Zawis and Kunigunde/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
WEDDINGS.
The distracted condition of the empire compelled Rudolph to hasten. Accordingly preparations were speedily forwarded for the double imperial nuptials at Iglau. Thither repaired lords and ladies, aspiring knights and observant maidens, all attracted by those delightful anticipations that a wedding, and especially a double wedding, is calculated to inspire. Cavalier and sturdy beggar jostled each other in the streets of the little town. Traffickers and friars, semi-nomads from Hungary, yellow Jews from Morocco, mingled with rotund Germans all bent on business. It was known to be a business transaction, and every man felt justified in deriving from it all the personal benefit that he could.
The encampment of knights, all aspiring to honors in the tournament, resembled that of a formidable army; and the motley array of troops and followers represented every species of wild adventurer in Europe and western Asia. In only a few hearts was gladness, and at the head of these stood Albert of Austria. He arrived early, accompanied by a close band of followers. These men by incessant discussion gathered around them a numerous body of adherents, all bent on a fixed design. Queen Kunigunde also arrived early, though quietly. Her train consisted chiefly of Bohemians. They located themselves away from the Austrians and little if any communication was observed between them. The children Wenzel, of Bohemia, and Rudolph of Habsburg had reached the ages of seven and eight respectively, and the princesses Giuta and Agnes about the mature age of eight and nine.
Queen Kunigunde appeared at the ceremony splendidly attired, but wearing a white crêpe capote denoting her widowhood. The lady Ludmila of Falkenstein attended the queen, and as lady in waiting appeared Eudocia of Osterna, daughter of the distinguished knight, Boppo of Osterna, who had relinquished his vows by special permission as a Teutonic Knight at the special instance of King Otakar. The Lady Ludmila had gathered at her brother’s castle of Fürstenberg the most distinguished persons in science, eloquence and arms, and her court became the center of song, music, and chivalry, as well as practical knowledge and philanthropy. Her halls were the resort of troubadours and jongleurs; and the tales of Palestine, Egypt, Rome, and Spain, narrated in ingenuous freedom by pilgrims of every rank, presented more truthful pictures of current and recent history than could be obtained in any narrower circle, and cultivated a breadth of sentiment, an elevation of political principle, and an abhorrence of the growing superstition of the time, that gradually rendered Fürstenberg an object of hatred to the new policy of Vienna.
The religious ceremonies of the occasion formed only a flimsy disguise for deep political plottings. Among the crowd jugglers and jongleurs vied for popularity and pennies.
The sack of the mendicant friar exacted toll from every stall of fruit, fish, meat, and sweetmeats. The itinerant stage player gamboled before his booth, and beggars from Paris, both narquois, pietres, malingreux callots, coquillarts, capons, sabouleux and others of the craft, exhibited their well-painted deformities and fictitious ailments before every eye. The tournament was set, the reviewing stands erected, the knights contestant duly arrayed, proclamation made, and the tilts proceeded gayly. Rudolph had arranged the seats so that a blonde lady sat next a dark cavalier and the white-dressed dames interposed between knights in dark armor. Himself occupied a place next the queen, conspicuous with her white capote, and displayed much courtesy to her, styling her “Frau” in most friendly fashion, as if he were not conspiring against every fiber of her existence at that moment. Heroes and chevaliers dashed each other to the ground amid the plaudits of the corona.
Among others the well-known cognizance af Seyfried von Ehmersberg advanced proudly into the list. At sight.of her husband’s slayer, Queen Kunigunde turned deathly pale, and Rudolph’s eye noticed the pallor. His opponent was mounted on a large Hungarian charger, of the noble Tschmud race, recently imported seemingly, and of great size and strength. The knight contestant seemed a man of large frame but apparently stiff of movement, and he bore on his helmet a spray of oak leaves. “Now, before the Lord, that is none other than my valiant friend and defender, Lord Boppo!” exclaimed Rudolph. “A braver knight never led his Teutonic brethren. Thrice he accompanied Otakar to Prussia”—but the callous rudeness of this allusion checked all further utterance in presence of the murdered Otakar’s widow. The old knight, for it was he indeed, settling himself for the charge lowered his lance almost to the level, and on the signal urged his great charger with a tremendous rush against his opponent. The latter held his shield straight across his person and the mighty onset drove his antagonist’s spear through shield and steel, and hurled the rider to the earth with the broken lance still imbedded in his body. The victor rode slowly from the ring, while the body of Seyfried was borne hastily away.
Two new knights answered the summons. These aspirants were both in the prime of life, and bore respectively the cognizance of Bernard von Walkersdorf and Zawis of Falkenstein. Steeds were reined up for the charge, lances couched, spurs plied, a desperate onset, a crash, and Von Wolkersdorf falls heavily from the saddle. He lies as dead. His neck is broken by the fall and the body is hastily removed. Rudolph himself claims the right to enter the list against the victor after the discomfiture of his esquire, and the claim is allowed. Again lances are set, a charge, a crash, and the Emperor falls, but unwounded. A third combat by the same victorious knight is disallowed. Even imperial rank must obey implicitly the rules of the tourney. Lord Zawis retired amid tumultuous applause from the Bohemians, while the Austrians maintained an ominous silence. A herald invited the conqueror to receive customary compliments from the ladies of his party. Advancing towards the queen, Zawis removed his helmet, and exhibited a face of singular manliness and intelligence. Proudly the Lady Ludmila presented the conqueror, who although well known, must come in his character as disputant as a stranger.
“Most gallant knight,” exclaimed Kunigunde,—the sense of her own wrongs, the inconsistency of her present surroundings with her consuming grief rendering her words slow and emphatic,—“accept at once a lady’s admiration, a mother’s thanks, and a queen’s commendation. Receive this token of my profound esteem, and let it rest in your memory as a pledge from one who feels the loss of a strong defender, and can therefore still more deeply appreciate the valor of a true knight.”
Saying this, the queen removed a clasp of golden filligree from her mantle, and binding it with a white and scarlet ribbon to the crest of Zawis’ helmet, permitted the hero to resume his covering, and backing from the queen’s presence, to attain his place among the successful champions.
While the gay company assembled for this entertainment during the bright cool hours of the crisp and cheery morning, another company also assembled beyond the suburbs of Iglau. There in a smooth meadow lawn, decked and green with soft grass and modest, simple flowers, near the confluence of two clear and rippling brooks, about forty persons quietly met from different directions.
A sloping undulation of the ground, aided by still blossoming shrubs, effectually secluded the company from observation. All other eyes turned towards the scene of the approaching tourney. There in the pure air of the early day, while birds flitted and sang uninterrupted, the fair lawn smiled in placid beauty, and all told loveliness and peace, the little assembly formed into about equal portions. In the midst stood a grave man sedately robed; and before him two younger persons, each seeming calmly happy, yet with a slight air of solicitude. One of these was a young man of six and twenty summers, of studious aspect, intellectual and kind. Beside him now, and slightly apart from the company, stood a young woman veiled in white. Each bore sabbata tied in front in cross fashion. “Brethren and sisters,” exclaimed the venerable Prokop, “this man and this woman, of mature years and goodly reputation, professing sincere affection for each other, present themselves as desiring to enter the holy estate of matrimony. Does any brother or sister know of any good reason why this marriage should not be? A second time, is there objection to this marriage? And yet, a third time.” At this point two younger women approached the bride, and two younger men approached the bridegroom. One of these on each side, taking the hand of the woman and the man—respectively, placed them together clasped, and retired. As the two persons stood thus, Prokop said: “According to the example of the Apostles, and of our fathers in all time since the command of the Lord was given, this man and this woman here enter the good estate of marriage. Pietro Felice, do you take this woman for your wife in presence of God and of this congregation?” Pietro answered distinctly, “I do, father.” “Eudocia von Osterna, do you take this man for your husband in presence of God and of this congregation?” Eudocia replied, “I do, father.” Then Prokop raised his hands and said, “Let the blessing of the Lord of love and life, the Lord of good and not of evil, and the promised Paracletos rest upon you and your household. Amen,” A manuscript roll of parchment was then produced from a robe. Pietro and Eudocia inscribed their names; and then the company, in a low and clear voice,sang a hymn. Between the cadences and passages of this hymn, intervened as if intertwined therein the happy songs of birds, and the rippling purl of the brook; the hue of petals blended with the happy flush of faces, and the singers inhaled the gentle perfume of the flowers as if to mingle with the essence of their song. All nature smiled, in the oneness of perfect repose and joy, as two more souls transfused the harmony of their love into the living essence of nature’s gladness around. If the incense of sweet savor ever did ascend to heaven it was from that communion.
At the close of the service a timid figure was seen to approach to a respectful distance, and unwrapping a bunch of flowers from the grass carefully folded round the stems so that the fingers could not touch, to deposit them on a small knoll. “Oh! Ulda! Poor Ulda!” exclaimed Eudocia in astonishment. “How came you here? How did you know?” “Ah! dear soul,” replied Ulda, the poor leper woman, retiring farther and holding her hand before her lips, “dear soul, Ulda’s eyes cease not to watch, nor her ears to listen. Teresa, the black strangers’ friend knows not always what I hear.” With these admonitory words Ulda retired from view; and Eudocia confidently took the flowers, though observing the still further caution of dipping and moving them in the stream.
During the evening Rudolph and Albert exhibited decided bad humor. “Take him,” said the emperor to Otto the Tall of Brandenburg, “take him at once. I will not interfere in regard to this boy. Bohemia creates more distraction than all the rest of the empire.” “True, your majesty,” rejoined Otto, “but we must remember that Bohemia is really an adjunct of the empire, and not an integral part. Bohemia is a Kingdom in her own right, the king rules by law. The constitution of Bohemia is the only formal government in Europe independent of the autocracy of a king. Otakar advanced his dominions under direct imperial sanction.”
“Otakar was a tyrant and a usurper!” exclaimed Albert. “Sixteen years ago,” rejoined Otto, “the provinces of Styria, Carinthia, and Carniola were formally conferred on Otakar by the emperor Richard of Cornwall, who had as good a right to do that as his majesty has to confer one of these provinces on you. The gift, likewise, was wholly untainted by family preference.” “Take the boy,” interposed Rudolph sharply. “You are his guardian and your responsibility is your own.” A significant look accompanied the words; and Otto soon withdrew from Iglau, taking young Wenzel in his train.
The queen entertained her own circle, chiefly Bohemian lords. Her accumulating difficulties directed the conversation towards the fortunes of the dynasty and the Kingdom; and various groups apart studied surrounding conditions, and their own prospects.
“Your counsel is much needed, Lord Zawis!” exclaimed Kunigunde. “Bohemia requires the devotion of her sons and I am sure yours will not be wanting.”
“The throes of Bohemia wring my heart, gracious lady,” replied Zawis. “So soon as the present tempest sweeps over, and we can again concentrate the scattered force of the country, I shall not fail to respond to the pressing requirements of my position. Among our first duties must be the task of providing adequate provision for the widow of our deceased sovereign. If my counsel and aid can be of any service they are most cheerfully at your command.”
“You have my most grateful recognition of your generous and dutiful engagement, good Lord Zawis,” answered the queen. “Every sentiment of knightly devetion and patriotic fidelity will be required to répair the disasters of our country.”
“Herein now is Bohemia doubly unhappy and oppressed,” answered Zawis. “Her conqueror exults in her overthrow and disposes of her provinces at his pleasure, and conspires with her sworn foes to annihilate the very sentiments that nourished our patriotism since we were a nation. This he does by the secret intrigues of the zealous minions who traverse our land to betray us to Rudolph’s master. But be of good cheer, lady; if there be warmth in Bohemian hearts, and devotion in Bohemian loyalty, that warmth and that loyalty would commend themselves to your acceptance.”
“Good Lord Zawis,” answered the queen, moved to tears by the earnest sympathy of her companion, “where do you think they will dispose of my boy, this day torn from me by a mock marriage, sanctioned by those called the priests of God? Surely such acts are neither religion nor humanity.”
“They are, however, Rudolphian policy, Madam,” answered Zawis. “And whatever enormity, provided only it bears the semblance of decent form, serves best the cause of Rudolph’s master at Rome, will be made to assume the mask of virtue, however hideous its essential constituents may be.”
“Have you any policy, Lord Zawis,” quietly asked the queen.
“I have, Madam,” replied the statesman, “and if I were assured of your sympathy with its principles, I would not hesitate to explain its outlines.”
“Then you may be assured of my personal sympathy and coöperation,” rejoined the queen. “I pledge you the utmost fidelity in all your efforts to extricate us from the wiles and the toils that encircle us.”
“My whole soul, and mind, and heart are combined in this dreadful emergency,” earnestly answered Zawis. “And you, good lady, have this day combined towards yourself, as the representative of my country, all the personal and patriotic sympathies I am capable of. In you I see Bohemia living and to you as the object of all my devotion I pledge my most sacred duty.”
“Believe me, I accept the pledge in all its honor, and my heart goes out to the gallant knight, and the valiant patriot, who thus nobly presents himself as a sacrifice for the distressed; for sacrifice my presentiment assures me it must be.”
“Your acceptance of my pledge is my highest joy and honor, Madam,” answered Zawis, “and henceforth I live devoted to your service, until death, as your good knight and true,” whereupon the queen permitted a solemn clasp of hand as chivalrous as it was impassioned, and the lovers parted for the time.
In another apartment, whither the company now proceeded, were seated Lady Ludmila and Eudocia, and as the queen entered they sang together:
“My love was a gallant and courteous Knight
And his spirit was proud and gay,
And his chivalrous heart bore him strong in fight
As the bravest who led the fray.
But his marble halls echo his steps no more,
And his voice sings not now to cheer
In camp or in court, for his life’s throb is o’er
And he lies on his lonely bier.
“Then sigh, all ye lads and lasses tender,
As I mourn for the fall of my youth’s defender;
Oh, think ere your hearts to young love surrender
That love’s smile often blends with a tear.
“I weep for my love, for his heart was true,
And he robed me in silk of white;
And a mantle of scarlet and gold he drew
Round my neck with a diamond bright.
Good viands full measure enriched his board;
Brimming over his cup of wine;
No orphan in vain hath his aid implored,
Nor did widow in want repine.
“Then hope, all ye knights and sad ladies weeping,
Your hearts may rest longin such good knight’s keeping,
As one now with strangers, in coldness sleeping;
And aye bless that sweet love of mine.
“My love was wise and his wisdom’s lore
Blessed with counsel the young and old;
And the sages replenished their learning’s store,
From his lips minted words of gold.
And his strong arm guarded his own good land
And his ancient ancestral throne;
Then no alien imposed a usurped command
On the realm that was his alone.
“Then cling, ye Bohemian hearts forever
To the hope that though tears may your lives dissever,
My love and his faithful heart shall never
Cease to live in the warmth of your own.”
Scarcely had this song ceased when a gang of roisterers outside attracted attention, and a merry fellow sang, as the crowd slowly moved away:
“Ho! Iam a soldier bold,
And I follow my captain,—gold.
I will bow to its rule
Though each pedantry fool
Of a rhymer may rant and scold.
Sing tra la la—go gay;
Ho, tra la la—’tis my way;
And my heart is ever light
For a lassie or a fight;
Let us live a jolly life while we may.
“Fill bumpers of rare old wine,
Though the burgher may rave and whine.
His last ounce of good meat
Must my ration complete,
And his pretty lass is much more mine.
Sing tra la la;—’tis my fate;
Star gazers and priests may go prate;
While there’s plunder, gold and wine,
Dainty kisses shall be mine,
And old Moloch for this hosti still must wait.
“See, in purple and gold I am dressed;
Fools may toil, but for me is the best:
And the fairest maiden’s eyes,—
Ruby lips,—the soldier’s prize,—
Of the earth and all its beauty he’s possessed.
Sing tra la la, boys, sing;
To-morrow to the winds let us fling,
And our hearts be ever gay;
While fools toil we tramp away;
And gold and luck will bring us everything.”
This song seemed so simply merry and gay thoughtlessness, that the soldiers were invited into the hall of ordinary assembly and there presented with some sweetmeats, of which the chief consisted of a thin tube of exceedingly fine pastry filled with honey, and called May Bliss, and sometimes Bride’s May Bliss. The jolly fellows amused themselves with the confection and the name, and the women jestingly challenged them to take an early opportunity to distribute some of both on their own account.