by Georg Ebers
CHAPTER XII.
During this conversation the violinist Massi had been to take leave ofBarbara. Pyramus, after a short stay at home, had been obliged to departagain to an inspection in Lowen, and the musician was sorry not to findhis friend. He did not know to whom the child that had been intrustedto his care belonged, and, as he had bound himself by a solemn oath tomaintain secrecy toward every one, he did not utter a word to Barbaraabout the boy and the obligations which he had undertaken.
The parting was a sad one to the young wife, for in Massi she lost notonly a tried friend, but as it were a portion of her former life. He hadbeen a witness of the fairest days which Fate had granted her; he hadheard her sing when she had been justified in feeling proud of her art;and he had been intimate with Wolf Hartschwert, whom she remembered withaffectionate interest, though he had only informed her once in a briefletter that he was prospering in Villagarcia and his new position. Whilewith tearful eyes she bade Massi farewell, she gave him messages ofremembrance to Wolf; and the violinist, no less agitated than herself,promised to deliver them. He was hopefully anticipating a cheerfulevening of life in the midst of his family. Existence had promisedBarbara higher things, but she seemed to have found the power to becontent. At least he had heard no complaint from her lips, and herhusband had often told him of the happiness which he had obtainedthrough her in marriage. So he could leave her without anxiety; but she,even in the hour of parting, was too proud to offer him a glimpse of herdesolate life, whose fairest ornaments were memories.
When he left her the young wife felt still poorer than before, andduring the sleepless night which in imagination she had spent with herimperial child in the Dubois house, and in the days of splendour andmisery at Ratisbon, she determined to clasp once more the hand of herdeparting friend when he set out with the Infant Philip's train.
Although it was to start early in the morning, she was in the square inample time, partly because she hoped to see the Emperor in the distance.
The throng that followed Philip really did resemble an army.
Barbara had already often seen the short, slender 'Infant', with hiswell-formed, fair head and light, pointed beard, who held himself sostiffly erect, and carried his head as high as if he considered no oneover whom his glance wandered worthy of so great an honour.
It seemed strange to her, too, how well this man, naturally soinsignificant in person, succeeded in giving his small figure theappearance of majestic dignity. But how totally unlike him his fathermust have looked in his youth! There was something austere, repellent,chilling, in the gaze which, while talking with others, he usuallyfixed upon the ground, and, in fact, in the whole aspect of the son. Howbrightly and frankly, on the contrary, his father's eyes, in spite ofall his suffering, could sparkle even now! How easy it would be for himto win hearts still!
If he would only come!
But this time he did not accompany his son. Philip was on horseback, buta magnificent empty coach in the procession would receive him as soon ashe left Brussels.
He wished to present a gallant appearance in the saddle on hisdeparture, and a more daintily, carefully clad cavalier could scarcelybe imagined.
His garments fitted like a glove, and were of faultless fineness. QueenMary, the regent, rode at his side, and the Brabant nobles, the heads ofthe Brussels citizens, and his Spanish courtiers formed his retinue. Theleaders of the Netherland nobility were figures very unlike in statureand size to Philip; but he could vie in haughty majesty with any ofthem. Not a limb, not an expression lacked his control a single instant.He desired to display to these very gentlemen in every inch of hisperson his superior power and grandeur, and especially not to beinferior to them in chivalrous bearing.
To a certain extent he succeeded in doing so; but his aunt, Queen Mary,seemed unwilling to admit it, for just when he showed his arrogantdignity most plainly a smile by no means expressive of reverence hoveredaround the mouth of the frank royal huntress.
Barbara had soon wearied of gazing at the magnificent garments andhorses of these grandees. As Charles did not appear, the only person inthe endless procession who attracted her attention was Massi, whom shesoon discovered on his insignificant little horse; but he did not heedher eager signals, for he was talking earnestly to the occupant of thelarge litter borne by two mules that moved beside him.
Barbara tried to force her way to him, and when she succeeded her cheekssuddenly burned hotly, and a swift dread checked her progress; for fromthe great window of the litter a wonderfully beautiful little head,covered with fair curls, looked forth, and two little arms were extendedtoward the violinist.
How gleefully this child's eyes sparkled! how his whole little figureseemed instinct with joy and life while gazing at the horseman at theside of the street who was having a hard struggle with his refractorystallion!
No one knew this boy better than she, for it was her own son, theimperial child she had given to the Emperor. At the same time shethought of her other two boys, and her face again wore a compassionateexpression. Not they, but this little prince from fairyland was herfirst-born, her dearest, her true child.
But where were they taking her John? What had Massi to do with him? Whyshould the boy be in Philip's train?
There was only one explanation. Her child was being conveyed to Spain.
Had the father heard that she had discovered his abode, and did he wishto remove it from the mother whom he hated?
Was it being taken there merely that it might grow up a Castilian?
Did Charles desire to rear it there to the grandeur and splendour forwhose sake she had yielded him?
Yet whatever was in view for John, he would be beyond her reach as soonas the ship to which he was being conveyed weighed anchor.
But she would not, could not do without seeing him! The light of daywould be darkened for her if she could no longer hope to gaze at leastnow and then into his blue eyes and to hear the sound of his clear,childish tones.
"This too! this too!" she hissed, as if frantic; and as the guardsforced her out of the procession she followed it farther and fartherthrough the heat and dust, as though attracted by some magnetic power.
Her feet moved involuntarily while her gaze rested on the litter, andshe caught a glimpse sometimes of a golden curl, sometimes of a littlehand, sometimes of the whole marvellously beautiful fair head.
Not until the train stopped and the lords, ladies, and gentlemen whowere escorting Philip turned their horses and left him did she recollectherself. To follow these horsemen, coaches, carts, litters, andpedestrians just as she was would have been madness. Her place wasat home with her husband and children. Ten times she repeated this toherself and prepared to turn back; but the force which drew her to herchild was stronger than the warning voice of reason.
At any rate, she must speak to Massi and learn where he was taking theboy. He had not yet seen her; but now, as the train stopped, she forcedher way to him.
Amazed at meeting her, he returned her greeting, and granted her requestto let her speak with him a few minutes.
Greatly perplexed, he swung himself from the saddle, flung his bridle toa groom, and followed her under a mountain-ash tree which stood by theroadside. Barbara had used the time of his dismounting to gaze at herchild again, and to impress his image upon her soul. She dared not callto him, for she had sworn to keep the secret, and the boy, who so oftenrepulsed her eager advances, would perhaps have turned from her if shehad gone close to him and attempted to kiss him through the window.
This reserve was so hard for her that her eyes were full of tears whenMassi approached to ask what she desired. She did not give him time foreven a single question, but with frantic haste inquired who the boy inthe litter was, and where he intended to take him.
But her friend, usually so obliging, curtly and positively refused togive her any information. Then forming a hasty resolve, Barbara besoughthim if it were possible to take her with him to his home. Life in herown house had become unendurable. If a
nurse was wanted for this child,no matter to whom it might belong, let him give her the place. Shewould devote herself to the boy day and night, more faithfully than anymother, and ask no wages for it, only she would and must go to Spain.
Massi had listened to her rapid words in warm; nay, he was thoroughlystartled. The fire that flashed from Barbara's blue eyes, the anguishwhich her quivering features expressed, suggested the thought that shehad lost her reason, and with sympathizing kindness he entreated her tothink of his friend her husband, and her splendid boys at home. But whenshe persisted that she must go to Spain, he remembered that a bondof love had once united her to his friend Wolf Hartschwert, and inbewilderment he asked if it was the knight who attracted her there.
"If you think so, yes," she exclaimed. "Only I must go to Spain, I mustgo to Spain!"
Again Massi was seized with the conviction that he was dealing with amadwoman, and as the procession started he only held out his hand toher once more, earnestly entreated her to calm herself, sent hisremembrances to her husband and children, and then swung himself intothe saddle.
Barbara remained standing by the side of the road as if turned to stone,gazing after the travellers until the dust which they raised concealedthem from her gaze. Then she shook her head and slowly returned toBrussels.
Pyramus would come home at noon. Lamperi and the maid might provide themeal and attend to the rest of the household affairs. It was far pasttwelve, and it would still be a long time before she went home, forshe must, yes, must go up to the palace park and to the Dubois house toinquire where her soul must seek her child in future.
Her feet could scarcely support her when she entered the dwelling.
Startled at her appearance, Frau Traut compelled the exhausted woman tosit down. How dishevelled, nay, wild, Barbara, who was usually so welldressed, looked! But she, too, that day did not present her usual daintyappearance, and her eyes and face were reddened by weeping. Barbarainstantly noticed this, and it confirmed her conjecture. This woman,too, was bewailing the child which the cruel despot had torn from her.
"He is on the way to Spain!" she cried to the other. "There is nothingto conceal here."
Frau Traut started, and vehemently forbade Barbara to say even one wordmore about the boy if she did not wish her to show her the door andclose it against her forever.
But this was too much for the haughty mother of the Emperor's son.The terrible agitation of her soul forced an utterance, and in wildrebellion she swore to the terrified woman that she would burden herselfwith the sin of perjury and break the silence to which she had boundherself if she did not confess to her where Massi was taking her boy.She would neither seek him nor strive to get possession of him, butif she could not imagine where and with what people he was living, shewould die of longing. She would have allowed herself to be abused andtrodden under foot in silence, but she would not suffer herself to bedeprived of the last remnant of her maternal rights.
Here Adrian himself entered the room; but Barbara was by no means calmedby his appearance, and with a fresh outburst of wrath shrieked to hisface that he might choose whether he would confide to her, the mother,where his master was taking the child or see her rush from here to themarket place and call out to the people what she had promised, for theboy's sake, to hold secret.
The valet saw that she would keep her word and, to prevent greatermischief, he informed her that the violinist Massi was commissioned totake her son to Spain to rear him in his wife's native place until hisMajesty should alter his plans concerning him.
This news produced a great change in the tortured mother. Withaffectionate, repentant courtesy, she thanked the Dubois couple and,when Frau Traut saw that she was trying to rearrange her hair and dress,she helped her, and in doing so one woman confessed to the other whatshe had lost in the child.
Adrian's yielding had pleased Barbara. Besides, during the years ofher intercourse with Massi she had heard many things about hisresidence--nay, every member of his household--and therefore she couldnow form a picture of his future life.
So she had grown quieter, though by no means perfectly calm.
Her husband, who must have already returned from his journey, and hadnot found her at home, would scarcely receive her pleasantly, but shecared little for that if only he had not been anxious about her, and inhis joy at seeing her again did not clasp her tenderly in his arms. Thatwould have been unbearable to-day. She would have liked it best if Massiwould really have taken her with him as her child's nurse to Leganes,his residence. Thereby she would have reached the place where shethought she belonged--by the side of the child, in whom she beheldeverything that still rendered her life worth living.
Nevertheless, on her way home she thought with maternal anxiety of hertwo boys; but the nearer she approached the unassuming quarter of thecity where she lived the more vividly she felt that she did not belongthere, but in the part of Brussels whence she came.
Her own home was far more richly and prettily furnished than her old onein Red Cock Street, but it did not yet satisfy her desires, and she didnot feel content in it. To-day a slight feeling of aversion even cameover her as she thought of it.
Perhaps the best plan would have been for her to put an end to thismisery, and, instead of returning, make a pilgrimage to Compostellain Spain, and while doing so try to find her John in Leganes. But evenwhile yielding to these thoughts Barbara felt how sinful they were. Didnot her little house look attractive and pretty? It was certainly theprettiest and neatest in the neighbourhood, and as she drew nearerpleasure at the thought of seeing her children again awoke. An unkindreception from her husband would have been painful, after all.
But she was to receive no greeting at all from him. Pyramus had beendetained on the way. Barbara felt this as a friendly dispensation ofProvidence. But something else spoiled her return home. Conrad,her oldest boy, two-year-old Conrad, who was already walking about,beginning to prattle prettily, and who could show the affection of hislittle heart with such coaxing tenderness, came toward her crying, andwhen she took him up rested his little burning head against her cheek.
The little fellow's forehead and throat were aching.
Some illness was coming on.
The child himself asked to be put in his little bed, the physician wassummoned, and the next morning the scarlet fever broke out.
When the father returned, the youngest chill had also been attacked bythe same fell disease, and now a time came when Barbara, during many ananxious hour of the night, forgot that in distant Spain she possessedanother child for whose sake she had been ready to rob these two dearlittle creatures, who so greatly needed her, of their mother. Thispurpose weighed upon her conscience like the heaviest of sins while shewas fighting against Death, which seemed to be already stretching hishand toward the oldest boy.
When one evening the physician expressed the fear that the child wouldnot survive the approaching night, she prayed with passionate fervourfor his preservation, and meanwhile it seemed as though a secret voicecried: "Vow to the gracious Virgin not to give the Emperor's son ahigher place in your heart than the children of the man to whom a holysacrament unites you! Then you will first make yourself worthy of thedear imperilled life in yonder little bed."
Thrice, four times, and oftener still, Barbara raised her hands to utterthis vow, but ere she did so she said to herself that never, never couldshe wholly fulfil it, and, to save herself from a fresh sin, she did notmake it.
But with what anxiety she now gazed at the glowing face of the feveredboy whenever the warning voice again rose!
At midnight the little sufferer's eyes seemed to her to shine with aglassy look, and when, pleading for help, he raised them to her, herheart melted, and in fervent, silent prayer she cried to the Queen ofHeaven, "Spare me this child, make it well, and I will not think of theEmperor's son more frequently nor, if I can compass it, with warmer lovethan this clear creature and his little brother in the cradle."
Scarcely had these words died on her li
ps than she again felt that shehad promised more than she had the power to perform. Yet she repeatedthe vow several times.
During the whole terrible night her husband stood beside her, obeyingevery sign, eagerly and skilfully helping in many ways; and when in themorning the doctor appeared she was firmly convinced that her vow hadsaved the sick boy's life. The crisis was over.
Henceforth, whenever the yearning for the distant John seized upon herwith special power, she thought of that night, and loaded the littlesons near her with tokens of the tenderest love.
On that morning of commencing convalescence her husband's grateful kisspleased her.
True, during the time that followed, Pyramus succeeded no better thanbefore in warming his wife's cold heart, but Barbara omitted many thingswhich had formerly clouded his happiness.
The Emperor Charles had again gone to foreign countries, and thereforefestivals and shows no longer attracted her. She rarely allowed herselfa visit to Frau Dubois, but, above all, she talked with her boys andabout them like every other mother. It even seemed to Pyramus as thoughher old affection for the Emperor Charles was wholly dead; for when,in November of the following year, agitated to the very depths of hisbeing, he brought her the tidings that the Emperor had been surprisedand almost captured at Innsbruck by Duke Maurice of Saxony, who owedhim the Elector's hat, and had only escaped the misfortune by a hurriedflight to Carinthia, he merely saw a smile, which he did not know how tointerpret, on her lips. But little as Barbara said about this event, hermind was often occupied with it.
In the first place, it recalled to her memory the dance under thelindens at Prebrunn.
Did it not seem as if her ardent royal partner of those days had becomeher avenger?
Yet it grieved her that the man whose greatness and power it had growna necessity for her to admire had suffered so deep a humiliation and, asat the time of the May festival under the Ratisbon lindens, the sympathyof her heart belonged to him to whom she had apparently preferred thetreacherous Saxon duke.
The treaty of Passau, which soon followed his flight, was to impose uponthe monarch things scarcely less hard to bear; for it compelled him toallow the Protestants in Germany the free exercise of their religion,and to release his prisoners, the Elector John Frederick of Saxony andthe Landgrave Philip of Hesse.
Whatever befell the sovereign she brought into connection with herself.Charles's motto had now become unattainable for him, as since her lossof voice it had been for her. Her heart bled unseen, and his misfortuneinflicted new wounds upon it. How he, toward whom the whole worldlooked, and whose sensitive soul endured with so much difficulty theslightest transgression of his will and his inclination, wouldrecover from the destruction of the most earnest, nay, the most sacredaspirations of a whole life, was utterly incomprehensible to her. Torestore the unity of religion had been as warm a desire of his heart asthe cultivation of singing had been cherished by hers, and the treaty ofPassau ceded to the millions of German Protestants the right to remainseparated from the Catholic Church. This must utterly cloud, darken,poison his already joyless existence. Spite of the wrong he had doneher, how gladly, had she not been lost to art, she would now have triedupon him its elevating, consoling power!
From her old confessor, her husband, and others she learned that Charlesscarcely paid any further heed to the political affairs of the Germannation, which had once been so important to him; and with intenseindignation she heard the fellow-countrymen whom her husband brought tothe house declare that, in her German native land, Charles was now asbitterly hated as he had formerly been loved and reverenced.
The imperial crown would lapse to his brother; Ferdinand's son,Maximilian, now Charles's son-in-law, was destined to succeed hisfather, while the Infant Philip must in future be content with thesovereignty of Spain, the Netherlands, Charles's Italian possessions,and the New World.
For years Barbara had believed that she hated him, but now, when thebitterest envy could have desired nothing more cruel, with all thewarmth of her passionate heart she made his suffering her own, and itfilled her with shame and resentment against herself that she, too, hadmore than once desired to see her own downfall revenged on him.
Her soul was again drawn toward the sorely punished man more stronglythan she would have deemed possible a short time before and, after hisreturn to Brussels, she gazed with an aching heart at the ashen-grayface of the sufferer, marked by lines of deep sorrow.
Now he really did resemble a broken old man. Barbara rarely mingledwith the people, but she sometimes went with her husband and severalacquaintances outside the gate, or heard from the few intimate friendswhom she had made, the neighbours, and the peddlers who came to herhouse, with what cruel harshness the heretics were treated.
When the monarch, it was often said, was no longer the Charles to whomthe provinces owed great benefits and who had won many hearts, buthis Spanish son, Philip, the chains would be broken, and this shamefulbloodshed would be stopped; but her husband declared such predictionsidle boasting, and Barbara willingly believed him because she wishedthat he might be right.
In the officer's eyes all heretics deserved death, and he agreed withBarbara that the Emperor Charles's wisdom took the right course in allcases.
His son Philip was obedient to his father, and would certainly continueto wield the sceptre according to his wishes.
The breath of liberty, which was beginning to stir faintly in theprovinces through which he so often travelled, could not escapePyramus's notice, but he saw in it only the mutinous efforts ofshameless rebels and misguided men, who deserved punishment. The quietseclusion in which Barbara lived rendered it easy to win her over to herhusband's view of this noble movement; besides, it was directed againstthe unhappy man whom she would willingly have seen spared any freshanxiety, and who had proved thousands of times how much he preferred theNetherlands to any other of his numerous kingdoms.
Hitherto Barbara had troubled herself very little about politicalaffairs, and her interest in them died completely when a visitor calledwho threw them, as well as everything else, wholly into the shade.
