The Dove in the Eagle's Nest

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER IVSNOW-WREATHS WHEN ’TIS THAW

  ERMENTRUDE had by no means recovered the ground she had lost, before thewinter set in; and blinding snow came drifting down day and night,rendering the whole view, above and below, one expanse of white, onlybroken by the peaks of rock which were too steep to sustain the snow.The waterfall lengthened its icicles daily, and the whole court washeaped with snow, up even to the top of the high steps to the hall; andthus, Christina was told, would it continue all the winter. What hadpreviously seemed to her a strangely door-like window above the porch nowbecame the only mode of egress, when the barons went out bear orwolf-hunting, or the younger took his crossbow and hound to provide thewild-fowl, which, under Christina’s skilful hands, would tempt the feebleappetite of Ermentrude when she was utterly unable to touch the saltedmeats and sausages of the household.

  In spite of all endeavours to guard the windows and keep up the fire, thecold withered the poor child like a fading leaf, and she needed more andmore of tenderness and amusement to distract her attention from herailments. Christina’s resources were unfailing. Out of the softer pineand birch woods provided for the fire, she carved a set of draughtsmen,and made a board by ruling squares on the end of a settle, and paintingthe alternate ones with a compound of oil and charcoal. Even the oldBaron was delighted with this contrivance, and the pleasure it gave hisdaughter. He remembered playing at draughts in that portion of his youthwhich had been a shade more polished, and he felt as if the game weremaking Ermentrude more hike a lady. Christina was encouraged to proceedwith a set of chessmen, and the shaping of their characteristic headsunder her dexterous fingers was watched by Ermentrude like somethingmagical. Indeed, the young lady entertained the belief that there was nolimit to her attendant’s knowledge or capacity.

  Truly there was a greater brightness and clearness beginning to dawn evenupon poor little Ermentrude’s own dull mind. She took more interest ineverything: songs were not solely lullabies, but she cared to talk themover; tales to which she would once have been incapable of payingattention were eagerly sought after; and, above all, the spiritualvacancy that her mind had hitherto presented was beginning to be filledup. Christina had brought her own books—a library of extraordinaryextent for a maiden of the fifteenth century, but which she owed to heruncle’s connexion with the arts of wood-cutting and printing. A Vulgatefrom Dr. Faustus’s own press, a mass book and breviary, Thomas à Kempis’s_Imitation_ and the _Nuremburg Chronicle_ all in Latin, and the poetry ofthe gentle Minnesinger and bird lover, Walther von Vogelweide, in thevernacular: these were her stock, which Hausfrau Johanna had viewed as afoolish encumbrance, and Hugh Sorel would never have transported to thecastle unless they had been so well concealed in Christina’s kirtles thathe had taken them for parts of her wardrobe.

  Most precious were they now, when, out of the reach of all teaching saveher own, she had to infuse into the sinking girl’s mind the greatmysteries of life and death, that so she might not leave the worldwithout more hope or faith than her heathen forefathers. For thatErmentrude would live Christina had never hoped, since that fleetingimprovement had been cut short by the fever of the wine-cup; the look,voice, and tone had become so completely the same as those of ReginaGrundt’s little sister who had pined and died. She knew she could notcure, but she could, she felt she could, comfort, cheer, and soften, andshe no longer repined at her enforced sojourn at Adlerstein. Sheheartily loved her charge, and could not bear to think how desolateErmentrude would be without her. And now the poor girl had becomeresponsive to her care. She was infinitely softened in manner, andtreated her parents with forms of respect new to them; she had learnteven to thank old Ursel, dropped her imperious tone, and struggled withher petulance; and, towards her brother, the domineering, uncouthadherence was becoming real, tender affection; while the dependent,reverent love she bestowed upon Christina was touching and endearing inthe extreme.

  Freiherr von Adlerstein saw the change, and congratulated himself on theeffect of having a town-bred bower woman; nay, spoke of the advantage itwould be to his daughter, if he could persuade himself to make thesubmission to the Kaiser which the late improvements decided on at theDiet were rendering more and more inevitable. _Now_ how happy would bethe winner of his gentle Ermentrude!

  Freiherrinn von Adlerstein thought the alteration the mere change fromchild to woman, and felt insulted by the supposition that any one mightnot have been proud to match with a daughter of Adlerstein, be she whatshe might. As to submission to the Kaiser, that was mere folly andweakness—kaisers, kings, dukes, and counts had broken their teeth againstthe rock of Adlerstein before now! What had come over her husband andher son to make them cravens?

  For Freiherr Eberhard was more strongly convinced than was his father ofthe untenableness of their present position. Hugh Sorel’s reports ofwhat he heard at Ulm had shown that the league that had been discussed atRegensburg was far more formidable than anything that had ever previouslythreatened Schloss Adlerstein, and that if the Graf von Schlangenwaldjoined in the coalition, there would be private malice to direct itsefforts against the Adlerstein family. Feud-letters or challenges hadbeen made unlawful for ten years, and was not Adlerstein at feud with theworld?

  Nor did Eberhard look on the submission with the sullen rage and griefthat his father felt in bringing himself to such a declension from thepride of his ancestors. What the young Baron heard up stairs wasawakening in him a sense of the poorness and narrowness of his presentlife. Ermentrude never spared him what interested her; and, partly fromher lips, partly through her appeals to her attendant, he had learnt thatlife had better things to offer than independence on these bare rocks,and that homage might open the way to higher and worthier exploits thanpreying upon overturned waggons.

  Dietrich of Berne and his two ancestors, whose lengthy legend Christinacould sing in a low, soft recitative, were revelations to him of what shemeant by a true knight—the lion in war, the lamb in peace; the quaintoft-repeated portraits, and still quainter cities, of the Chronicle, withher explanations and translations, opened his mind to aspirations forintercourse with his fellows, for an honourable name, and for esteem inits degree such as was paid to Sir Parzival, to Karl the Great, or toRodolf of Hapsburgh, once a mountain lord like himself. Nay, asErmentrude said, stroking his cheek, and smoothing the flaxen beard, thatsomehow had become much less rough and tangled than it used to be, “Someday wilt thou be another Good Freiherr Eberhard, whom all thecountry-side loved, and who gave bread at the castle-gate to all thathungered.”

  Her brother believed nothing of her slow declension in strength,ascribing all the change he saw to the bitter cold, and seeing but littleeven of that alteration, though he spent many hours in her room, holdingher in his arms, amusing her, or talking to her and to Christina. AllChristina’s fear of him was gone. As long as there was no liquor in thehouse, and he was his true self, she felt him to be a kind friend, boundto her by strong sympathy in the love and care for his sister. She couldtalk almost as freely before him as when alone with her young lady; andas Ermentrude’s religious feelings grew stronger, and were freelyexpressed to him, surely his attention was not merely kindness andpatience with the sufferer.

  The girl’s soul ripened rapidly under the new influences during herbodily decay; and, as the days lengthened, and the stern hold of winterrelaxed upon the mountains, Christina looked with strange admiration uponthe expression that had dawned upon the features once so vacant and dull,and listened with the more depth of reverence to the sweet words offaith, hope and love, because she felt that a higher, deeper teachingthan she could give must have come to mould the spirit for the new worldto which it was hastening.

  “Like an army defeated, The snow had retreated,”

  out of the valley, whose rich green shone smiling round the pool intowhich the Debateable Ford spread. The waterfall had burst its icy bonds,and dashed down with redoubled voice, roaring rather than babbling. Blueand pink hepaticas—or, as Chr
istina called them, liver-krauts—had pushedup their starry heads, and had even been gathered by Sir Eberhard, andlaid on his sister’s pillow. The dark peaks of rock came out allglistening with moisture, and the snow only retained possession of thedeep hollows and crevices, into which however its retreat was far moregraceful than when, in the city, it was trodden by horse and man, andsoiled with smoke.

  Christina dreaded indeed that the roads should be open, but she could notlove the snow; it spoke to her of dreariness, savagery, and captivity,and she watched the dwindling stripes with satisfaction, and hailed thefall of the petty avalanches from one Eagle’s Step to another as herforefathers might have rejoiced in the defeat of the Frost giants.

  But Ermentrude had a love for the white sheet that lay covering a gorgerunning up from the ravine. She watched its diminution day by day with afancy that she was melting away with it; and indeed it was on the veryday that a succession of drifting showers had left the sheet alone, andseparated it from the masses of white above, that it first fully dawnedupon the rest of the family that, for the little daughter of the house,spring was only bringing languor and sinking instead of recovery.

  Then it was that Sir Eberhard first really listened to her entreaty thatshe might not die without a priest, and comforted her by passing his wordto her that, if—he would not say when—the time drew near, he would bringher one of the priests who had only come from St. Ruprecht’s cloister ongreat days, by a sort of sufferance, to say mass at the BlessedFriedmund’s hermitage chapel.

  The time was slow in coming. Easter had passed with Ermentrude far tooill for Christina to make the effort she had intended of going to thechurch, even if she could get no escort but old Ursel—the sheet of snowhad dwindled to a mere wreath—the ford looked blue in the sunshine—thecascade tinkled merrily down its rock—mountain primroses peeped out,when, as Father Norbert came forth from saying his ill-attendedPentecostal mass, and was parting with the infirm peasant hermit, a tallfigure strode up the pass, and, as the villagers fell back to make way,stood before the startled priest, and said, in a voice choked with grief,“Come with me.”

  “Who needs me?” began the astonished monk.

  “Follow him not, father!” whispered the hermit. “It is the youngFreiherr.—Oh have mercy on him, gracious sir; he has done your noblelordships no wrong.”

  “I mean him no ill,” replied Eberhard, clearing his voice withdifficulty; “I would but have him do his office. Art thou afraid,priest?”

  “Who needs my office?” demanded Father Norbert. “Show me fit cause, andwhat should I dread? Wherefore dost thou seek me?”

  “For my sister,” replied Eberhard, his voice thickening again. “Mylittle sister lies at the point of death, and I have sworn to her that apriest she shall have. Wilt thou come, or shall I drag thee down thepass?”

  “I come, I come with all my heart, sir knight,” was the ready response.“A few moments and I am at your bidding.”

  He stepped back into the hermit’s cave, whence a stair led up to thechapel. The anchorite followed him, whispering—“Good father, escape!There will be full time ere he misses you. The north door leads to theGemsbock’s Pass; it is open now.”

  “Why should I baulk him? Why should I deny my office to the dying?” saidNorbert.

  “Alas! holy father, thou art new to this country, and know’st not thesemen of blood! It is a snare to make the convent ransom thee, if notworse. The Freiherrinn is a fiend for malice, and the Freiherr isexcommunicate.”

  “I know it, my son,” said Norbert; “but wherefore should their childperish unassoilzied?”

  “Art coming, priest?” shouted Eberhard, from his stand at the mouth ofthe cave.

  And, as Norbert at once appeared with the pyx and other appliances thathe had gone to fetch, the Freiherr held out his hand with an offer to“carry his gear for him;” and, when the monk refused, with an inwardshudder at entrusting a sacred charge to such unhallowed hands, replied,“You will have work enow for both hands ere the castle is reached.”

  But Father Norbert was by birth a sturdy Switzer, and thought little ofthese Swabian Alps; and he climbed after his guide through the mostrugged passages of Eberhard’s shortest and most perpendicular cut withouta moment’s hesitation, and with agility worthy of a chamois. The youngbaron turned for a moment, when the level of the castle had been gained,perhaps to see whether he were following, but at the same time came to asudden, speechless pause.

  On the white masses of vapour that floated on the opposite side of themountain was traced a gigantic shadowy outline of a hermit, with headbent eagerly forward, and arm outstretched.

  The monk crossed himself. Eberhard stood still for a moment, and thensaid, hoarsely,—“The Blessed Friedmund! He is come for her;” then strodeon towards the postern gate, followed by Brother Norbert, a good dealreassured both as to the genuineness of the young Baron’s message and theprobable condition of the object of his journey, since the patron saintof her race was evidently on the watch to speed her departing spirit.

  Sir Eberhard led the way up the turret stairs to the open door, and themonk entered the death-chamber. The elder Baron sat near the fire in thelarge wooden chair, half turned towards his daughter, as one who mustneeds be present, but with his face buried in his hands, unable to endurethe spectacle. Nearer was the tall form of his wife, standing near thefoot of the bed, her stern, harsh features somewhat softened by thefeelings of the moment. Ursel waited at hand, with tears running downher furrowed cheeks.

  For such as these Father Norbert was prepared; but he little expected tomeet so pure and sweet a gaze of reverential welcome as beamed on himfrom the soft, dark eyes of the little white-checked maiden who sat onthe bed, holding the sufferer in her arms. Still less had he anticipatedthe serene blessedness that sat on the wasted features of the dying girl,and all the anguish of labouring breath.

  She smiled a smile of joy, held up her hand, and thanked her brother.Her father scarcely lifted his head, her mother made a rigid curtsey, andwith a grim look of sorrow coming over her features, laid her hand overthe old Baron’s shoulder. “Come away, Herr Vater,” she said; “he isgoing to hear her confession, and make her too holy for the like of us totouch.”

  The old man rose up, and stepped towards his child. Ermentrude held outher arms to him, and murmured—

  “Father, father, pardon me; I would have been a better daughter if I hadonly known—” He gathered her in his arms; he was quite past speaking;and they only heard his heavy breathing, and one more whisper fromErmentrude—“And oh! father, one day wilt thou seek to be absolved?”Whether he answered or not they knew not; he only gave her repeatedkisses, and laid her down on her pillows, then rushed to the door, andthe passionate sobs of the strong man’s uncontrolled nature might beheard upon the stair. The parting with the others was not necessarily socomplete, as they were not, like him, under censure of the Church; butKunigunde leant down to kiss her; and, in return to her repetition of herentreaty for pardon, replied, “Thou hast it, child, if it will ease thymind; but it is all along of these new fancies that ever an Adlersteinthought of pardon. There, there, I blame thee not, poor maid; it thouwert to die, it may be even best as it is. Now must I to thy father; heis troubled enough about this gear.”

  But when Eberhard moved towards his sister, she turned to the priest, andsaid, imploringly, “Not far, not far! Oh! let them,” pointing toEberhard and Christina, “let them not be quite out of sight!”

  “Out of hearing is all that is needed, daughter,” replied the priest; andErmentrude looked content as Christina moved towards the empty northturret, where, with the door open, she was in full view, and Eberhardfollowed her thither. It was indeed fully out of earshot of the child’sfaint, gasping confession. Gravely and sadly both stood there.Christina looked up the hillside for the snow-wreath. The May sunshinehad dissolved it; the green pass lay sparkling without a vestige of itswhite coating. Her eyes full of tears, she pointed the spot out toEberha
rd. He understood; but, leaning towards her, told, under hisbreath, of the phantom he had seen. Her eyes expanded with awe of thesupernatural. “It was the Blessed Friedmund,” said Eberhard. “Neverhath he so greeted one of our race since the pious FreiherrinnHildegarde. Maiden, hast thou brought us back a blessing?”

  “Ah! well may she be blessed—well may the saints stoop to greet her,”murmured Christina, with strangled voice, scarcely able to control hersobs.

  Father Norbert came towards them. The simple confession had been heard,and he sought the aid of Christina in performing the last rites of theChurch.

  “Maiden,” he said to her, “thou hast done a great and blessed work, suchas many a priest might envy thee.”

  Eberhard was not excluded during the final services by which the soul wasto be dismissed from its earthly dwelling-place. True, he comprehendedlittle of their import, and nothing of the words, but he gazed meekly,with uncovered head, and a bewildered look of sadness, while Christinamade her responses and took her part with full intelligence and deepfervour, sorrowing indeed for the companion who had become so dear toher, but deeply thankful for the spiritual consolation that had come atlast. Ermentrude lay calm, and, as it were, already rapt into a higherworld, lighting up at the German portions of the service, and not whollydevoid of comprehension of the spirit even of the Latin, as indeed shehad come to the border of the region where human tongues and languagesare no more.

  She was all but gone when the rite of extreme unction was completed, andthey could only stand round her, Eberhard, Christina, Ursel, and the oldBaroness, who had returned again, watching the last flutterings of thebreath, the window thrown wide open that nothing might impede the passageof the soul to the blue vault above.

  The priest spoke the beautiful commendation, “Depart, O Christian soul.”There was a faint gesture in the midst for Christina to lift her in herarms—a sign to bend down and kiss her brow—but her last look was for herbrother, her last murmur, “Come after me; be the Good Baron Ebbo.”