Chapter IV.

From the day Mina received that letter she lost her freshness and gayety.

Then commenced a long and bitter series of nights without repose and days without hope. She sometimes said sadly to herself that, as the sun shines not always clearly, as the sky is not for ever blue, so the smiles and joys of maidens are of short life; and that, while timid women remain around the hearthstone, young and valiant knights must depart to the wars or on long journeys, like the great silver herons which pass a season on the borders of limpid waters, and then depart on outspread wing to return, when the gloomy winter has passed, to find once more their nests in the long grass, and their clean bath among the budding reeds. She thought all this, and then reasoned a little and prayed much more; but she often trembled; she ever was in pain, and, becoming weak, she became unhappy.

Her cheeks grew pale; her brow clouded; her eyes ceased to sparkle. She no longer took pleasure in seeing from her balcony the archers of the margrave pass, nor in confining with golden cords and tassels her shining hair or waving robe. Her sadness and languor at last attracted the attention of her father. He thought that his frequent absences, the solitude of the house, alone caused his daughter's weariness and illness. Ceasing for a while his labor, he passed a few days with her, or brought her with him from time to time, hoping to wean her thoughts from their melancholy by the sight of the great ornamented halls and the beautiful park of the castle of Eberstein.

But often, when he had led her to the great park and allowed her to wander there, going himself to finish a keystone, to carve a capital, or decorate a moulding, he found her not on his return crowned with wild flowers, or culling odorous berries and grapes, or following with eager eye the bounding deer. No; almost always Mina sat by the margin of some solitary pond, plucking the leaves from willow branch or pulling a wild rose to pieces. But her gaze bent not to the branch or to the flower. It wandered over the surface of the water, slowly and sadly, and ofttimes seemed to seek some invisible form in its depths, and then turned tearful from the waves, as if sorrowing at not therein perceiving the object of its longings.

The old sculptor wondered and grew sad, as a good father would, and then consoled himself with the reflection that often tender hearts were subject to passing griefs, and that it takes but little to trouble the gayety of the happiest maidens. {491} But it was the weariness of idleness he feared most for Mina, and he made every effort to distract her thoughts.

"Listen, my child," said he one beautiful morning in July, when the earth smiled fresh and glittering in the dew--"listen. It is too fine a day for me to wish to work in. In my old age I must have from time to time a little recreation--fresh air and sun-light; if it please thee, we will go to the city."

"As thou wishest, father," replied Mina, rising with vacant eye and dreamy air.

"And methinks a little walk and a few cheerful visits would do thee wondrous good. It is long since I have seen Master Hans Barthing, the gold-smith, mine ancient neighbor and old friend, and his daughters Jeanne and Bertha will not be vexed to have thee their companion for a day. Let us start, then, my daughter. Ah! here is Johann! Well, let him come. Johann is an excellent youth, and is always welcome with Master Barthing as with me. Johann, my son," continued the old sculptor, turning to the young man, "it is useless to take up the chisel to-day. Thou shalt help me to buckle my mantle. We are going to take a walk, and I invite thee to accompany us."

"I will go willingly," replied Johann, who rarely went out in Mina's company, and who, poor boy, marked with a white mark those days when the pretty girl deigned him a friendly look or word.

Soon the three visitors arrived at the house of Master Barthing, the jeweller, whose talent was well known and valued even beyond the frontiers of the margravate of Baden, and whose frank cordiality and joyous humor were justly prized by his friends and neighbors.

"You here at last, Master Koerner!" cried the old goldsmith, rising from his leathern arm-chair and doffing his furred cap as soon as he perceived his visitors. "Come you to examine my treasures or to ask a diamond from my shop? But, pshaw, my old Sebald, you need them not; you have other treasures and owe no man for them; and here," he continued, looking on Mina, "is your most brilliant, your most precious diamond. Come. Jeanne! Bertha! here is a happy visit a charming friend."

The two girls rushed forward and gave their ancient neighbor a thousand caresses and a thousand kisses.

"How changed thou art, Mina!" exclaimed Jeanne suddenly.

"Thou art wearied, I am sure," added Bertha, "in thy great lonely house. It cannot be very diverting to have ever around thee but marble and stone, and plaster and statues. Why dost come so seldom to visit us? Together we can amuse each other; we can recount legends as we spin; or Jeanne, who hath a good voice, can trill some love-lay of the minnesingers. And what will amuse thee perhaps more than aught else will be to see the beautiful and shining jewels in our father's workshop. I know well, my dear friend, that many fine things are to be seen in thy father's atelier, but there everything is white for ever white, and that must be somewhat saddening. But a young girl is always rejoiced and glad when she contemplates at her leisure rich diadems and rings, enamelled flasks, and glittering necklaces."

"Courage, child! courage, Bertha!" cried the goldsmith, laughing. "It is a dutiful daughter who to love of her father joins love of his trade. Well, if thou thinkest Mademoiselle Mina will take pleasure in seeing my enamels, my jewels, and my diamonds, as soon as our collation is finished thou shalt take her to my atelier. I have there something I think exceeding fine, in fact a veritable master-piece. But it becomes me not to praise myself. You will see; you will judge, and you will give me your opinion."

Half an hour after they entered the long and narrow gallery where the goldsmith showed forth his richest jewels, his most massive and skilfully chiseled pieces of silver, his best finished and most precious works. {492} Brilliant lights seemed to sparkle and shine from all sides in this room of wonders. Everywhere glittered gold, rubies, sapphires, while pearls lent their soft white light, and diamonds and opals their thousand colors. Great show-cases full of enamellings shone like the sun; rings, reliquaires, clasps, laid out on tables, seemed to form a vast train of sparks whose fires mingled in shining light, and chains and necklaces formed slender garlands of stars and variegated flame.

And while the two old men followed, chatting, behind, the three young girls wandered with light step in advance hither and thither, trying on this necklace, toying with these rings, admiring that reliquaire, tearing their entranced eyes from those wildernesses of beautiful forms, of rays and colors. Between the two groups came Johann, the poor youth feeling no inclination to join one and not daring to approach the other; lonely Johann, who admired alone, and from time to time sighed.

Suddenly Master Hans advanced before the girls, and, taking a key from the huge purse which hung at his belt, he unlocked a casket of cedar wood, and unrolled a carpet of emeralds on a field of glittering gold, before the eyes of the spectators.

"How beautiful! how dazzling!" cried the maidens.

"Whence came such splendid jewels, such magnificent stones?" asked Master Sebald. "One would think the treasures of the Eastern magicians, of whom crusaders' legends tell, were spread before him."

"This," replied Master Hans, plunging his hand into the casket and drawing forth a chain set with emeralds, "is the treasure of the house of Horsheim, to which I have added, by the order of the present lord, some of my rarest stones. The count is about to celebrate the marriage of his daughter, and, besides her dowry of beauty and of castles, he wishes to give her a splendid one of jewels."

"Ah! then beauteous Lady Gertrude is to be married at last," said Mina, with a sigh of relief, for she had not yet forgotten how on the day of the tournament Johann had told her that Otho had received the crown from the hands of the young countess.

"Yes, Demoiselle Mina; and the wedding, they say, takes place in a fortnight, and will be one of the most brilliant ever celebrated in the margravate of Baden."

"But whom doth the countess marry?" asked Johann, who, without knowing why, felt his heart beat painfully.

"If rumor speaks sooth, a knight of but moderate fortune, but of goodly form, large heart, and name of renown. They say 'tis the Baron of Arneck; but of this I am not sure, for I have never seen the count and lady together when they come the city."

"What! Otho, my pupil?" interrupted Master Sebald.

"And why not, old friend? If, as I think, it be he, thou wilt henceforth see him but rarely, for hereafter he will have much else to do besides moulding clay or chiselling statues."

"Ah! I fear me much the brave knight is lost to sculpture," replied Sebald, smiling.

But Johann smiled not. He drew near Mina and followed her movements with looks of anguish. He saw her cheek blanch and a cloud come over her eyes, and, fearing lest she should faint, pushed a seat to her.

But Mina refused it with a resolute gesture, and without trembling approached the casket.

"Are you sure that it is Otho of Arneck she marries?" asked she in a strange tone, gazing fixedly upon Hans Barthing. "In any event, the bride will be brave in this glistening chain. Ah! if it were I--if I were rich and possessed castles, and were a countess--think you that I would not be beautiful with these green flashings and diamonds in my hair and about my neck?"

Mina, speaking thus with a bitter laugh and vacant stare, twined the chain around her neck and through her wavy tresses, and, in doing so, her little fingers moved so fast that none could see how they trembled.

{493}

But suddenly her words ceased, her eyes closed, her hands fell by her side, and with a feeble cry she fell upon the chair.

"My daughter! O my daughter! What aileth thee?" cried old Sebald, running to her.

"'Tis naught; a weakness; nothing more." said the goldsmith. "The heat of to-day was, indeed, enough to make a young girl faint. Quick, Bertha! Jeanne! bring hither the Queen of Hungary's water and open the windows."

"It is doubtless the influence of the stones that hath made poor Mina ill." murmured one of the jeweller's daughters, who seemed to stand terror-stricken. "Thou knowest, father, that the sapphire brings happy dreams, the opal misfortune on its possessor, and the beryl can cause faintings. It is then perhaps, the emeralds which cause Mina's illness. She is not accustomed to gaze upon them, and they glitter so--the shining stones!"

"Yes, it is certainly the jewels and their light and the heat," stammered Johann, who, on his knees, was holding the fainting girl's hands within his own, and trying to restore their warmth. "But Demoiselle Mina recovers not. Think you not, Master Sebald, that it would be well to take a litter and return to your dwelling?"

"Assuredly," replied Master Koerner, surprised and anxious at his daughter's swoon.