‘A little more, and how much it is;
A little less, and what worlds away! '
R. BROWNING.
IT seemed as if the poem— ‘an Idyll' it has been called even by unfriendly pens—which was lived out on Mount Tabor in those bright midsummer days was given to strengthen those who were there for the long and bitter trials that were to follow. Immediately afterward a Hussite priest who was bearing the Host in procession through the streets of Prague was struck by a stone and killed. The cup of persecution was already full, and this drop made it overflow. A revolt followed, which, under the able leadership of Zisca, proved a veritable revolution: The weak and wicked king, on hearing the tidings, fell into a rage which brought on a fit of apoplexy. After lingering for a few weeks he died, and his death was the signal for fresh tumults. The royal garrison in the Hradschin was composed of German mercenaries, and had long insulted and threatened the citizens, who were not slow to retaliate. At last a regular and most obstinate battle was fought in the streets of Prague, and fought, too, to the bitter end. The national and Hussite party, led by Zisca, was victorious everywhere. Finally, a truce was agreed upon guaranteeing to the Hussites all that they really wanted—full liberty of worship. But it was very ill-observed. The Papists boasted everywhere that the Kaiser was coming presently with all his armies to do them justice, and to exterminate their heretical foes.
During the summer Chlum had removed his family and most of his household from Pihel to Melnik; and there he was rejoined by his daughter, who came back full of interest in the work of Parma Oneshka, and apparently feeling the attraction of the kind of life that lady had chosen for herself. Amidst many toils and cares, and many fears and anxieties, winter drew on apace.
The November winds were wailing amongst the hills, and shaking the few remaining leaves from the trees beside the river, when one evening the family gathered around the blazing logs in a tapestried chamber less bleak and comfortless and more adapted to private converse than the great hall.
The lord of the castle sat in his armchair. His looks were troubled: he seemed lost in anxious thought. Zedenka had evidently been playing and singing; she held in her hand a small stringed instrument called a rota, which she seemed about to give back to her attendant bower maiden. Aninka looked slight and colorless as ever; but her pale features were redeemed from insignificance by the sweetness of her smile and by the steadfast, thoughtful look that came sometimes into her quiet gray eyes.
Hubert was standing near Zedenka; for he had been singing with her.
Vaclav had gone over to a table fastened against the wall, and was turning over the leaves of a large book which lay upon it by the light of the blazing torch of pinewood which he held in his hand.
‘Take care, my son,' said his father. ‘The sparks are falling. You will burn the Bible.'
To burn their Bohemian Bible would have been accounted as great a misfortune as to burn the castle down to the ground. Václav blew out his torch, closed the book, and joined the group by the fire. ‘I was looking,' he said, for the place in which it is written, "Where the tree falleth, there it shall lie." '
‘It is in the Book of Ecclesiastes, the Preacher,' said Hubert, whose study was much in the Bible.
‘Wherever it is,' Chlum observed with some warmth, ‘I think it can scarcely mean that I may not say a prayer for the sinful soul of my king, whom I have ever served loyally.' ‘Indeed, dear father, that you have,' said Zedenka. ‘To the last you tried to save him from himself.'
‘I tried—and failed. It has ever been my lot to fail. Still, if my life would have done the work—and it was said to me once, and the words are true, "God's love is not less than thine!" '
‘I think, sir knight,' said Hubert, modestly, ‘that some things are mysteries of the faith, which we cannot expect to understand.'
‘So think I; but you who are young expect to understand everything. You have changed so many things that our fathers believed and observed.'
‘We desire to believe and to observe all that is in the Word of God, and no more,' said Václav.
‘I know it, dear lad. Still, was it necessary to take away the image of the Virgin out of the chapel, and give so much offense to the Melnik folk, who are not like those of Pihel? '
‘Dear father, is it not idolatry to bow down before an image—or, indeed, to worship any created being? And the Blessed Virgin was created. She is not God.'
‘So said Master John,' Zedenka added. ‘You remember his words, that "we ought not to believe in the Mother of God, but ought to believe that she is the most holy Mother of God, more worthy than any saint. And yet there is one Virgin, who is the Bride of Christ, more worthy than the Virgin Mary, and that is the Holy Church, the congregation of all saints, who will finally reign with Christ forever. For the Virgin Mary is a member of the Holy Church, and cannot be of such worthiness."'
‘Ay, child, I remember Master John's words; and I would the new generation remembered them half as well. It is not now with them what Master John said, but what Martin Loqui, or John the Præmonstrant, or Korianda, or some other new preacher saith. Young Frantisek told me when he was here that he would not say an Ave even to save his life. Now, Master John prayed to our Lord as if he was standing in His presence and saw His face, yet did he not forbid these old customs that we learned from our fathers.'
At the mention of Frantisek the pale cheek of Aninka flushed hotly. With a bowed head and a beating heart she came forward and spoke: ‘If it please my lord, Frantisek meant not to blame anyone. He only meant,—it is against the Holy Scriptures, and a breach of the Second Commandment.'
‘Only?’ repeated Václav. ‘I never heard any man—even at Tabor—say more than that. Truly, Mistress Aninka, a soft hand can deal a shrewd blow.'
‘I ask my lord's forgiveness if I have spoken aught amiss,' said Aninka meekly.
‘Nay, my girl, thou hast not spoken amiss,' returned Chlum kindly. ‘Always speak out bravely for thy betrothed;—and I hope thy lady, when she is in like case, will do the same,' he added, with a look at Zedenka which made her cheeks as red as those of her handmaiden. Yet I think the Church had wise and holy men in her ere thou and I, and thy Frantisek, were born.'
‘Surely, father,' said Václav. ‘But Frantisek and the rest of us are only keeping the charge Master John gave us himself when he said, "Therefore, faithful Christian, seek the truth, hearken to the truth, learn the truth, hold the truth, defend the truth, even unto death." '
‘It is like it will be unto death,' Chlum answered sadly, ‘if Kaiser Sigismund comes upon us with his army.'
‘It may be, my father,' said Zedenka softly, ‘that another King may come first.' For she had drunk in with all her ardent soul the teachings of Tabor about the approaching coming of the Lord.
‘It may be,' said Chlum reverently, ‘for with Him all things are possible. Yet I doubt the end is so near as you young folk seem to think. And as to seeing Master John again, which you talk to me of, I am content to say, like David, "I shall go to him, but he shall not return to me." '
There was a silence, which V delay broke at last with a question: ‘Wilt tell us, my father, what thou saidst in the Council of the Barons about acknowledging Sigismund as King of Bohemia in place of King Wenzel? '
‘Thou knowest well enough, Václav. I said what I ever say. I will have no part in the setting up of any other king, be it my old friend Husseneč, or anyone else; for the crown should come to Sigismund, and his it is. But I will never raise my hand in service, nor bow my knee in homage, before Sigismund the Word-breaker, who gave John Huss up to his enemies. Children,' he went on, after a pause, you talk of deep teaching, and new lights upon the Word of God. You think you know some things which God has not revealed to me,—and I do not doubt it. But, for my part, I had rather be sure I forgave Sigismund with all my heart than interpret the whole Apocalypse of St. John.'
`But, my father,' said Zedenka, ‘you forgave him long ago.' ‘Ay, in Constance, in the year of the Right Hand of the Most High. I had that, my children, though I had not your Mount Tabor, and the rest of it;—and I am content. What was given me then I keep, by the grace of God, only not as being perfect, nor as having attained.'
‘Sir knight, there is a German pedlar in the hall, who desires to speak with you,' said Karel, coming in.
‘An ill night for him to have traveled, poor man. Bid the men see to him and give him meat and drink in plenty.'
‘He has had all, sir knight. He came an hour agone.'
‘Well, then, let him show his pack to the lads and lasses. That is what he wants, I suppose; or else a safe-conduct to pass into Germany.'
‘No, sir knight. He says he has some tidings for your private ear. He was here, or rather, I would say, at Pihel, long ago, before I came.'
‘Ah!’ cried Václav, ‘perhaps it is Hans Kaufman. Don't you remember Hans Kaufman, my father?'
‘Oh yes, I remember him,' said Cilium; and Zedenka added, ‘Truly, I remember him, for I cured him of the hurts our peasants gave him for speaking ill of Master John.'
‘Yes; and ere he left us he sang another tune,' said Václav. ‘I will go to him.'
He returned presently with the peddler, who faltered out a few grateful words about the kindness he received four years ago, and then began: ‘Sir Knight, I have been at Kuttenberg of late, and I have brought thence some ornaments of silver which it may please you and the Páni to look at.'
‘By-and-by,' said Chlum. ‘I guess from thy face thou hast something for us of more import than silver from the mine. If thou hast tidings or messages, speak on.'
The peddler looked cautiously around him. ‘There be none within earshot save your own, sir knight?' he queried in a low voice, and drawing near him. ‘I could not speak out in the hall, as I knew not who might be about, and so many of these people are strange to me. Methought I saw a shaven crown, and such are never to be trusted.'
‘My chaplain, Master Stasek, may be well trusted. But what hast thou to say to me? '
‘Sir Knight, have you heard how they are keeping the truce in the parts about Kuttenberg?’
‘I know how they are keeping it elsewhere-to my sorrow.'
‘So do we all,' said Václav. ‘The cries of our brethren who are wrongfully imprisoned, and starved, and tortured, ring in our ears day and night.'
‘Sir Baron, your own vassals are being thus treated by their Papist neighbors.'
‘In God's name, man,' said Chlum, with a rising color in his cheek and a gathering frown upon his brow, ‘speak out and tell us all! '
‘Sir Knight, the men of your estate near Kuttenberg, which is called Janović, are sore harassed and oppressed by their neighbors. The Lord of Rosenbek hath seized some of them and thrown them into his dungeons for asking the Communion of the Cup. But worst of all are the miners of Kuttenberg, Saxons like myself, worse luck. I am ashamed of them! Every Hussite they can lay their hands on has a short shrift, and is flung into the mines. 'Tis said that two or three of your men, sir knight, have had such measure dealt out to them.'
‘Good God!’ cried Chlum; and great must have been the horror that wrung the sacred name from those reverent lips.
‘How didst thou hear of it?’ asked Hubert of the peddler, in the forlorn hope of finding that the story had been exaggerated.
From the lips of a man belonging to the village, whom I met at Kolin. He was called Petr—Petr the smith. He says your steward, Kralik, has abandoned the Communion of the Cup out of fear; and that your peasants know not where to turn, or whom to trust. Men think nothing of the truce there—little enough of it anywhere—excepting in those places where the Hussites have power to take care of themselves, or the barons are on their side. The peddler went on to give instances of the violation of the truce, some 'of which his hearers had heard before; others were new to them. When he had told all he knew, he was thanked, and dismissed for the night to the comfortable quarters provided for him in the castle. Aninka went out also, and Chlum, Zedenka, Hubert, and Vaclav stood in silence, and looked one another in the face.
At last Chlum said slowly, and as if to himself, ‘I must go to my people, who are as sheep having no shepherd.'
Zedenka and Vaclav looked at each other in dismay, and Hubert said, ‘Pardon me, sir knight, but that is impossible. You are bound here by what is stronger than fetters of brass and iron—the command of your sovereign, the queen.'
It was too true; and Chlum was forced to acknowledge it. He bowed his head sorrowfully and was silent.
Suddenly Vaclav cried out, stamping his foot with eagerness. ‘I have it! I have it! Father and knight, this is what I will do. I will take that peddler fellow's clothing and his pack; so will no man know me, though I go through the length and breadth of the land. I will go to Kuttenberg, and find out the truth and the whole truth, for I wager a kop of new groschen against a stirrup-cup of ale things are not as bad as he says. Petr the smith may be a liar. The Master of the Mint dwells at the Welsh Castle hard by; and we know what a good Hussite he is. So, of course, are his people, and he would be the last man to leave them unprotected.'
‘Thy plan is excellent, my son—but not for thee. One of our men can go.'
‘Nay, my father—with your good leave. We have not one here who could gather our people around him, and counsel them, and tell them what to do. Vitus perchance might have done it, but there is no one now.'
‘Save thyself,' said Chlum, with a sorrowful smile. ‘Dost think thou couldest do it, my son?'
‘Sir Knight,' said Hubert, stepping forward, hear me a moment, of your grace. I also think that Václav’s plan is excellent. ‘But seeing I am older than he, and better acquainted with the German tongue, it is clear that I, and not he, should be the man to go.'
Vaclav cried out; from Zedenka's lips also came something between a gasp and a cry. But it was instantly suppressed, and only one had heard it. Chlum spoke, and not without emotion. ‘I do not spare one of my sons to peril the other.'
‘The peril is slight,' said Hubert. ‘I can easily assume the manners of a foreigner—being one, in fact. I am not known in those parts at all, and, if questioned or suspected, can easily make myself out a stranger in a strange land, with no part in its quarrels and contentions. Sir Knight, will you give me—not a letter, for that might be dangerous—but a message and a token for your people? '
‘Let me think of it,' said Chlum, raising his hand to his head. ‘Tomorrow—'
‘Tomorrow I should set out. 'Twere well, methinks, to-night to arrange matters with Hans. Have I your leave to speak with him, and to find out upon what terms he will be willing either to lend or to sell me his merchandise?'
‘Thou dost press me hard, Hubert. Well, I cannot say thee nay. Speak to Hans if thou wilt.'
Later that night Hubert sat in the library or writing-room; indicting a letter to his brother Armand, in France.
This letter he intended to leave in the care of Vaclav, who would, he knew, find means of forwarding it (if possible) to its destination in case he never returned from the proposed expedition. It was full of faith and courage—only one sentence showed a touch of sorrowful feeling: ‘Commend me unto the Lady Jocelyne, who is, I hope, by this time a sister unto me. Thou art happier than I, Armand, in that thou dost know thyself beloved. True, indeed, I have hope, but I have no certainty.'
He folded his letter, tied it carefully with silk, and sealed it with many seals. Then he put it for the present inside his doublet, and, taking in his hand the little oil lamp which had given him light, lie went towards his sleeping-apartment.
On the, way, much to his surprise, he encountered the Parma, who was coming forth from the chapel, a large book in one hand, and a little lamp like his own in the other. She, too, was surprised, and the book fell from her hand.
Hubert picked it up and gave it back to her, noticing as he did so the extreme paleness of her face. The thought crossed his mind that some of the Melnik men, angry at the removal of the image of the Virgin, had committed some outrage in the chapel, which she might look upon as a menace of other violence to follow. ‘Is anything wrong, Palma?’ he asked, in a tone of concern.
Instead of answering, she said hurriedly, ‘Master Hubert, this thought of thine is too rash. I have spoken to my father.'
‘Thy father, Pánna, is one of God's truest servants upon earth—so true that he bade his dearest friend go and die for Him. How, then, should he withhold a servant of his own, even if it be one whom he had been good enough to call—a son?’ asked Hubert, infinitely gratified by her solicitude.
‘It is easy for you who are strong—who can go forth to do and dare.'
‘Patina, what makes us strong is the thought of those who stay at home, and think of us, and pray for us. Will you think of me and pray for me when I go forth tomorrow? '
‘If—if—so it must be. We will all pray for you, Master Hubert.'
‘Not as all pray for all, but as one prays for one, Pánna? Thou dost know my meaning, and my heart.' ‘This is no time for words like these.'
‘I know it, Parma, and I crave your pardon. I am willing—nay, I am proud and glad—to give all, and to ask for nothing in return. Stay—one thing I ask to take with me through my journeying—through my perils-and to make me strong to face them all, and to come home safe again. It is only a word. If thou dolt think a little kindly of thy servitor, all unworthy though he is, say to him tomorrow, ere he goes, thy sweet Bohemian farewell—"SBoim"— go with God.'
Next morning a tall young man, bearing on his shoulders a pedlar's pack, walked forth from the gate of Melnik. By his side walked the Paneč Vaclav, who intended to bear him company for a stage or two. Many a hearty loving word of farewell sounded in his ears, and would linger long in his memory; but dearest of all was that one Bohemian word, breathed softly in a gentle voice—' SBoim.'