Oh, holy Teacher, could'st thou rise and live,
Would not those pale lips murmur, "I forgive"? '
‘IT is not so bad as I expected,' said Chlum a few days afterward. ‘True, I shall never ride Rabstein again. Still, the good horse shall spend the rest of his days in ease and plenty, like some brave old knight come back from the wars with his wounds and his glory. So do not grieve over him, Václav. —Daughter, how goes it with thy patient, the German peddler? '
Truth to speak, Rabstein had been a much greater object of interest and attention than the other invalid. Still, he had not been neglected. Zedenka was well skilled in herbs and simples, and, accustomed to minister to the sick, was able to give her father a satisfactory answer. He improves daily, my father. Moreover, he seems very grateful for my care of him. I have had much ado to withhold him from giving to the serving-women all the bright-colored kerchiefs in his pack, in thanks for their attendance. I think he is a simple man, who meant no harm, but only repeated the foolish talk of others. He likes to hear the Holy Scriptures read or recited, and says he sees now we are good people and no heretics, and he too will be a Hussite.'
‘I dislike that name, "Hussite." '
‘He says that in all the towns and everywhere men are giving it to those who follow Master John. When I abode in Prague with Mistress Oneshka, we used to be called Johannites, since John was his name, and also that of Wickliffe. Wherefore like you not the new name, my father, if I may be bold to ask?'
‘Because there be plenty who will take it on their lips while they do many foolish, and perhaps evil, things. It is too dear to me for that.'
Just then Prokop entered with two letters in his hand. His share in Rabstein's misadventure had, of course, been forgiven, as it would have been unjust to pardon Vaclav and punish him.
‘Who brought these?’ asked the knight, as he took them from him.
‘A horseman, sir knight; he is in haste to depart.'
‘Then, as quickly as you may, give him to eat and drink of the best, and bait his horse.'
‘Is he to have an answer, sir knight? '
‘I shall speak with him myself.' He broke the seals of one of the letters, and read it through, slowly and carefully, pausing at every word. Then he said, looking up, I am as glad of this as ever soldier was of the trumpet that called him to battle. Indeed, I expected it, but not so soon. It is the call to Prague to join the knights and barons of our realm in solemn protest against the crime of Constance.'
‘Thou wilt go, my knight?’ It was the Pani who spoke.
‘Were I on my deathbed I would arise and go.'
‘How soon?'
‘Immediately. Hubert, thou shalt come with me. Thou hast never seen Prague, our noble city, one of the wonders of the world. Moreover, I need my squire—and my secretary!' he added with a smile.
‘Master Hubert shall go,' said the Pani. ‘With your good leave, my knight, so also shall Zedenka. Parma Oneshka hath been praying for a visit from her this year past and more.'
‘Nay, mother,' interposed Zedenka, ‘I care not to leave thee now.'
‘Thou mayest well leave me, dear child. I am much better, and have loving ‘tendance from all, specially from little Aninka, who is so good and watchful. I think that poor child, whom we took from kindness, is like to prove a blessing in the house. Thou shalt go, my daughter. I wish it.' Then, after a pause, ‘My knight, what of Vaclav? Were it not well that he too should go, and see that which is done? '
‘No,' returned Chlum with decision. ‘Vaclav shall stay with thee.'
Vaclav looked up. ‘Yes, my father,' he said, with prompt acquiescence, ‘I will stay with my mother.' It was in his heart to add, ‘I do not deserve to go,' but something withheld him, perhaps akin to the feeling which kept the prodigal from saying to his father: 'Make me as one of thy hired servants.' Chlum said no more, but opened his second letter, which was far more elaborately sealed than the other, and tied with red silk, being, in fact, a private communication from a personal friend, while the other was a kind of circular.
It took him long to read it. His face, at first full of interest and satisfaction, gradually assumed a look of perplexity, even "of annoyance. At last he handed it to Pani Sophia. ‘From my good friend, Petr de Svoyshin,' he said. ‘As thou seest, he is in Prague, with his lady. Heaven send the affairs of the Mint at Kuttenburg may come to no harm through the absence of the Master! He speaks nobly of the zeal of our knights and barons in the good cause. But what aileth him to trouble me concerning the moneys I expended in Constance? Thou seest he asks for the tale of them. I know not how it can concern him. Nor ever saw I yet that writing groschen down on paper brought one of them back again.'
‘Still, thou hadst better give it. The king may have asked about it.'
‘The king?' The tone in which the words were said spoke volumes. From King Wenzel men no longer hoped or feared anything. "Tis hard to tell what I know not myself—and where is the use? Unless,' he added presently, ‘there be amongst the barons some who think I did not all I might. It is like enough. My good friend, the Master of the Mint, may wish to stop their mouths. As for me, I care not.'
So saying he left the room. Later, when he and the Pani were alone together, he said: ‘Needs must that I consider the cost of taking Zedenka with us to Prague.'
‘It will cost thee scarce anything, my knight. Thou and Master Hubert must lodge with Wenzel the cupmaker. But she will abide with Parma Oneshka.'
‘Be it so, then. If it like thee, she shall come. I can borrow what I need in the city. Daniel, Baruch's son, deals fairly for a Jew.'
‘Nay, my knight; to the Jews' quarter thou shalt not go. See here.' She rose, took from the chatelaine that hung at her girdle a little key, and going to a cabinet of carved ebony that stood by the wall, unlocked it, and took out a casket. Then, bringing it to her lord: ‘Open that, my knight, and see if what is within will not serve thy purpose better than a covetous Jew, who will charge thee three-and-thirty percent upon every ducat.'
Chlum opened the casket, and saw a coronet, slight but very beautiful, its golden circlet set with rubies, amethysts, and sapphires.
‘The queen's wedding-gift!—No, dear heart, no! Thou shalt not part with that for me.'
‘Why not, beloved? What are all other gifts compared with the one thou gavest me that same wedding-day? Keeping that, I can let go the rest.'
‘Would I were rich to give thee fairest jewels from the mine—not poor, to take what thou past, like a robber.' ‘For whose sake art thou poor today, Kepka? '
In the end Chlum took the jewel, but with the earnest hope that he would not be obliged to part with it. He set out upon his journey accompanied by Hubert and Zedenka; and also, according to the custom of the time, by a retinue of armed and mounted servants, with which he could very well have dispensed.
During the journey they were joined by other knights and barons, going to Prague for the same purpose. These were naturally anxious to converse with Kepka, who had been an eye-witness of the events which were stirring the nation's heart to its depths. Thus it sometimes fell to the lot of Hubert, as her father's squire, to take care of the Pánna. Not that she needed care of his; she rode her handsome palfrey quite as securely, and far more gracefully, than Hubert did his stout hackney. Still, it was his duty to ride by her, ready to obey her behests, or to shield her from intrusion or annoyance. He felt honored, of course; but the honor, at first, was just a little overpowering. Yet there was a subtle charm in it, which he felt gradually more and more.
The Parma had compassion on his bashfulness; now and then she conversed with him in German; she even condescended to point out, for his benefit as a stranger, places of interest which they passed by the way.
Once she bade him look at a ruined keep or castle, which frowned upon them grimly from the brow of a rugged hill. ‘That is Ostrodek,' she said. ‘A few years ago it was the stronghold of a famous robber-chief.'
‘Then, Palma, you have robber-chiefs in Bohemia also? In France there were many, because of the wars. There was in the land no law, nor justice. Moreover, a great plenty of barons, knights, and gentlemen, being ruined, and their dwellings destroyed, became robbers, having naught else to do.'
‘Though we had not the excuse of war, Master Hubert, the country certainly was in much confusion, and law and justice were sadly lacking. The robber-knights had gone so long unpunished, scarce a road in the land was safe from them, and happy was the traveler who was only robbed. However, our King Wenzel, in one of his rare fits of energy, took it into his head to rid the land of this plague. He sent Archbishop Sbynko with an army against the fiercest and most desperate of them all, this same Zul of Ostrodek.'
‘An archbishop, of all men! '
‘I wish Archbishop Sbynko had never done worse. That time, at least, he did his work well. You fort was stormed; the ruffians Ostrodek had collected round him were hanged, and he himself was brought in chains to Prague, to suffer the same doom.'
‘A dark story, Pánna.'
‘So it is. Still, I doubt not King Wenzel did right in refusing him a pardon. In vain he pleaded his noble blood, his knightly name. All the favor King Wenzel would grant him was to die on a gallows higher than the rest. And so he died.'
‘As he had lived, no doubt? '
‘No, not as he had lived. While he lay in his dungeon in black despair, cursing God and man, one came to him bearing God's message of grace and peace. So tenderly did he plead, so earnestly did he pray, that at last the heart of stone was melted. Ostrodek listened, wept, repented, believed. He died; but he died in peace and hope, asking God's forgiveness, and desiring all faithful people to pray for him also.'
‘Laus Deo ' cried Hubert. ‘Dost know, Pánna, who it was that wrought such change in him? '
‘One who has turned many to righteousness—our dear Master John.'
Hubert bowed his head. ‘I might have known it,' he said softly.
‘But, Master Hubert, see what is strange—the robber and murderer men paid with the gallows, the servant of God who brought him His grace and mercy men paid—with the stake.'
‘Is it strange, Parma, when we remember that the Savior of both men paid—with the cross? '
Hubert struck a higher chord than Zedenka was in tune for just then. She was silent for a space. Then she said suddenly, ‘Master Hubert, you cannot feel this thing as we do.'
‘Can I not? I come from Constance.'
‘I know what you have seen and what you have done, and I honor you therefore.' Hubert felt his heart throb joyfully, but her next words sobered him fast enough. ‘Still, I say that him you know not, and us you do not and cannot know. You come from another land, have other thoughts, speak another tongue.'
‘I shall speak your tongue soon, and read it, too, Parma. I want to read Master John's Bohemian writings.'
‘Yet, after all, you will but read them as I read Latin—strange thoughts in a strange tongue! For each race has its own, in which, or not at all, it must hear the wonderful works of God.'
‘But Master John wrote also books in Latin—especially De Ecclesia.'
‘Ay, for the Schoolmen, for the learned. I have heard men say that they have in them more of the thoughts of your English Wickliffe than of his own. Not so the words he gave us in our mother tongue. They came from his own great heart, and they have gone straight to ours! Never man spake or wrote so before in our Bohemian. Yet, when we read, we think not of the words at all. When you look through a window, you think not of the glass—you see it not—you see the fields, the trees, lying before you as they are. So, through those words of his, crystal clear, we see that which he would have us see—the truth.'
‘I have ever thought more of deeds than of words,' said Hubert. ‘Yet there be words which are mightier than deeds.'
‘There be words which make deeds. Master John's words will make many a doughty deed of arms, if our Bohemian knights have not lost their ancient prowess.'
‘Not deeds of arms,' said Hubert doubtfully. ‘At least, not arms of that kind.'
‘Of all kinds,' returned Zedenka, her cheek flushed and her eyes sparkling. ‘You, Master Hubert, the son of a brave English knight, would you have the knights and barons of Bohemia sit down tamely in their castles, never raising a hand to avenge the crime of Constance, or to clear their country in the eyes of the world from the stain of heresy? '
‘They are not sitting tamely down. They are protesting.'
‘With pen and ink. There be words mightier than deeds, Master Hubert, but there be words weak as water, except mighty deeds stand behind them.'
‘But,' asked Hubert, much perplexed—'but, Pánna, what is it you would do?’
‘Demand satisfaction for the past, and safety for the future.'
‘How? '
‘If needful, at the sword's point.'
‘But that means—war.'
‘Dost that word sound ill in the ears of an Englishman? I thought you loved it.'
‘Ay!' cried Hubert, his own eyes sparkling. ‘But, Parma, in this cause one thing withholds me. War means revenge.'
‘Have I not said so? '
‘He whom we love forbade that. You remember, Pánna?'
‘He was a saint and martyr of God, and did well to forgive. But it were not well done of those that come after him! They have in charge his honor and their own.'
‘Not his; that is in other keeping,' said Hubert in a low voice.
‘Well, their own,' returned Zedenka impatiently. 'I looked for a more martial spirit in you, Master Hubert.'
Hubert was overwhelmed with confusion. That the Pánna should be disappointed in him was too terrible! Still, he could not keep silence. With a faltering voice, but firm purpose, he answered her, ‘I hope, Pánna, that I should fight well in any righteous cause. For your noble father or for you, Palma, if I may dare to say so'—he flung the words out tremblingly, with a curious mixture of fear and joy—.' I would fight to the last breath, to the last drop of my blood. But I could not fight to avenge Master John. The sword would drop from my hand, for the seeing of his face, and the hearing of his voice, as I heard it that day in the church, praying God to forgive his murderers.'
Zedenka was silent, but her face showed her disappointment. She had quite expected to find, almost as a matter of course, in the brave young squire the sympathy her father, much to her astonishment, had failed to give her. Nursed and cradled from her infancy in Bohemian song and story, patriotism was a passion with her. She worshipped Huss rather as the patriot hero than as the religious teacher. Nor had her education under Parma Oneshka hindered this. She was her loving daughter, her obedient pupil; not for the world would she have donned a ribbon, or looked forth from a window, if forbidden by her guardian. None the less did her young soul put on its own mental adornments, look forth from its own spiritual windows, quite uncontrolled by the authority that dominated the details of her outward life. She had watched with passionate interest the struggle between Czech and German in the university and in the town. She longed, no doubt, for the triumph of the Gospel, but she longed far more for the triumph of the Bohemian race and tongue. Her love to the Gospel was genuine, but it was not supreme.
She expected her father to come back from Constance full of indignant wrath, and thirsting for revenge. Much to her surprise he came back, instead, surrounded with an atmosphere of calm that almost awed her. Now it seemed that Master Hubert shared the same.
The silence lasted. What was the use of talking when one was not understood? Hubert for his part had said enough, and though his heart every moment was sinking lower and lower under the sense that he had offended, he had nothing to recall.
At last from those fair lips there came words which were very courteous, yet very terrible. In the gentlest way they put Hubert leagues apart from her. ‘We do wrong, Master Hubert, to trouble you with our Bohemian affairs, which, as is reasonable, you cannot understand.'
He made no answer. He would not protest anymore; some day perhaps he might show her whether he understood or no.
An impulse of good nature made her continue, lest he should think she was angry, 'Look yonder, Master Hubert, at those blue hills. There stands our noble city; you can see already the towers of the Hradschin. There is no fairer place in all the world. The Paynims have a proverb, "See Damascus and die." I would say, "See Prague and die." But then, you know, I am a Bohemian.' She smiled upon him, even graciously.
Still the unreasonable youth was not comforted. ‘I am not of sufficient importance to offend her,' he thought; and there was a shade of gravity, even of sadness, in the young eyes that looked for the first time on the distant towers of the Hradschin.