Zawis and Kunigunde/Chapter 25
CHAPTER XXV.
QUIET AT FURSTENBERG. WEDDINGS.
Quiet seclusion enveloped the residents at Fürstenberg during the sorrowful winter of 1290. The still rugged evidences of strife without corresponded with the agitated, and at times ebullient emotions of those within. The general stillness produced acalm feeling, and turbulent thoughts subsided. The current of human sensibilities necessarily obeys the external influences that supply the sources whence those sensibilities receive their moving power, and which in time engross human attention. Impossible to withdraw ourselves from that light and life whereof we form a part.
All attempts to do this have resulted only in stagnation and the unnatural perversion of human faculties. Equally impossible it is for throbbing hearts to resist the impulse communicated from the changing and brightening and enlivening scenes and activities around. They are drawn into the current and share its rapids and its eddies. As the leaves drooped, and died, and withered as they lay, and mingled in one common change, the emotions and hopes and joys that had adorned the life of those within the half deserted castle, also drooped, and blended, as they departed, with the one great grief that included and covered them all. And as new spring light shone, and inspiring breezes breathed on the passive suiface of the landscape, and cheered the hearts, and quickened the blood of men, young hopes peeped out again through the mass of withered feelings, and fairer prospects bloomed amid the wreck of fallen greatness; and although these evidences of reviving life contrasted with the sad evidences of death around, yet the weary eye rested thankfully on the new beauty, and loved it as the beginning of a larger and more generous joy to come.
A lighter step moved within the halls and chambers; voices recovered a tone less whispered; eyes looked forward less dimmed and shrouded; and present cares and duties assumed the mastery over thoughts and hands.
The summer came with its glories; andin the midst of the affluence of health and rejoicing, of bloom and fruitage without, the Lady Judith habitually sat gazing on the charming scene, and feeling all the more keenly for the gladness before her the abrupt and painful severance of her own heart from the love that had filled her life with similar exuberance.
Beside her stood her boy, gazing sadly into his mother’s mourning face, and wondering why she felt so sad. Gradually, and with a flowing tear, she told himthe melancholy tale. “Bad men,” she said “had taken his papa from her and him;” and as the child inquired why they had done that, she could merely reply: “My son, I can only hope that you will grow up to be as good and true a man as your father was. To tell you all the reasons why they slew him so cruelly,”—and here again the tears flowed fast,—“would only seem an idle tale, so dreadful and so wicked does it seem. But I must believe that such deeds will bring down on those who commit them a punishment as sure as it will be deserved.”
Lady Ludmila, too, moved with quiet gracefulness through her apartments. Her step continued not less light and elastic; and her dignity had assumed a subdued seriousness and tender affability that diffused a sense of serenity all around her. Lord Drda came and went,and received the gentle welcome that concealed no love, and assumed no repulsion.
Quietly they strolled, and talked, and confided in each other. As gently as the summer blends with the autumn, their two hearts mingled in happy oneness and unconstrained affection.
Lady Judith gazed on the avowed devotion of the lovers to each other, and smiled as she sympathized with their happiness; and then she drew her boy closer to her, as being the living embodiment of her own love now past, and the center of her widowed hopes.
At intervals Prokop visited his friends, and with unaffected earnestness and simplicity inspired all hearts with his own devotion to the duties and sympathies before them.
During one of these always welcome residences, as he passed with cheering message from the home of comparative prosperity to the refuge of poverty and of sickness, Milada quietly conveyed to him the intelligence that in a poor and lonely hut lay asick man who obtruded his condition on none, and seemed to desire only obscurity. Immediately proceeding to the place designated, Prokop found it tenanted only by a white-haired woman, and a man evidently laid very low by fever aggravated by want. During his delirium the sufferer wandered back to former days, and called up scenes he had shared tn. A moan and a shout interspersed with a hollow laugh, and attempts at hilarity mingled with cries of horror, told of experiences of rough mirth, and furious contention. “Ah, the wood; they sharpened it!” he shouted. “Ah, the fire; not hard enough;” and then with staring eyes he gazed into space and shouted, “Ah, it falls! Dead, dead!” and then with a groan he fell back exhausted. Again a sickly smile stole over his emaciated but puffy face, and he cried: “Sing, tra la la, boys, sing; ah, it is over; we march,—m-a-r-ch,” and again sank into stupor.
Sadly Prokop bethought of Solomon, and a sigh escaped him as he felt his helplessness.
Attention, and soothing drinks could be supplied. Fresh air came in abundance. A strong constitution gradually threw off the fever and then simple food reached reviving appetite; and after ten days recovery seemed fairly assured. Consciousness resumed its functions and Sambor knew that more than one tender hand had smoothed his pillow and held the cup of cooling and yet nourishing drink to his fevered lips.
“Good Milada,” he said, “you and your good mother have nursed me back to life. I feel already that a totally different occupation must employ my days henceforth. I am not an old man, only twenty-eight, and I have spent ten years atsoldiery. Surely there is room for me around here, and I have resolved to fill such place as I may find. Many brave fellows have fallen. I would rather they were still here, that I might be one with them. Not hatred, nor love of bloodshedding moved me, but the example and influence on a Strong boy of the wild company I was among.
“Milada, I owe my life to you, for I know your care supplied all my wants, although you did not avow it. I will devote my life to you henceforth if you will allow me to do so.”
“When you grow well and strong again we will see how you feel about that,” she said; “perhaps then you will not care about Milada.”
“Thank you for that condition,” replied Sambor; “you will see.”
As Sambor recovered strength, no lack of duties kept his hands idle. Above all other occupations the restoration of the vineyards required the skill of a practised hand. These had been broken down; and now choice vines lay in a tangled mass, a luxuriant growth of wild vegetation. Herein his early training now found congenial application; andtrellis and wall soon gave token of the return of more than former order and precision.
With the sense of contrast between his present occupation and his last grew deeper into Sambor’s mind a restlessness almost amounting to resentment. “The duke of Troppau,” he said to Milada, “twice gave me his promise of advancement, and twice he failed to keep his promise. And Milada, I am sincerely glad he broke his word. I have learned to form a new estimate of human nature. I long regarded men and women as lawful prey, to be seized by the most successful spoiler. That is the feeling that animates multitudes of plunderers who are called soldiers. That feeling has worked itself into the hearts of kings, and that feeling is associated with a ferocity towards all who differ from them in opinion as well as in possession. Each becomes, like the other, the foe of the spoiler. But it is all passed now. Milada; and I avow that it is to you that I owe my change of sentiment. I feel your hand on my brow yet. Milada; I drink again the cup you gave me; and I should be less than human if I did not rise to a better sense of human dignity, through the sympathy you have shown, and the gentle nobility you have exhibited. You have raised me up. Milada; and I thank you and love you, and honor you all the more for it.”
“Hush now,” said Milada, taking his hand and smiling archly; “how about your flirtation with Frau Agaphia Brzava? There was nothing in that, was there?”
“Only a soldier’s frolic,” replied Sambor. “Only a passing jest; and I now know it was you who gave me the May bliss. Frau Agaphia was there, but it was your hand that gave it; and, Milada, I cannot forget the arch smile that came with it.”
Milada avowed the smile and the May bliss; and now she went further. Placing her hand in his, she said, “Take it, Sambor, and my heart with it. Long I served the Lady Kunigunde. By her generosity I secured more than a little, that I have managed to secrete through all these troubled times. Take it, Sambor, it is yours; it will purchase for us the vineyard that my father tended. I know you will welcome good old Brzena. She is my father’s sister and has an interest in the place; and I promise you that if a faithful wife can make you happy you shall be happy indeed.”
As the Christmas time drew near, the friends gathered around the hospitable hearth. A cheerfulness there was, and yet a subdued joy in presence of the widow who cordially received her guests. Lady Ludmila was there and Drda, and Jaroslav and Agaphia, and a company of neighbors, all friends and old retainers. The hearth was open to all friends who chose to honor it with their presence. Early in the afternoon of that day four strange faces appeared, and quietly presented themselves to pay their respects. Wearing the Russian costume of the remoter provinces, but speaking, though with some hesitation, the Bohemian language, their presence at first created a slight uneasiness.
As soon as welcome warmth and generous repast had refreshed the travelers,the elder said: “I am already aware that I come as a stranger; but I know your kindly hearts will feel emotion when I say that I am the eldest son of the Lord Boppo of Osterna.
“My brother also comes and his wife; but our children have not arrived, as we have not yet reached our proposed home. We were all present on the fatal Marchfield; and we repeatedly saw the Lord Zawis there after he became a prisoner. We went all into bondage together; and at last have returned, as we hope, to live and die among my father’s friends.”
“The honored name of the Lord Boppo ensures you cordial greeting and welcome,” replied the Lady Judith. “We are happy indeed that this unexpected pleasure multiplies our guests, especially of those who bear so noble a lineage. You are of our own indeed.”
A sedately happy company thus found themselves assembled. Lord Drda, and Prokop, and Nicolas Jaroslav related each his portion of the eventful history, now introducing changed conditions through the Moravian border. The visitors heard with profound emotion the facts respecting Lord Boppo’s fall, imperfectly narrated to them at Gran.
They also listened with subdued hearts to the story of the death of Solomon, whom they well remembered and had inquired for.
“Now,” said Salza of Osterna, “it is my duty to narrate to this company the story of our experiences after we were forcibly separated from Lord Boppo at Gran. While the old man, who had secured a special release through his friend Solomon ben Gerson, was temporarily absent, engaged in supplying the most honorable sepulture to our mother that our unhappy condition admitted, our captors moved away toward the Vistula. Here a slave-dealer from Astrakhan fortunately purchased us all; and we moved forward into Turkestan. A body of Kharesmian plunderers seized our caravan, and conveyed us to the Kharesniian frontier, the Khan of this region proposing to make us part of a body of slave colonists intended to cultivate his tract of country, almost depopulated by the Tartars long ago, and scarcely occupied ever since. Here we received eacha dwelling, but our employment consisted exclusively of herding horses and goats. Our flocks of goats yielded us meat; and kumyss formed our chief drink. Years we continued in this employment. The Khan of Kharesm claimed dominion over our territory; and dispatched a large force for its subjugation. Repeatedly we observed an officer in command whom we thought we recognized. At last our district fell into his power and we found ourselves again subject to a change of masters. An order given one day, to his own servant, in the Spanish language, convinced us that our new viceroy was none other than Don Abraham, whom we had repeatedly seen; and whom my father and Solomon well knew, and frequently conversed with. We made ourselves known to him; and with a noble generosity and a friendly gladness that gave him infinite pleasure, Don Abraham not only secured our absolute release, but furnished us with ample means to purchase the estate where Solomon and his friend first made my father’s acquaintance. We could not continue our journey without enjoying the profound pleasure of visiting friends here, and without making a sojourn at this place so intimately associated with my father’s memory and death”
The warmest congratulations followed the simple avowal thus narrated. The entire company made good cheer, yet with a quiet joy. The Lady Judith placed her guests according to their obvious and appropriate preferences. Lord Drda and Lady Ludmila sat together at table and smiled and chatted with perfect composure and undisguised affection. Nicolas Jaroslav and Agaphia entertained each other, and were happy in each other’s confidence; and again Sambor and Milada enjoyed each other’s looks, and seemed better contented to hear the cheerful communings of the other guests than propose their own. Prokop devoted himself to the new arrivals, who again entertained the Lady Judith with many details and rough adventures with goats’ flesh and kumyss; and the nomad life of the steppes. The Lady Judith listened with placid cheerfulness; but no demonstration of absorption in het own sorrow, or of inattention to her present duties allowed itself to mar the decorous gayety of the evening.
As the long winter’s deeper glow approached, the logs in the wide fireplace emitted a brighter blaze, and diffused a welcome such as only a Christmas hearthstone can. Although the wood may crackle and blaze as lustily and with as demonstrative a splendor at other times, yet the glow of feeling that cheers the Christmas family group, bestows a more graceful curl on the blaze, infuses a more genial warmth into the fire, and a more merry explosion to the crackling spark that shoots among the feet of the company. The flutter that ensues creates livelier merriment, and the abashed and happy looks that reward the recapture of the ruddy fragment, endow that simple projectile with an inspiring potency that unseals the lips, and melts the feelings, and brushes away the last impediment between two hearts that longed for more avowed communion.
Before such cheerful hearth, when the clear red light of the well burned wood diffused its crimson brightness on every cheek, with a gentle signal Lady Judith smilingly tokened the affianced and happy parties to stand in the open hall before the mellow blaze.
Then Prokop arose before them, as each wedding pair assumed a separate place, and said, “These persons severally, Andreas and Ludmila, Nicolas and Agaphia, Sambor and Milada, propose before God, before each other, and this company to assume the state of marriage. Does any person present know any just reason why these persons should not be united severally in the good estate of matrimony? Again, a second time, is any such reason given? Again, a third time?”
There in that cheerful glow, where Lady Judith looked on the bright reflection from the happy faces before her, at her side the amused child now her chief consoler, Andreas Lord Drda and Ludmila, Nicolas Jaroslav and Agaphia Brszava, Sambor and Milada, severally pledged and plighted themselves; and the respective husbands and wives looked confidently into the faces of their partners, and gave their promises with unaffected candor and honest avowal; and that ruddy beam that illuminated their faces only represented and reflected the still happier and brighter light that beamed in hope and confidence on their faith and their hearts in permanent warmth and devotion.
“Trebly happy as this celebration is,” said Prokop, when all were seated,” and ardently as I pray for multiplied blessings on our loved friends, it presents still, another feature that confers on this marriage in each case a peculiar significance. We see our native land again recovering from dreadful calamities. Her fair surface betokens the renewed assiduity, of her children.
“In this hall, you, my younger friends, may hope to see again the glory of former days. But the old is passing away. We have seen assembled here representatives of chivalry, national welcome to commercial enterprise, and also the ethical recollection and continuance of the faith of departed centuries. Two of these representatives we have seen perish before our eyes. The third, however feeble, still survives. So fades the greatness, the national glory of Bohemia Lingers still in quiet scenes much of the old and cherished belief of our fathers. It will almost disappear; it will be obscured; in its quietness will it be overlooked?
“But beneath the mass of new and ambitious vegetation that marks the successive growths of the forest eras, and leaves as it falls mouldering heaps and decaying fragments, ever spring forth the scattered blossoms of half buried plants that cling tenaciously to their native soil, and never can be eradicated.
“I doubt not that these indigenous and hardy roots will yet fill the land, and will cover its surface with their verdure. And never from Bohemia shall its own peculiar gifts be obliterated, or its own fruits and flowers of belief and nationality be destroyed. The mighty have been prostrated, the wise and good have been cut down; but in the quiet and unaffected paths of duty, in conspicuous honor or in humility, shall Bohemian life and faith revive; and as I believe, to greater dignity than ever.”
And then a dance and song made gay the happy company. Ludmila’s skillful fingers added nimbleness to the foot of the dancer; Sambor’s ringing voice enlivened the hearts of the merry-makers; and long through Moravia was told the tale of that inspiring evening, as men and women refreshed their thoughts with its memories, while they recounted the sad history of
Zawis and Kunigunde.