YOLANDA THE SORCERESS
Several days passed, during which we saw the Castlemans frequently. One evening after supper, when we were all sitting in the parlor, Yolanda enticed Max to an adjoining room, on the excuse of showing him an ancient piece of tapestry. When it had been examined, she seated herself on a window bench and indicated a chair for Max near by. Among much that was said I quote the following from memory, as Max told me afterward:--
"So you are from Italy, Sir Max?" queried Yolanda, stealing a glance at his ring.
"Yes," returned Max.
"From what part, may I ask?" continued the girl, with a slight inclination of her head to one side and a flash from beneath the preposterously long lashes toward his hand.
"From--from Rome," stammered Max, halting at even so small a lie.
"Ah, Sir Karl said you were from Lombardy," answered the girl.
"Well--that is--originally, perhaps, I was," he returned.
"Perhaps your family lives in both places?" she asked very seriously.
"Yes, that is the way of it," he responded.
"Were you born in both places?" asked Yolanda, without the shadow of a smile. Max was thinking of the little lie he was telling and did not analyze her question.
"No," he answered, in simple honesty, "you see I could not be born in two places. That would be impossible."
"Perhaps it would be," replied Yolanda, with perfect gravity. Max was five years her senior, but he was a boy, while she had the self-command of a quick-witted woman, though she still retained the saucy impertinence of childhood. Slow-going, guileless Max began to suspect a lurking intention on Yolanda's part to quiz him.
"Did not Sir Karl say something about your having been born in Styria?" asked the girl, glancing slyly at the ring.
"No, he did not," answered Max, emphatically. "I suppose I was born in Rome--no, I mean Lombardy--but it cannot matter much to you, Fräulein, where I was born if I do not wish to tell."
The direct course was as natural to Max as breathing. The girl was startled by his abruptness. After a pause she continued:--
"I am sure you are not ashamed of your birthplace, and--"
He interrupted her sharply:--
"I also am sure I am not ashamed of it."
"If you had permitted me to finish," she said quietly, "you would have had no need to speak so sharply. I spoke seriously. I wanted to say that I am sure you have no reason to feel ashamed of your birthplace, and that perhaps I ought not to have asked a question that you evidently do not want to answer. Uncle says if my curiosity were taken from me, there would be nothing left but my toes."
Her contrition melted Max at once, and he said:--
I will gladly tell you, Fräulein, if you want to know. I was born--"
"No, no," she interrupted, "you shall not tell me. I will leave you at once and see you no more if you do. Besides, there is no need to tell me; I already know. I am a sorceress, a witch. I regret to make the confession, but it is true; I am a witch."
"I believe you are," answered Max, looking at her admiringly and seating himself beside her on the window bench. He had learned from Gertrude of Augsburg and many other burgher girls that certain pleasantries were more objectionable to them in theory than in practice; but this burgher girl rose to her feet at his approach and seemed to grow a head taller in an instant. He quietly took his old place and she took hers. She continued as if unconscious of what had happened:--
"Yes, I am a sorceress." Then she drew her face close to Max, and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, said solemnly:--
"I can look into a person's eyes and know if they are telling me the truth. I can tell their fortunes--past, present, and future. I can tell them where they were born. I can tell them the history of anything of value they have. Their jewellery, their--"
"Tell me any one of those things concerning myself," interrupted Max, suddenly alive with interest.
"No, it is too great a strain upon me," answered the girl, with amusing gravity.
"I entreat you," said Max, laughing, though deeply interested. "I believe you can do what you say. I beg you to show me your skill in only one instance."
The girl gently refused, begging Max not to tempt her.
"No, no, I cannot," she said, "good Father Brantôme has told me it is sinful. I must not."
Half in jest but all in earnest, Max begged her to try; and, after a great deal of coaxing, she reluctantly consented to give a very small exhibition of her powers. Covering her face with her hands, she remained for the space of a minute as if in deep thought. Then, making a series of graceful and fantastic passes in the air with her hands, as if invoking a familiar spirit, she said in low, solemn tones:--
"You may now sit by me, Sir Max. My words must not be heard by any ears save yours."
Max seated himself beside the girl.
"Give me your word that you will tell no one what I am about to do and say," she said.
"I so promise," answered Max, beginning to feel that the situation was almost uncanny.
"Now, place in my hand some jewel or valued article of which I may speak," she said.
Excepting his sword and dagger, Max owned but one article of value--the ring Mary of Burgundy had given him. He hesitatingly drew it from his finger and placed it in the girl's hand. She examined it carefully, and said:--
"Now, give me your hand, Sir Max." Her hand was not much larger than a big snowflake in early spring, Max thought, and it was completely lost to sight when his great fingers closed over it. The velvety softness of the little hand sent a thrill through his veins, and the firm, unyielding strength of his clasp was a new, delicious sensation to the girl. Startled by it, she made a feeble effort to withdraw her hand; but Max clasped it firmly, and she surrendered. After a short silence she placed the ring to her forehead, closed her eyes, and drew her face so near to Max that he felt her warm breath on his cheek. Max was learning a new lesson in life--the greatest of all. She spoke in soft whispers, slowly dropping her words one by one in sepulchral tones:--
"What--do--I see--surely I am wrong. No--I see clearly--a lady--a great lady--a princess. She smiles upon a man. He is tall and young. His face is fair; his hair falls in long, bright curls like yours. She gives him this ring; she asks him to be her husband--no--surely a modest maiden would not do that." She stopped suddenly, snatched her hand from Max, returned the ring and cried, "No more, no more!"
She tossed her hands in the air, as if to drive off the spirits, and without another word ran to the parlor laughing, and threw herself on Uncle Castleman's knee. Max slowly made the sign of the cross and followed the little enchantress. She had most effectually imposed on him. He was inclined to believe that she had seen the ring or had heard of it in Burgundy before the princess sent it; but Yolanda could have been little more than a child at that time--three years before. Perhaps she was hardly past fourteen, and one of her class would certainly not be apt to know of the ring that had been sent by the princess. She might have received her information from Twonette, who, Franz said, was acquainted with Mary of Burgundy; but even had Yolanda heard of the ring, the fact would not have helped her to know it.
After our first evening with the Castlemans we got on famously together. True, Max and I felt that we were making great concessions, and I do not doubt that we showed it in many unconscious words and acts. This certainly was true of Max; but Yolanda's unfailing laughter, though at times it was provoking, soon brought him to see that too great a sense of dignity was at times ridiculous. He could not, however, always forget that he was a Hapsburg while she was a burgher girl, and his good memory got him many a keen little thrust from her saucy tongue. If Max resented her sauciness, she ran away from him with the full knowledge that he would miss her. She was much surer that she pleased and delighted him than he was that he pleased her, though of the latter fact she left, in truth, little room for doubt.
Max was very happy. He had never before known a playmate. But here in Basel the good Franz and his frau, Yolanda, Twonette, fat old Castleman, and myself were all boys and girls together, snatching the joys of life fresh from the soil of mother earth, close to which we lived in rustic simplicity.
Since we had left Styria, our life, with all its hardships, had been a delight to Max, but it was also a series of constantly repeated shocks. If the shocks came too rapidly and too hard, he solaced his bruised dignity with the thought that those who were unduly familiar with him did not know that he was the heir of the House of Hapsburg. So day by day he grew to enjoy the nestling comfort of a near-by friend. This, I grieve to say, was too plainly seen in his relations with Yolanda, for she unquestionably nestled toward him. She made no effort to conceal her delight in his companionship, though she most adroitly kept him at a proper distance. If she observed a growing confidence in Max, she quickly nipped it by showing him that she enjoyed my companionship or that of old Franz just as much. On such occasions Max's dignity and vanity required balm.
"Oh, Karl," he said to me one evening while we were preparing for bed, "it seems to me I have just wakened to life, or have just got out of prison. No man can be happy on a pinnacle above the intimate friendships of his fellow-man and--and woman."
"Yes, 'and woman.' Well put, Max," said I.
Max did not notice my insinuation, but continued:--
"I have lived longer since knowing these lowly friends than in all the years of my life in Styria. Karl, you have spoiled a good, stiff-jointed Hapsburg, but you have made a man. If nothing more comes of this journey into the world than I have already had, I am your debtor for life. What would my dear old father and mother say if they should see me and know the life I am leading? In their eyes I should be disgraced--covered with shame."
"When you go back to Hapsburg," I said, "you can again take up your old, petrified existence and eat your husks of daily adulation. You will soon again find satisfaction in the bended knee, and will insist that those who approach you bow deferentially to your ancestors."
"I shall, of course, return to Hapsburg," he said. "It is my fate, and no man can change the destiny to which he was born. I must also endure the bowing and the adulation. Men shall honor my ancestors and respect in me their descendant, but I shall never again be without friends if it be in my power to possess them. As I have said, that is difficult for one placed above his fellow-man."
"There is the trouble with men of your degree," I answered. "Friends are not like castles, cities, and courtly servitors. Those, indeed, one may really own; but we possess our friends only as they possess us. Like a mirror, a friend gives us only what we ourselves give. No king is great enough to produce his own image unless he stands before the glass."
"Teach me, Karl, to stand before the glass," said Max, plaintively.
"You are before it now, my dear boy," I answered. "These new friends are giving you only what you give them. With me, you have always been before the glass."
"That has been true," said Max, "ever since the first day you entered Hapsburg. Do you remember? I climbed on your knee and said, 'You have a big, ugly nose!' Mother admonished me, and I quickly made amends by saying, 'But I like you.'"
"I well remember, Max," I responded. "That day was one of mutual conquest. That is the prime condition of friendship: mutual conquest and mutual surrender. But you must have other friends than me. You see I am not jealous. You must have friends of your own age."
"I now realize why I have hungered all my life," said Max, "though I have never before known: I longed for friends. Is it not strange that I should find them among these low-born people? It surely cannot be wrong for me to live as I do, though father and mother would doubtless deem it criminal."
"These good burgher folk are making you better and broader and stronger," I answered. "But there is one thing I want to suggest: you are devoting too much of your time to the brown-eyed little maid. You must seek favor with Twonette. She is harmless, and through her you may, by some freak of fortune, reach the goal of your desires. With the prestige of your family and the riches of Burgundy, you may become the most powerful man in the world, save the Pope."
"Perhaps Fräulein Yolanda is also acquainted with the Princess Mary," responded Max, half reluctantly speaking Mary's name.
"No," I answered, "she is not." I asked her if she were. She laughed at the suggestion, and said: 'Oh, no, no, the princess is a very proud person and very exclusive. She knows but one burgher girl in Peronne, I am told. That one is Twonette, and I believe she treats her most ungraciously at times. I would not endure her snubs and haughty ways as Twonette does. I seek the friendship of no princess. Girls of my own class are good enough for me. "Twonette, fetch me a cup of wine." "Twonette, thread my needle." "Twonette, you are fat and lazy and sleep too much." "Twonette, stand up." "Twonette, sit down." Faugh! I tell you I want none of these princesses, no, not one of them. I hate princesses, and I tell you I doubly hate this--this--' She did not say whom she doubly hated. She is a forward little witch, Max. She laughed merrily at my questions concerning the princess, and asked me if we were going to Burgundy to storm Mary's heart. 'Who is to win her?' she asked. 'You, Sir Karl, or Sir Max? It must be you. Sir Max is too slow and dignified even to think of scaling the walls of a maiden fortress. It must be you, Sir Karl.' The saucy little elf rose from her chair, bowed low before me and said, 'I do liege homage to the future Duke of Burgundy.' Then she danced across the room, laughing at my discomfiture. She is charming, Max, but remember Gertrude the Conqueror! Such trifling affairs are well enough to teach a man the a-b-c of life but one with your destiny ahead of him must not remain too long in his alphabet. Such affairs are for boys, Max, for boys."
"Do not fear for me, Karl," answered Max, laughingly. "We are not apt to take hurt from dangers we see."
"Do you clearly see the danger?" I suggested.
"I clearly see," he responded. "I admire Fräulein Yolanda as I have never admired any other woman. I respect her as if she were a princess; but one of the penalties of my birth is that I may not think of her nor of one of her class. She is not for me; she is a burgher maiden--out of my reach. For that reason I feel that I should respect her."
The attitude of Max toward Yolanda was a real triumph of skill and adroitness over inherited convictions and false education. She had brought him from condescension to deference solely by the magic of her art. Or am I wrong? Was it her artlessness? Perhaps it was her artful artlessness, since every girl-baby is born with a modicum of that dangerous quality.
"Perhaps you are right, Karl," added Max. "I may underrate the power of this girl. As you have said, she is a little witch. But beneath her laughter there is a rare show of tenderness and strength, which at times seems pathetic and almost elfin. You are right, Karl. I will devote myself to Twonette hereafter. She is like a feather-bed in that she cannot be injured by a blow, neither can she give one; but Yolanda--ah, Karl, she is like a priceless jewel that may be shattered by a blow and may blind one by its radiance."
But Max's devotion to Twonette was a failure. She was certainly willing, but Yolanda would have none of it, and with no equivocation gave every one to understand as much. Still, she held Max at a respectful distance. In fact, this Yolanda handled us all as a juggler tosses his balls. Max must not be too attentive to her, and he must not be at all attentive to Twonette. In this arrangement Twonette acquiesced. She would not dare to lift her eyes to one upon whom Yolanda was looking!
Here was illustrated the complete supremacy of mind over matter. Castleman, Twonette, Franz and his frau, Max and I, all danced when the tiny white hand of Yolanda pulled the strings. A kiss or a saucy nod for Castleman or Twonette, a smile or a frown for Max and me, were the instruments wherewith she worked. Deftly she turned each situation as she desired. Max made frequent efforts to obtain a private moment with her, that he might ask a few questions concerning her wonderful knowledge of his ring--they had been burning him since the night of her sorcery--but, though she knew quite well his desire to question her, she gave him no opportunity.
During the time that Castleman was buying his silks, the members of our little party grew rapidly in friendship. In culture, education, and refinement, the Castlemans were far above any burghers I had ever known. Franz and his wife, though good, simple people, were not at all in Castleman's class. They felt their inferiority, and did not go abroad with us, though we supped daily with them. Each evening supper was a little fête followed by a romp of amusement, songs, and childish games in the frau's great parlor.
The Castlemans, Max, and I made several excursions into the mountains. Yolanda and Twonette were in ecstasy at the mountain views, which were so vividly in contrast with the lowlands of Burgundy.
"These mountains are beautiful," said patriotic Yolanda, "but our lowlands raise bread to feed the hungry."
On one occasion we rode to the Falls of Schaffhausen, and often we were out upon the river. During these expeditions Yolanda adroitly kept our little party together, and Max could have no private word with her.
I had never been so happy as I was during the fortnight at Basel while Castleman was buying silk. I was almost a child again; my fifty odd years seemed to fall from me as an eagle sheds his plumes in spring. We were all happy and merry as a May-day, and our joyousness was woven from the warp and woof of Yolanda's gentle, laughing nature. Without her, our life would have been comfortable but commonplace.
During all this time Max pondered in vain upon the remarkable manner in which Yolanda had divined the secret of his ring. He longed to question her, but she would not be questioned until she was ready to answer.
On a certain morning near the close of our sojourn in Basel, Max, after many elephantine manoeuvres, obtained Yolanda's promise to walk out with him to a near-by hill in the afternoon. It was a Sabbath day, and every burgher maiden in Basel that boasted a sweetheart would be abroad with him in the sunshine. Max could not help feeling that it was most condescending in him, a prince, to walk out with Yolanda, a burgher maiden. Should any one from Styria meet him, he would certainly sink into the ground, though in a certain way the girl's reluctance seemed to place the condescension with her.
After dinner, which we all took together that day, she put him off with excuses until drowsy Uncle Castleman had taken himself off for a nap. Then Yolanda quickly said:--
"Fetch me my hood, Twonette. I shall not need a cloak. I am going to walk out with Sir Max."
Twonette instantly obeyed, as if she were a tire-woman to a princess, and soon returned wearing her own hood and carrying Yolanda's.
"Ah, but you are not to come with us," said Yolanda. She was ready to give Max the opportunity he desired, and would give it generously.
"But--but what will father say?" asked Twonette, uneasily.
"We shall learn what he says when we return. No need to worry about that now," answered Yolanda. Twonette took off her hood.
Max and Yolanda climbed the hill, and, after a little demurring on the girl's part, sat down on a shelving rock at a point where the river view was beautiful. As usual, Yolanda managed the conversation to suit herself, but after a short time she permitted Max to introduce the subject on which he wished to talk.
"Will you tell me, Fräulein," he asked, "how you were enabled to know the history of my ring? I cannot believe you are what you said--a sorceress--a witch."
"No, no," she answered laughingly, "I am not a sorceress."
"You almost made me believe you were," said Max, "but I am slow of wit, as you have doubtless observed. I told Sir Karl you said you were a sorceress, and he said--"
"You gave me your word you would not tell!" exclaimed Yolanda.
"Neither did I tell aught save that you said you were a sorceress. He laughed and said--"
"Yes, yes, what did he say?" eagerly queried the girl.
"He said--I am sure you will not take amiss what he said?" responded Max.
"No, no, indeed no! Tell me," she demanded eagerly.
"He said you were a witch, if brown eyes, dimpling smiles, and girlish beauty could make one," answered Max.
"Ah, did he say that of me?" asked the girl, musingly. After a pause she continued, "That was kind in Sir Karl and--and evidently sincere." After another pause devoted to revery she said: "Perhaps I shall be his friend sometime in a manner he little expects. Even the friendship of a helpless burgher girl is not to be despised. But he is wrong. I am not beautiful," she poutingly continued. "Now let us examine my face." She laughed, and settled herself contentedly upon the stone, as if to take up a serious discussion. "I often do so in the mirror. Vain? Of course I am!"
"I am only too willing to examine it," said Max, laughingly.
"My mouth," she said, pursing her lips and lifting her face temptingly for his inspection, "my mouth is--"
"Perfect," interrupted Max.
She looked surprised and said, "Ah, that was nicely spoken, Little Max, and quickly, for you."
"'Little Max'!" exclaimed the young man. "Where heard you that name? No one save my mother has ever used it; no one but Karl and my father has ever heard her speak the words. Did Karl tell you of it?"
"Karl did not tell me," she responded, "and I never heard any one speak the name. The name fits you so well--by contraries--that it came to me, perhaps, by inspiration."
"That hardly seems possible," returned Max, "and your knowledge of how I received the ring is more than remarkable."
"Let us talk about my face," said the girl, full of the spirit of mischief, and wishing to put off the discussion of the ring. "Now, my eyes, of which Sir Karl spoke so kindly, are--"
"The most wonderful in the world," interrupted Max. "They are brilliant as priceless jewels, fathomless as deep water, gentle and tender as--"
"There, there, Little Max," she cried, checking with a gesture his flow of unexpected eloquence. "I declare! you are not so slow as you seem. I will tell you just how much of a sorceress I am. I thought to flatter you by saying a great lady had given you the ring, and lo, I was right unless you are adroitly leading me to believe in my own sorcery. Is she a great lady? Come, tell me the story."
She unconsciously moved nearer to him with an air of pleasant anticipation.
"Yes, it was a great lady, a very great lady who gave me the ring," he said most seriously.
"And was I right in my other divination?" she asked, looking down and flushing slightly. "Did--did she wish to marry you? But you need not answer that question."
"I will gladly answer it," returned Max, leaning forward, resting his elbow on his knees and looking at the ground between his feet. "I hoped she did. I--I longed for it."
"Perhaps she possessed vast estates?" asked the girl, a slight frown gathering on her brow.
"Yes, she possessed vast estates," said Max, "but I would gladly have taken her penniless save for the fact that I am very poor, and that she would suffer for the lack of luxuries she has always known."
"But how could the lady have felt sure you were not seeking her for the sake of her estates?" asked Yolanda.
"She could not know," answered Max. "But I sought her for her own sake and for no other reason."
"What manner of person was she?" asked Yolanda. "Was she dark or light, short or tall, plain of feature or beautiful, amiable of temper or vixenish? Was she like any one you have ever seen?"
She spoke in deep earnest and looked eagerly up to his face.
"She was beautiful of feature," answered Max. "Her eyes and her hair were dark as yours are. She was short of stature, I have been told."
Yolanda laughed merrily: "I declare, Sir Max, you were in love with a lady you had never seen. It was her estate you loved."
"No, no," said Max, earnestly. "I ardently desired--"
"Perhaps if you were to see her, your enthusiasm would vanish," said Yolanda, interrupting him almost sharply. "My magic tells me she is a squat little creature, with a wizened face; her eyes are sharp and black, and her nose is a-peak, not unlike mine. That, she is sour and peevish of temper, as I am, there can be no doubt. And, although she be great and rich as the Princess of Burgundy, I warrant you she is not one whit handsomer nor kinder in disposition than I."
Max started on hearing Mary of Burgundy's name, but quickly recovering himself said:--
"I would not wish her better than you in any respect. You wrong both yourself and the lady to speak as you do. Those who know her say the lady has not her like in all the world."
A soft light came to Yolanda's face as he spoke, and she answered slowly:--
"Doubtless the lady had like news of you, and is curious to know what manner of man you are. She too may have dreamed of an ideal."
"How do you know she has never seen me?" asked Max, who had not fully caught her reply when she spoke of the fact that he had never seen the lady of the ring. "I shall surely come to believe you are a sorceress."
"No, I am not," she answered emphatically. "You shall carry that jest no further. A moment since you said those who know her say so and so, and you believed she was short of stature. Had you ever seen the lady, you would know if she were tall or short. You would not be in doubt upon so important a matter as the stature of your lady-love."
The reasoning and the reasoner were so irresistible that Max was easily satisfied.
"But you have spoken of the lady as in the past. I hope she is not dead?" asked Yolanda.
"No," answered Max, gravely, "our fathers did not agree. That is, her father was not satisfied, and it all came to nothing save a--a heartache for me."
It was well that Max was looking at the ground when she turned the soft radiance of her eyes upon him, else he might have learned too much. His modesty and honesty in admitting frankly that the lady's father was not satisfied with the match pleased her and she sat in silence, smiling contentedly. After a time she turned almost fiercely upon him:--
"Do you know what I should do, Sir Max, were I in your place?"
"What would you do, Fräulein?" queried Max.
"I would show the lady that I was worthy of her by winning her, even though she were on a throne, guarded by a thousand dragons. I am a woman, Sir Max, and I know a woman's heart. The heart of a princess is first the heart of a woman. Be sure the lady will thank you and will reward you if you fight your way to her and carry her off against all the world."
"But how is that to be done, Fräulein?" asked Max, carelessly. In truth, Mary of Burgundy was not uppermost in his heart at that moment.
"That is for a man to say and for a man to do," she responded. "A woman knows only how to wait and to long for one who, alas! may never come. She will wait for you, Sir Max, and when you come to her, she will place her hand in yours and go with you wherever you wish to take her. Of this, at least, my powers of sorcery are sufficient to assure you. Do not fear! do not fear!"
She spoke earnestly, as if from the depths of a personal experience. Her eyes glowed with the light of excitement and her face was radiant. Max turned to her and saw all this beauty. Then he gently took her hand and said huskily:--
"If I thought she were like you, Fräulein, I would gladly go to the end of the world to win from her even one smile."
"No, no, Sir Max," said Yolanda, withdrawing her hand, "we must have no more such speeches from you. They are wrong coming from one of your degree to a burgher girl of Peronne, if she be an honest girl. Our stations are too far apart."
"That is true, Fräulein," answered Max, sorrowfully, "but I mean no disrespect. I honor you as if you were a princess"--here his tones took energy and emphasis--"but I meant what I said, Fräulein, I meant what I said, and though I shall never say it again, I know that I shall mean it all the days of my life."
The expression in her eyes as she looked up at him was one of mingled pleasure and amusement. It seemed to say, "Do not be too sure that you will never say it again," but she said nothing. After a moment she suggested:--
"Shall we return, Sir Max?" They rose, and as they started back to Basel he remarked:--
"The words 'Little Max' on your lips sounded sweet to me, Fräulein. They bring home to me the voice of my mother, and though I should not care to hear another speak them, still, the words are very pretty on your lips, and I like them."
Yolanda glanced quickly up to him with radiant eyes. He caught the glance, and the last vestige of his ideal, Mary of Burgundy, left his heart, driven out by the very real little enchantress that walked by his side.