I was struck by this speech as by a club, for though I was by then already completely subject to Renata’s charms, yet I had not imagined any relation such as her words assumed. I did not even find anything to reply, while she, leaning her pale face towards me and placing her soft hands on my shoulders, asked gently:
“Do you not love him, Rupprecht? Can one not love him? But he is of the Heavens above, he is but one.”
Once more I could not find an answer, and Renata quickly fell to her knees and drew me to stand close to her. Then, turning to the open window, to the brilliant, moonless stars, she began to speak in a voice meek, low, but clear, a sort of litany, to each prayer of which I had to intone a response, like a church choir.
Renata spoke:
“Give me to see once more his eyes, blue as the skies themselves, and his eyelashes sharp as needles!”
I had to intone:
“Give me to see!”
Renata spoke:
“Give me to hear his voice, sweet, like the bells of a tiny temple submerged beneath the waters!”
I had to intone:
“Give me to hear!”
Renata spoke:
“Give me to kiss his white hands, hands of mountain snow, and his lips, not vivid, but like rubies beneath a transparent bridal veil!”
I had to intone:
“Give me to kiss!”
Renata spoke:
“Give me to press my bared breasts to his breast, to feel how his heart slows, and then beats quickly, quickly, quickly!”
And I had to intone:
“Give me to press!”
Renata was tireless in the invention of more and more new praises for her litany, composing them like a monk his prayers, and surprising me with the elaborateness of her comparisons, like those of a meister in a contest of meistersingers. I had no power to resist the witchery of her appeals, and, deprived of will, I muttered the responses, that pierced my pride like thorns.
And then Renata, pressing herself against me, looking into my very eyes, asked me, seeking to torture herself with her questions:
“And tell me now, Rupprecht, is he not handsomer than all else? Is he not an angel? But I shall see him again? I shall caress him? And he me? If only once? Only once!”
And I answered in my despair:
“He is an angel. You will see him. You will caress him.”
The moon of yesterday rose into the skies and pointed the column of its light at Renata, and under the moonbeam the darkness of our room moved. The bluish light at once revived the previous night in my memory, and all that I had learned about Renata, and the resolves to which I had later pledged myself. With even measured tread like the march of well-drilled troops, there passed through my head such thoughts as these:
‘And what if this woman is once more mocking you? Yesterday she mocked, pretending the evil-doing of the Devil, and to-day she mocks, pretending the madness of sorrow. And in a few days, when you have been dropped like a fool, she will be making jest of you with another, and letting him make free with her, in the spirit of this morning.’
With these thoughts I became like a drunken man and, suddenly seizing Renata by the shoulders, I said to her, smiling:
“It is not fitting to give yourself to sorrow, pretty lady, shall we not turn now to a pastime gay and pleasant?”
Renata shrank back from me in fear, but I, bracing myself up with the thought that otherwise I might become ridiculous, drew her to me and bent over her, intending to kiss her.
Renata freed herself from my hands with the strength and agility of a forest cat and cried out to me:
“Rupprecht, the Devil inhabits you!”
But I replied to her:
“No devil is in me, but you think to play with me in vain, for I am not such a simpleton as you suppose!”
Again I seized her, and we began to wrestle, very hideously, and I gripped her fingers so strongly that they creaked, and she beat and scratched me furiously. At one time I had already felled her to the floor, feeling for her at that moment nothing but hatred, but she suddenly plunged her teeth into my hand and slipped out with a lizard-like twist. Then, sensing that I was the stronger, she bent all double, her head fell on her knees, and there happened to her that same fit of tears as yesterday. Seated thus on the floor—for I in confusion had let her drop—Renata wept in despair. Her hair fell around her face and her shoulders trembled pitifully.
At that moment an image rose in my imagination: a picture by the Florentine painter Sandro Filippepi, which I saw by chance at the house of some grandee in Rome. On the canvas was depicted a stone wall of crude blocks tightly wedged into one another; an arched entrance set in it was firmly barred by iron gates; and near it, on a ledge projecting forward, was seated an abandoned woman, dropping her head on her hands in the inconsolability of her sorrow. Her face was not visible—only her dark hair. Garments were strewn around. And nowhere was there anyone else.
This picture had made the strongest impression on me, I know not whether because the painter knew how to render in it emotion with an especial vividness, or because I saw it on a day when I myself had experienced a great sorrow—but never was I able to recall this work without my heart contracting painfully, and bitter grief rising in my throat. And when I saw Renata, seated in the same pose, dropping her head and weeping with the selfsame inconsolability—the two images, the one revealed to me in life and the other created by the painter, rose one upon the other before me, merged, and live till this day inseparable in my soul. Even then, the moment I pictured to myself Renata, once more lonely, abandoned, before the gates thus mercilessly closed upon her—inexhaustible sorrow flooded into my heart and, kneeling again, I tenderly moved Renata’s hands from her face and said to her, with a catch in my voice, but solemnly:
“Forgive me, noble lady. In truth the Demon possessed me and blinded my feelings. I swear to you by the salvation of my soul that nothing like this will ever happen again! Accept me once more as your true and humble servant, or as your elder and willing brother.”
Renata lifted her head and looked at me, at first like some small hunted beast when the hunter gives it its freedom, then trustingly and childlike, and she took my face affectionately between the palms of her hands and replied:
“Rupprecht, dearest Rupprecht! You must not be angry with me and ask of me what I cannot give. I gave all to my friend from Heaven, and for men I have left neither kisses nor words of passion. I am an emptied basket from which another has taken all the flowers and the fruit, but even empty you must carry it, for fate has bound us together and our fellowship was long ago inscribed in the Book of the All-knowing.”
Again I swore never to leave her, as one swears before an altar in the hour of betrothal, and my oath was honest, though later it once seemed to me as though I should break it.
Rising then from my knees, I said that I would take my leave, and would go into the other room we had engaged, so that Renata might rest alone freely. But she stopped me, saying:
“Rupprecht, without you I should be in fear; they would fall upon me again and torment me the whole night through. You must remain with me.”
Not ashamed, as children are not ashamed, Renata quickly took off her dress, then her footwear, and, nearly naked, she laid herself into bed, under the blue canopy, calling me to her, and I did not know how to refuse her. So, this second night of our acquaintance we passed under one coverlet, but remaining as strange to each other as though separated by iron bars. And when it happened that an understandable excitement again overcame my will, and, forgetting my oaths, I strove again for tenderness, Renata quietened me with sad and cold words, so passionless and thereby so cruel, that all the blood became numbed in me, and I fell on my face impotent, like a corpse.
Chapter the Third
How we came to live in the City of Köln and how we were deceived by Mysterious Knockings
ALWAYS whenever possible I kept to the wise saying of the French:
Lever a si
x, diner a dix,
Souper a six, coucher a dix,
Fait vivre l’ homme dix fois dix.
So the next day I woke much earlier than Renata and, again slipping carefully from her sleeping embrace, I went into the adjoining room. There by the window, through which young and handsome Düsseldorf sparkled in the morning sun, I considered my position. I felt already that I lacked the strength to leave Renata, that I either had been charmed to her by some magic power, or borne naturally into gentle bondage by the Mother of Love—the Cyprian.
Boldly reviewing my position, like a warrior who finds himself fallen into danger, I now addressed myself thus: “Very well, abandon yourself to this madness if already you cannot overpower it, but be circumspect lest you lose in this abyss your whole life, and perhaps your honour. Mark to yourself beforehand terms and limits, and beware overstepping them when your soul is aflame and your mind powerless to give counsel.”
I took out of the belt the coins sewn within it, and divided my savings into three equal shares: one share I decided to spend with Renata, another I desired to give to my father, and the third I kept for myself, so that, returning to New Spain, I should be able to live there an independent life. At the same time, I resolved that I should not stay with Renata for more than three months, whatever wind might blow upon our life together, for after the happenings of the night I did not trust completely her words about the relatives who were supposed to be waiting for her in Köln: and the immediate future soon showed me how correct I was in that surmise.
Having thus thought out everything reasonably and soberly, I went to the host of the inn and for a fair price sold him my horse. Next I went to the river quay and bargained with one of the barges that were descending the Rhine with Netherland goods, for her to take us as far as Köln. Then I acquired various necessaries proper to a journey with a lady, such as—a pair of cushions, soft coverlets, victuals and wines; and at last I returned to the hostelry.
Renata displayed real joy at seeing me, and it seemed to me that perhaps she had imagined I had flown secretly and left her. We breakfasted together in care-free spirit, once more without recalling the torments of the night, as if in daylight we were quite different beings. Immediately after the meal we walked over to the barge, for she was quite ready to set sail. The barge was of goodly bulk, with steep sides, and two-masted, and we were given on board a large cabin situated in the bow part of the vessel, which was raised high and terminated in a peaked roof. I spread blankets on the floor, and, in such accommodation, an envoy of the Great Mogul himself might have travelled without fatigue.
We cast off from the docks of Düsseldorf soon after noon, and travelled without much adventure until Köln itself, two days and nights, spending the hours of darkness riding at anchor. During all this journey, both by day and by night, Renata remained very calm and reasonable, and she showed no signs either of deceitful gaiety, as on the day when we were riding to Geerdt, or of dark despair, as during the night spent under the sign “Im Lewen.” Very often she joined with me in being enchanted by the beauty of the places past which we travelled, and engaged with me in conversation upon various matters of common life or art.
Certain words said to me by Renata at this time I think it necessary to enter here, as far as I remember them, for later I found in them the key to the riddle of certain of her actions.
They were uttered when the owner of the barge, a stern mariner named Moritz Krock, broke into our conversation and it happened to turn to events that had taken place just about that time at Münster. At first glance Moritz had not the appearance of a fanatical reformer, he was attired in ordinary sailor’s clothes, like myself, and carried on the duties of his profession, but he spoke with such fervour of the new prophet from Leyden, whom he called “Iohann the Righteous, mounted upon the Throne of David,” that I began to doubt whether he were not himself one of the re-baptised. Having related to us how the citizens of Münster had destroyed images, organs and all church properties, and lumped together all their goods to have and use in common, how they had established twelve elders, according to the number of the twelve tribes of Israel, and placed Iohann Bockelszoon at their head, and how the Münsterners, fortified by the armies of Heaven had successfully repulsed the episcopalian landsknechts, Moritz continued, as if delivering a sermon:
“For a long time we men hungered and thirsted, and there came to pass the prophecy of Jeremiah: ‘The children shall cry out for bread and there shall be none shall give unto them.’ The darkness of Egypt enveloped the vaults of the temple, but now they resound with hymns of triumph. The new Gideon has been hired by the Lord as day-labourer at a groschen a day, and he has sharpened his scythe to mow the yellowed fields. Forged are the lances on the anvil of Nimrod and his tower is ripe to fall. Elijah is risen in the New Jerusalem and the true prophets of the true Apostolic Church fare out unto all lands—to preach a God who is not dumb, but liveth and speaketh!”
To this arrogant speech I replied, with circumspection, that it was as dangerous for new thoughts discovered by learned men to become the property of the people, as for daggers to be distributed to children as toys. That the pomp of the church, as well as of many church institutions, perhaps even the monastic, so often plunged deep in riches, did in truth not correspond to the spirit of the teaching of Jesus Christ, but that it was impossible to better the matter by riot and force. That, lastly, life must be rejuvenated not by abolishing dogmas and robbing princes, but by educating minds.
It was here that Renata joined unexpectedly into the conversation, though I had thought that she had not been listening at all to Moritz’ words and had been busy studying the currents of the river, and she said:
“Only those who have never known what faith means can speak of such things. Who has but once experienced with what bliss the soul is received into God—will never even think of a necessity to forge lances or sharpen scythes. All these Davids marching against Belials—these Luthers, these Zwinglis and these Iohanns—are the servants of the Devil and his henchmen. What a deal we talk of the crimes of others, but what if we were to turn our glance upon ourselves, and look as if into a mirror—were to see our sins and our shame? Ah, then would we be horrified, and flee into the cell of a monastery as the stag flies from the huntsman. It is not the church we must reform, but our own souls, that are no more able to pray to the Almighty and have faith in His word but must ever be desiring to reason and prove. And if you, Rupprecht, thought as this man here, I would not stay with you a moment longer, but would rather throw myself head foremost into this river by our side than share a cabin with a heretic.”
These words, that seemed to me very unexpected at the time, Renata uttered with passion, and, quickly getting up, she walked away briskly. And Moritz also, having looked at me not without suspicion, walked away and began to abuse his mates.
We never returned to the subject, but Moritz shunned us, and we were left on the barge in complete solitude, which I preferred. After the angry words of Renata, I endeavoured to conciliate her and pay her more attention, to show her more openly how much store I set upon her affection; for example, the whole night until daybreak, which Renata spent sleepless in the cabin, I remained with her and at her request softly stroked her hair, until my hand grew almost numb. Renata, apparently, was grateful to me and treated me, during these hours and next morning as well, with a kindness quite exceptional. Thus our friendly calm lasted until our very arrival at Köln, where it suddenly snapped like a rigging rope at the onset of a tempest.
In the decline of the second day of our journey, there appeared far off the tops of the churches of Köln, and it was with a heartfelt emotion that I pointed out to Renata the spire of Saint Martin, the squat roof of Saint Gereon, the narrow tower of the Brothers Minorite, the enormous massive of the Senate House, and at last the giant torn in two, the unfulfilled grandeur of the Cathedral of the Three Kings. When we approached more nearly and I could distinguish the streets, the houses, and the old trees still st
anding, my emotion was roused to its highest pitch, and I was ready to weep with ecstasy, for a moment forgetting Renata. This circumstance, judging by everything, did not escape her cat-like observation, and she at once amended her amiable attitude towards me, becoming stern and unbending, like a reed that stiffens in the frost.
Our barge docked at the Netherlands quay in the midst of other vessels, both sailing and rowing, at the time when the confusion on the quays was at its height. Having taken leave of Moritz and clambered ashore, we plunged from our solitude on board ship as if into the first circle of the Inferno of Alighieri, where are heard:
Diverse lingue, orribilie fevelle,
Parole di dolore, accenti d’ira,
Voci alte e fiochi. …
Everywhere lay unladed goods, barrels and cases, everywhere crowded men, sailors, mariners, dock-hands, clerks of the merchant houses, carriers and simple idlers; here too drove up carts for the carriage of heavy merchandise; wheels squeaked, horses whinnied, dogs barked, men bustled, shouted and swore, and we became surrounded by traders, and Jews and carriers, all offering their services. But as soon as I had picked a lad out of the crowd, and bidden him carry our baggage, Renata, without any warning, turned to me and, in a voice quite changed, spoke thus:
“Now, Master Knight, I would thank you. You have rendered me great service by escorting me hither. Go now your ways, and I will find me shelter in this town. Farewell, and may God protect you.”
I thought that Renata was saying this out of exaggerated courtesy, and began to remonstrate politely, but she replied to me, now quite firmly:
“Why seek you to intrude into my life? I thank you for your pains and your assistance, but now I require them no longer.”
Taken aback, for then I as yet knew little the soul of Renata, all woven of contradictions and surprises like a cloth of many-hued yarn, I reminded her of the oaths we had exchanged, but Renata turned to me for a third time, with indignation and not without rudeness:
The Fiery Angel Page 5