Francis, who kept clapping his hands, and shouting, "Faster! faster! I can stand it, and so can she." At last the piper stopped from want of breath; in a little time too the triangle was unable to follow; and now only the tambourine gave a fit measure to this bacchanalian revel.

"And this is called pleasure?" said Althea to Tausdorf, who had retreated to a bow-window.

"Where the soul is incapable of enjoyment," he replied, "pleasure must be sensual, or the vulgar mind would have no joy on earth whatever."

At last the sprightly bacchanal was exhausted, and danced off with his female into the next room. There he threw himself into a chair, forced his companion into the seat beside him, and panted out, "You dance as gracefully as lightly, and only so much the more stimulate my desire to see your face. It certainly won't have to be ashamed of the feet. Come, take off the damnable Moor's visor."

"It is not yet time," replied the gipsy in a low tone, that sounded still more hollowly from the mask.

"Not yet?" said Francis, with a rough grasp of her hand; "but soon? to-day?"

"If all goes as it should, perhaps," was the answer.

"Then I must have patience, however little I am used to it; so let us, in the mean time, have a friendly chat together. You are so sparing of words. I only wish your tongue had half the nimbleness of your feet."

"I am not fond of talking," replied the gipsy with cutting coldness; "there is little pleasure in it."

"And yet you are a woman," cried Francis, merrily. "For Heaven's sake, how could you have so degenerated? Only think, if every one were to be as you are, what a poor sort of entertainment we should have in the world."

"The world would gain by it," retorted the mask. "How much foolish, how much evil, talk would be spared! How much falsehood and deceit! How much perjury!"

"Oh, this is dull gossip," exclaimed Francis, struck by her words. "Rather tell me my fortune; you have visited us as a gipsy, and should keep up the character."

"Do not ask it," she replied, in a warning tone: "you might hear something that would not please you."

"Yes, if I were fool enough to believe such nonsense. Prophesy away, and be it at my peril. Here is my hand."

The gipsy hastily seized it. Her bosom heaved violently, and her eyes darted piercing looks from out the mask.--At length she said, "These lines do not please me; you are like to use your sword this very day."

"That would be the devil," cried Francis; and looked about with an air of defiance, as if seeking for his adversary.--"But I have no objection: to my mind the best of a feast is wanting if there is not something of a row to wind it up."

"So much for the future," said the gipsy, releasing his hand. "The past you will be contented to leave alone."

"By no means," exclaimed Francis. "Of the future you can lie as much as you please, because no one can peep behind the curtain; but in the past your art is put to the proof of fire, and if it does not come well out of it, I shall mock you soundly."

Again the gipsy took his hand, examined it; but shuddered and retreated, saying, "For the last time I warn you."

"That, by my troth, sounds like earnest," cried Francis, mockingly.--"But go on, at my peril."

"You have murder on your soul!" said a voice hollowly from beneath the mask.