Thou sufferest not the heart to freeze,
For Thou art with us all the days.'
MRS. CHARLES.
THE past three years had not been idle or uneventful for the lord of Pihel. His temporal affairs had prospered; it seemed as if the money given back to him by the martyr's desire had brought with it a special blessing. The estates under his management now contained more than thirty villages, besides a great number of scattered dwellings. He was sincerely anxious to fulfill his duties to his vassals, but the state of the country rendered these extremely difficult and perplexing. The majority of his people were Hussites; and he had to protect them from the molestations of the neighboring Papists, and not seldom to restrain their own ill-regulated zeal. Others, however, remained attached more or less strongly to the old order of things. These he sent Stasek, and other faithful pastors, to instruct. Why he did not go a step further, and, like some of the other Hussite barons, force all his vassals to adopt the Communion of the Cup, he could not in the least have explained. Only he observed to those who urged him to the use of severe measures, ' The Cup of Christ is a gift. It seems scarce reverent to our Lord to force His gitts upon those who dislike them.'
Not all his determination to follow Master John's counsel and 'serve God quietly at home' could prevent his being drawn into the whirl of public affairs, and obliged often to go to court. ‘He stood by the side of his friend Husseneč when that baron led into the presence of the king the deputation which claimed for the Hussites freedom of worship, and the restoration of the churches and schools of which they had been deprived. But while King Wenzel flew upon Husseneč in a rage, told him he was spinning a halter for his own neck, and banished him to his estates, he did not extend his anger to Chlum, whom he knew to be devoid of that personal ambition which, not altogether unjustly, he attributed to Husseneč. Wenzel liked and respected Chlum all the rather, perhaps, because in the affair of Huss he had been badly used by the imperial brother whom he himself so cordially detested. Recognizing the importance of keeping hold of that weak, vacillating nature, Chlum endured the penance of long visits to the lonely fortress where King Wenzel buried himself with his ignoble pleasures, hiding his eyes from seeing the miseries of his subjects, and his ears from hearing their complaints. It is worthwhile to a brave man, even at the risk of life, to hold and display in battle a worthless rag, soiled and torn, and fluttering in the breeze, if it bears upon it the royal arms. It was doubtless the influence of Chlum, and of a few like him, that so long withheld Wenzel from adopting a policy of persecution against the Hussites. In spite of the many acts of violence of which they were the victims, they believed, almost to the last, that at heart he was not unfavorable to their cause. His queen, they knew, was their friend, but she had little influence over him.
At the time of the Páni’s death Chlum seemed to grow suddenly ten years older; and his hair and beard changed from gray almost to white. But that was all. He made no complaints, said nothing of his sorrow. He had the accustomed prayers and masses offered for her, though half the household thought them unnecessary, and Zedenka even ventured a word of remonstrance: ‘Dear father, does it need all this? We know she is with Christ.'
‘Master John did not forbid,' he answered. ‘And what harm can they do her?’ He paid for masses and made offerings for her much as we place flowers upon the graves of those we love: not to benefit them, but to relieve our own hearts.
For the rest, he suffered, but not bitterly. For the pain that comes with peace is ‘not painful pain.' There was in his heart no resistance to the will of God, but an utter and measureless content with it. Not in vain had he stood, even to the very end, beside that burning pile in Constance. There are some battles which need not be fought twice; some gains which never can be lost again.
He knew, too, that he had fallen on evil days; he could thank God that the one he loved was safe, delivered from those things which were coming on the earth. The door of her home had opened to receive her, and she had gone in, just before the breaking of the storm. Black with thunder, and heavy with rain, the clouds hung over them; already the first large drops, heralds of the coming tempest, were falling slowly one by one.
Not long could the weak and wavering Wenzel continue to protect his Hussite subjects, even if he would. His brother, the Kaiser Sigismund, was alternately threatening and cajoling, but always urging him to take decisive measures against them. Even if, contrary to all probability, he should still refuse, the whole strength of Germany might be hurled against the little kingdom of Bohemia, to enforce at the sword's point the Bull of Pope Martin and the Decree of the Council. This was what the Papists threatened loudly, whilst with bated breath they whispered often another word of terrible import—a Crusade. Awful hints of a country desolated and a race exterminated lurked beneath the common taunt, ‘You Hussites are as bad as the Albigenses.'
There was in Bohemia at this time a colony of Waldenses, who had lived there for many years without molestation. They had fearful tales to tell of their native valleys, wasted with fire and sword by the emissaries of the Church in the days of their forefathers. ‘Served them right,' said Václav, on hearing some of these. ‘What had they hands for, and weapons in them? In the name of God, we Bohemians at least will fight to the death for our hearths and our homes.'
But this warlike temper Chlum dreaded also. He lamented the acts of violence into which the more turbulent members of their party were sometimes betrayed. His favorite aspiration, ‘Oh, for Master John!’ was sure to rise to his lips when any of these were told him. ‘He knew the signs of the times, and what Israel ought to do. He could control, and calm, and guide. Without him, we are as sheep having no shepherd.'
“The same wish was prompted by the wide and ever-increasing divergences of opinion which he saw around him. John Cardinal, the Rector of the University, and the other heads of the moderate party, had recently published a manifesto, condemning, though with mildness, the more advanced Hussites, who denied purgatory, and refused to pray for the dead, to invoke the saints, or to practice confession. Of this manifesto Chlum approved; but he had a mournful suspicion, deepening into certainty, that the members of his own household—Hubert, Zedenka, and even young Václav—were not one with him in this matter. He did not blame them; but it deepened his sense of solitude and isolation. There are two ways of following in the footprints of a great leader. You may take your stand on the last poor inch of ground ' his dying feet have pressed, and defy heaven and earth to dislodge you froth it. Or you may take your departure thence, and go boldly forward in the path that he was treading, until you too are called elsewhere, and fresh runners take your place. Chlum followed in the first way, Hubert and the others in the second.
At this time Chlum took comfort in carrying out every wish his lady had expressed. He soon spoke to Peichler about the betrothal of Frantisek and Aninka. That worthy hung back for awhile, that he might extract better terms from the good-natured knight; but he yielded eventually, and the betrothal feast was given at Pihel when the first months of mourning were over. Aninka was to remain with Zedenka during the interval between the betrothal and the wedding. ‘For,' said Chlum to his daughter, ‘it would be hard for thee to be left alone so soon.'
‘I am alone always,' thought Zedenka, though she did not say it. In those days she said little; nor, indeed, did she weep much. Hers was a strong, deep, reserved nature—her father's mixed with her mother's. This sorrow went down to the roots of her being; first stunning, then agonizing, then almost hardening. It was quite unlike the sorrow for her young brother, out of which she had risen triumphantly to soothe and cheer her mother. It was yet more unlike the passion with which she mourned and worshipped the martyr of Constance. That kindled her imagination, this crushed her heart. The angel of death looks like an angel of glory; we see through our tears his grand, awful beauty, when he comes to those we reverence—to hero, king, or pastor—with the summons, Come up higher.' But when he crosses our familiar paths, and takes from us the desire of our eyes, the treasure of our hearts, we cannot see the glory—we can only feel the pain. It is so terribly real, so awfully near. Near? It is not near, but within us, crushing, burning, slaying. It is part of our very being.
We sometimes try to deaden the pain by the narcotic of outward activities. The youthful chatelaine of Pihel was very busy in those days; her cares and duties were manifold. Life resumed its ordinary course. Ostrodek went away, with kindly farewells and good wishes from all; but Lucaz and Vaclav did not for the present return to the University, and Hubert remained with them. Chlum knew that in the interests of what he called ‘the Cause' he ought by-and-by to go to the court again, but he could not well leave his household in its present state.
Zedenka understood his difficulties, and thought the best course might be to break up the household for a while. In that case she herself would go to Prague to visit Parma Oneshka. ‘I should like to be with her, and to learn of her,' she said. ‘It would be of much use to me hereafter. Besides, she hath of late been ill again, and would take such a visit very kindly.'
‘Nay, my child, I like not to part with thee. Besides, what should we do with the lads? To take them to the court is not good; and if we leave them here, they will be running to meetings and gatherings all over the country. ‘Already Vaclav hath been asking of me leave to go to Tabor, where some are preaching the end of the world, and other strange doctrines. Vaclav listens much to Frantisek—who is a good lad, very, and Aninka a fortunate girl; still, one can never guess the next thing he will take into his head. Do thou write a kind letter to Pánna Oneshka, and send her some gifts. Thou knowest what she would like. Say thou shalt visit her by-and-by: I cannot spare thee now. I shall send Vitus to Prague next week. Have a packet ready by that time.'
Zedenka knew her father meant, by the gifts her aged friend would like, things which had belonged to her mother. But it was not easy to find gifts suited for Pánna Oneshka. Dress or jewelry were out of the question, since she always wore a plain black robe without ornament. However, a rosary of olive wood brought from the Holy Land by a Crusading ancestor of her mother, and a Book of Hours in a case of carved ivory, were put aside for the purpose. Lastly, she remembered a certain embroidered cushion, wrought by Queen Sophia's own hands, which her mother had loved to use, and Parma Oneshka would prize for her sake. But the castle was searched for it in vain: it had been mislaid, and none of the female members of the household knew anything about it.
The day before the departure of Vitus, Hubert came into the ante-room which the boys used for their studies and indoor sports, and saw Karel Sandresky lying fast asleep on the rush-strewn floor, his head pillowed comfortably upon that very cushion. He shook the boy awake with scant ceremony, and asked rather sharply where he found it, and why he had not brought it at once to the Palma. Karel, a delicate boy, who had grieved deeply in his childish way for the Pani, sprang to his feet flushed and startled. As soon as he understood what Hubert meant, he took up the cushion, held it out before him, looked at it critically, and ejaculated in a tone of contempt, ‘That old thing! '
‘Knowest thou not,' asked Hubert, 'that the Pánna hath been searching for it everywhere? It is the queen's own work, and our dear lady set much store by it.'
‘She had many better ones,' said Karel. ‘Look, Master Hubert, the tail of the falcon wrought on this side is all stained, and on the other the silk is torn—see here! ' He turned the cushion, and showed Hubert a long rent on the plainer side, which had been partly repaired, and the work left unfinished with a loose thread hanging from ‘How could I know that was the thing all the women were hunting for? I thought it was something handsome, fit to make a present of. I should be ashamed to offer this to a serving-woman,'
‘How didst thou come by it?'
‘Oh, I don't know. It has been lying about forever so long. I just happened to take it up. Will the Parma be very angry with me, dolt think, Master Hubert? '
‘Well, hardly,' said Hubert with a slight smile, ‘but we must bring it to her at once.'
‘Dear Master Hubert, do you tell her about it. She will not be angry then. She is so fond of you,' said Karel, looking straight into Hubert's face with wide, innocent blue eyes.
‘Nonsense!' said Hubert, turning quickly away.
Karel burst into tears.
Hubert turned back again and laid his hand caressingly on his shoulder. ‘Dear boy, what is it? '
‘The Palma will be vexed about the cushion, and now you—you are vexed too, Master Hubert. For all that, I am right. Ask Vaclav: he knows.'
‘I am not vexed with thee, child. Only thou shouldest know that it is not the way to speak of a lady. The utmost one should permit oneself to say is this: "She doth use thee with much courtesy," or "She holds thee in some regard as her father's squire." But listen to me, Karel: dost call thyself a Hussite? '
The blue eyes shone through their tears. ‘I am a Hussite,' he said.
‘Hussites may have to die for their faith, so they should learn betimes to be brave and firm, and not fall to weeping like babes upon every slight vexation.'
‘I—won't’ said Karel, biting his lip, and forcing back the tears.
‘Good. Go out now to the lower meadow, where Lucaz and Vaclav are practicing their exercises with Rabstein. When thou canst leap into the saddle, as they do, without touching the stirrup, I'll give thee a pair of gloves. Stay, give me that cushion: I shall take it at once to the Pánna.'
Somewhat comforted, Karel went forth to join the older lads. They could not only leap fully armed into the saddle, but perform many other feats, such as ‘placing one hand on the saddle-bow of the charger and the other near the ears, taking him by the mane, and from the level ground jumping to the other side of the charger.' Rabstein, gentle as a lamb, yet full of spirit, served them admirably in these exercises. He was the friend of the whole household and the playfellow of the boys. They often used to ride him; but it would not have been safe, after his fall, for his lord to do so, in the cumbrous and heavy equipments worn by the knights of that age.
Karel forgot his troubles for a while in watching the feats of the others. Both did well; but, to the delight of Karel, Václav excelled. There was one feat, however, which they waited for Hubert to join them before attempting. He would sit on horseback, and Lucaz or Václav would take him with one hand by the sleeve, and without other help leap from the ground upon his shoulders. Hubert did not like them to do this, even with Vitus or Prokop, if he was not present himself. This morning both were eager to try it, but especially Lucaz, who had fallen the last time, and longed to regain his character for agility. Karel was beset with questions. Where had he left Master Hubert, and why did he not come out to them?
Thus recalled to his troubles and his fears, he said he would go in and look for him. When he came into the court he found the serving-women, with Aninka at their head, busy shaking out, brushing, and cleaning curtains, hangings and bed-furniture. It was early November, and they were taking advantage of the last mild and sunny days of autumn.
The Pánna? Oh, she had gone indoors a little while ago.
They thought she would come back to them soon, as she seemed very anxious about the work.
Karel went towards the bower where she was wont to sit with her women. But he did not get there, for in passing through the corridor he saw her sitting in the deep recess of a window. She had the cushion in her hand, and Hubert was standing near her. As he approached Hubert moved quickly, and took his place farther off. Both looked much disturbed; indeed, he thought the Palma had been weeping. What was far more wonderful, Master Hubert, too—brave, strong Master Hubert—had unmistakable tears in his eyes. And after his words to him! The Pánna’s fingers were playing nervously with the loose thread of silk that hung from the cushion, and her eyes were dwelling on it as if it was telling her some story of the past.
‘She must be very much vexed about it,' thought Karel.
He went boldly up to her. ‘Dear Parma,' he said, ‘please do not be angry with Master Hubert, it will make him so unhappy;—and he had nothing to do with it. It is all my fault. I am very sorry.'
This was too much, coming suddenly, as it did, upon the deep converse, sad and sweet, into which they had drifted unawares. In the momentary revulsion of feeling Zedenka laughed, and Hubert joined her. The gray old walls and the vaulted roof echoed the unwonted sound.
The first laugh after a great sorrow is seldom taken note of, yet it means a great deal. If those we mourn could hear it where they are (and perhaps they are not so far away), it would make them very glad. It would say to them, ‘No whit the less near and dear are you, beloved; you are in the very core and center of our hearts forever. But we know that you would have us take up our lives again—not their cares and burdens only, but their joys. We take you with us into all; we are the better, the stronger, the richer, for what you have been—what you are—to us. When we meet again "in the most sweet peace of the future life" we will tell you everything, for you have part in everything. Meanwhile, in this waiting time, the thought of you blesses our blessings, no less than it cheers and soothes our sorrows.'
Something of this Zedenka may have felt, as the echo of the moment's laugh died away, and she looked ‘through a rainbow of tears' at the work her busy fingers touched last in her mother's room. Thus had she left it unfinished, that very thread hanging so, when called suddenly to do some little office for her, and she had never resumed the task. There it had lain forgotten—an unconsidered trifle;' but what eloquence, what pathos it had for her now! As she drew together those frayed edges, and set those first stitches—a little unevenly—the dear voice that was silent now had been saying to her, I could wish thee no better lot than mine.'
Hubert, meanwhile, went at once to the chamber where the lord of the castle sat alone, having just dismissed his steward, after a long and troublesome interview. Chlum sat idle, wrapped in his white mantle—the garb of deep mourning—his head resting on his hands. His mind was filled with perplexing, foreboding thoughts, for every day brought him fresh evidence of the troublous state of the country, and even his own vassals were unquiet.
But never yet had Hubert come to increase his cares, while he had often lightened or shared them. Recognizing his step, Chlum looked up and smiled.
‘Sir knight,' asked Hubert, ‘can you hear a few words from me? '
‘As many as thou wilt, my son. What is wrong, and with whom?'
Hubert's grave eyes and anxious face prompted the question.
‘Nothing, sir knight, save with me alone.'
‘With thee? If I can help thee—But say on.'
Hubert held in his hand his silver spurs, and now he laid them on the table before his lord.
‘What is the matter?' asked Chlum, with surprise.
‘Is it a sudden summons to thy native land? For nothing else—for nothing less, I think—wouldest thou leave us, Hubert.’
His voice sank a little, and was not quite steady, as he ended.
‘My lord, I would not leave you—'
‘I begin to understand. You think, and with reason, that in due time these silver spurs ought to be exchanged for golden ones; and you see no chance of that while you are with me.'
‘Indeed, sir knight, I have no such thoughts. But hear me, my good lord, I pray you. Let me tell you all that is in my heart, and then, if you bid me from you, never to see the face of you and yours again, I obey without a word.'
‘What is this madness, Hubert? One would think thou hadst committed a crime! But speak on. Thou knowest I love thee well; and I cannot think thou hast aught to tell that will not make me love thee better.'
‘Sir Knight, thy words are noble—as ever. I, too—God knows—I love thee well. But the truth is, I love one who is near to thee far too well for my own peace. Now, sir knight, my tale is told!’
A change passed over the knight's sad, thoughtful face; but its meaning was inscrutable. There was a long silence.
Hubert could hear the beating of his own heart. At last he ventured to say, ‘Forgive my presumption.'
Chlum stretched out his hand to him, while the perplexed lines of his face softened into a smile. ‘There is no presumption,' he said. ‘We are peers in rank, and the chance that made you an exile might as well have been ours. But there is another question—what is best for my child and for thee? Knoweth she of this thing, Hubert?'
‘My lord, just now we fell unawares into converse about our dear lady who is gone. And I think the Parma knoweth I would give my life to comfort her sorrow. That is all.'
‘Thou art quite frank with me, Hubert?’
Hubert bowed his head.
‘Let me think. I am slow of thought, and I have none to take counsel with now.'
Hubert stood waiting patiently.
‘How long hath this thing been in thine heart, Hubert?’ asked Chlum at last.
‘It began soon—very soon—after I came,' Hubert answered candidly. ‘But when the young lord of Husseneč was here I crushed it down, set my heel on it, thought I had conquered it. For I knew his purpose, and I knew what I was, and am—a penniless squire, only fit to hold her stirrup and to bear her train. But it would not die. All unknown to myself it lived—it grew. Some chance words revealed it to my own heart, and now, I fear, I have betrayed it to her. Sir knight, shall I go away? '
‘Whither wouldest thou go?' asked Chlum of him, as he had asked of Ostrodek.
‘I must find another service, though never any so dear to me as thine.’
‘Go not, Hubert. Thou art as a son to me. Till we know what to do thou canst come with me to the king's court; or Zedenka can go to Prague to visit Palma Oneshka. Perhaps,' he added, and even in the midst of his perplexity he could not forbear a quiet smile—' perhaps, after all, she may not find that kind of life the most agreeable. Take back thy spars, my son. Silver may sometimes be better than gold. And pray God to guide us all, for in truth we need it.'
‘Father,' said Vaclav, coming in, ‘Frantisek is here; and he has brought dreadful news.'
This startling announcement did not produce the effect that might have been expected. People were used in those days to ‘dreadful news.' Human nature becomes used to anything, even to living on the slope of a volcano. Chlum only said, ‘Let us hear it at first hand, then. Bring him hither.'
Presently there entered a very fine young man, clad in a doublet and hosen of good gray cloth, and having at his girdle a three-cornered parse of leather, probably well filled. He bowed low to the knight and squire, who greeted him very kindly, Hubert even placing a stool for him, though he declined this remarkable honor, and stood modestly, cap in hand, before his superiors.
A question from the knight drew out his tidings. ‘This morning, sir knight and master squire, one came from Prague to my master, who saith there is a royal edict out banishing Master John Jessenec̆, and ordaining that the churches and schools of those who hold the Communion of the Cup shall be taken from them and given to the Papists.'
Even the steadfast-hearted Chlum changed color and looked moved. ‘It can't be,' he said, half to himself. ‘The king would not dare. It is some lie of the Papists, Frantisek.'
‘It is too true, if my good lord will pardon me the word. Our man—he is a scholar—saw the edict posted on the gate of the Vyssehrad, and read it for himself. Moreover, he saith the city is in an uproar about it.'
‘But 'tis only so much waste paper, after all,' cried Václav. ‘King Wenzel can never act on it. He should have known that much, though he is a—'
‘Hush, Václav: he is thy king!’ Chlum interrupted.
A little while longer they talked with Frantisek, drawing out any further information he had to give, which, indeed, was not much. Then Chlum sent him to Aninka, charging him, however, not to excite her fears, or those of the household. ‘It is not the king who speaks in that edict,' he said, ‘but the Kaiser and the priests. And—there be stronger than they.'
Left alone with Hubert, he laid his hand on his shoulder and said gently, ‘My son, this settles one question, at least, for you and me. We go to the king at once, to try if faithful counsel may yet do anything with him. For the rest, the Scripture saith, "The time is short." '
This was indisputable; but the conclusion to be drawn therefrom was not equally clear. Hubert looked at him inquiringly, "The time is short"—shall I therefore say to thee, "Wait long?"’ he continued, with a smile. ‘And yet, my son Hubert, I bid thee wait. God will show us His will in all things—if our will is to see it. As for this thing, I am fain to take for my guide the will of her whom it most concerns. But we must first be sure that she knows it herself. So I ask of thee patience and silence; at least, until after our return from the court.'
‘What my lord asks of me shall most gladly be observed,' said Hubert, bending down to kiss his hand.