Barbara Blomberg — Complete

by Georg Ebers

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  During the following days Barbara's life path was illumined by thereflection of the happiness bestowed by the wonderful change in the fateof her child of sorrow, who now promised to become a giver of joy toher.

  Doubtless during the ensuing years many dark shadows fell upon herexistence and her heart; but when everything around and within wasgloomy, she only needed to think of the son whom she had given theEmperor, and the constantly increasing brilliancy of his career, toraise her head with fresh confidence. Yet the cloud obscuring herhappiness which she found it hardest to bear proceeded directly fromhim.

  He had probably mentioned her to his royal brother, and revenues hadbeen granted her far exceeding poor Wawerl's dreams, and doubtless areflection of the admiration which her son earned fell upon her, and herpride was greatly increased. Moreover, she could again devoteherself without fear to her ardently beloved art, for even honest oldAppenzelder declared that he liked to listen to her, though her voicestill lacked much of the overpowering magic of former days. She was ina position, too, to gratify many a taste for whose satisfaction she hadoften yearned, yet she could not attain a genuine and thorough new senseof happiness.

  The weeks which, a few years after her John's recognition, she spentwith self-sacrificing devotion beside her husband's couch of pain, whichwas to become his deathbed, passed amid anxiety and grief, and when heraffectionate, careful nursing proved vain, and Pyramus died, deep andsincere sorrow overpowered her. True, he had not succeeded in winningher to return his tender love; but after he had closed his eyes sherealized for the first time what a wealth of goodness and fidelity wasburied with him and lost to her forever.

  Her youngest boy, soon after his father's death, was torn from her byfalling into a cistern, and she yielded herself to such passionate grieffor his loss that she thought she could never conquer it; but it wassoon soothed by the belief that, for the sake of this devout child,whose training for a religious life had already commenced, Heaven hadresigned its claims upon John, and that the boy was dwelling in theimmediate presence of the Queen of Heaven.

  Thus, ere she was aware of it, her burning anguish changed into acheerful remembrance. Earlier still--more than two years after Wolf'sdeparture--tidings closely associated with the sorrow inflictedthrough her John had saddened her. The ship which was to bear the loyalcompanion of her youth to Spain was wrecked just before the end of thevoyage, and Wolf went down with it. Barbara learned the news only byaccident, and his death first made her realize with full distinctnesshow dear he had been to her.

  The letter which she had addressed to her son was lost with the man inwhom Fate had wrested from her the last friend who would have been ableand willing to show her John clearly and kindly a correct picture of hismother's real character.

  For two years she had hoped that Wolf would complete her letter in hisown person, and tell her son how her voice and her beauty had won hisfather's heart. Quijada had known it; but if he spoke of her to his wifeand foster-son, it was scarcely in her favour--he cared little for musicand singing.

  So the loss of this letter seemed to her, with reason, a severemisfortune. What she now wrote to John could hardly exert much influenceupon him. Yet she did write, this time with the aid of Hannibal. But thenew letter, which began with thanks for the financial aid which the sonhad conferred upon his mother through his royal brother, was distastefulboth to her pride and her maternal affection. Half prosaic, half far tooeffusive, it gave a distorted idea of her real feelings, and she tore itup before giving it to the messenger.

  Yet she did not cease to hope that, in some favourable hour, the heartof the idol of her soul would urge him to approach his mother; but yearafter year elapsed without bringing her even the slightest token ofhis remembrance, and this omission was the bitter drop that spoiled thehappiness which, after the death of her youngest boy, was clouded by nooutward event.

  When at last she addressed herself to John in a third letter, which thistime she dictated to Hannibal as her heart prompted, she received ananswer, it is true, though not from him, but from Dona Magdalena.

  In kind words this lady urged her not to write to "her"--DonaMagdalena's--son in future. She had taught him to think of the womanwho bore him with fitting respect, but it would be impossible for himto maintain the relation with her. She must spare her the explanation ofthe reasons which made this appear to be an obstacle to his career.Don John would prove in the future, by his care for her prosperity andcomfort, that he did not forget her. She had no right, it is true, tocounsel her; but when she transported herself into the soul of the womanwho had enjoyed the love of the Emperor Charles, and on whom Heaven hadbestowed a son like John of Austria, she felt sure that this woman wouldact wisely and promote her real welfare if she preferred communion withher Saviour, in the quiet of a cloister, to the bustle of life amidsurroundings which certainly were far too humble for her.

  Barbara felt wounded to the inmost depths of her being by this letter.Had the officious adviser, who had certainly despatched the replywithout her son's knowledge, been within her reach, she would haveshowed her how little inclination she felt to be patronized by theperson who, after alienating the son's heart from his mother, evenpresumed to dictate to her to rob herself of her last claim upon hisregard.

  True, in one respect she agreed with the writer of the letter.

  Precisely because it appeared as if Heaven had accepted her sacrificeand the grandeur for which she had made it seemed to be awaiting herson, she ought to attempt nothing that might impede his climbing to theheight, and her open connection with him might easily have placed stonesin his path. His elevation depended upon King Philip, whose boundlesspride had gazed at her from his chilling face.

  So she resolved to make no more advances to her child until the daycame--and a voice within told her that come it must--when he himselflonged for his own mother. Meanwhile she would be content with the joyof watching his brilliant course from the distance.

  The miracles which she had anticipated and prayed for in his behalf wereaccomplished. First, she heard that Count Ribadavia's splendid palacewould be prepared for her son, that the sons of noble families would beassigned to attend him, and that a body-guard of Spaniards and Germansand a train of his own were at his command.

  Then she learned in what a remarkable manner Elizabeth of Valois, theKing's new wife, favoured the lad of thirteen. At the taking of the oathby which the Cortes recognised Don Carlos as the heir to the throne,John had been summoned directly after the Infant as the first personentitled to homage.

  Next, she learned that he had entered the famous University of Alcala deHenares.

  And his classmates and friends? They were no less important personagesthan Don Carlos himself and Alessandro Farnese, John's nephew, theson of that Ottavio at whose admission as Knight of the Golden FleeceBarbara had made at Landshut the most difficult resolution of her life.

  He was said to share everything with these distinguished companions,and to be himself the handsomest and most attractive of the illustrioustrio. He was particularly inseparable from Alessandro, the son of thewoman now ruling as regent in Brussels, who was John's sister.

  What reply would he have made to this illustrious scion of one of themost ancient and noble royal races if a letter from her had reached him,and the duke's son had asked, "Who is this Frau Barbara Blomberg?" or,as she now signed herself, "Madame de Blomberg"?

  The answer must have been: "My mother."

  Oh, no, no, never!

  It would have been cruel to expect this from him; never would she placeher beloved child, her pride, her joy, in so embarrassing a position.

  Besides, though she could only watch him from a distance, thanks tohis generosity or his brother's, she could lead a pleasant life. To sunherself in his glory, too, was sufficiently cheering, and must satisfyher.

  He spent three years at the University of Aleala, and nothing butgood news of him reached her. Then she received tidings which gaveher special j
oy, for one of the wishes she had formed in Landshut wasfulfilled. He had been made a Knight of the Golden Fleece, andhow becoming the jewel on the red ribbon must be to the youth ofone-and-twenty! How many of her acquaintances belonging to the partisansof the King and Spain came to congratulate her upon it! Because John hadbecome Spanish, and risen in Spain to the position which she desired forhim, she wished to become so, and studied the Spanish language with thezeal and industry of a young girl. She succeeded in gaining more andmore knowledge of it, and, finally, through intercourse with Spaniards,in mastering it completely.

  At that time the prospects for her party were certainly gloomy; theheretical agitation and the boldness of the rebellious enthusiasts forindependence and liberty surpassed all bounds.

  The King therefore sent the Duke of Alba to the Netherlands to restoreorder, and, with the twenty thousand men he commanded, make theinsurgents feel the resistless power of offended majesty and the angeredChurch.

  Barbara and her friends greeted the stern duke as a noble champion ofthe faith, who was resolved to do his utmost. The new bishoprics, whichby Granvelle's advice had been established, the foreign soldiers, andthe Spanish Inquisition, which pursued the heretics with inexorableharshness, had roused the populace to unprecedented turmoil, and inducedthem to resist the leading nobles, who were indebted to the Kingfor great favours, to the intense wrath of these aristocrats and thepartisans of Spain.

  Barbara, with all her party, had welcomed the new bishoprics as anarrangement which promised many blessings, and the foreign troops seemedto her necessary to maintain order in the rebellious Netherlands. Thecruelty of the Inquisition was only intended to enforce respect for theedicts which the Emperor Charles, in his infallible wisdom, hadissued, and the hatred which the nobles, especially, displayed againstGranvelle, Barbara's kind patron, the greatest statesman of his time andthe most loyal servant of his King, seemed to her worthy of the utmostcondemnation.

  The scorn with which the rebels, after the compromise signed by thehighest nobles, had called themselves Geusen, or Beggars, and endangeredrepose, would have been worthy of the severest punishment. What inducedthese people to risk money and life for privileges which a wise policyof the government--this was the firm conviction of those who sharedBarbara's views--could not possibly grant, was incomprehensible to her,and she watched the course of the rebels with increasing aversion. Didthey suppose their well-fed magistrates and solemn States-General, whonever looked beyond their own city and country, would govern them betterthan the far-sighted wisdom of a Granvelle or the vast intellect of aViglius, which comprised all the knowledge of the world?

  What they called their liberties were privileges which a sovereignbestowed. Ought they to wonder if another monarch, whom they had deeplyangered, did not regard them as inviolable gifts of God? The quietcomfort of former days had been clouded, nay, destroyed, by thesepatriots. Peace could be restored only by the King's silencing them. Soshe wished the Spaniards a speedy success, and detested the effortsof independent minds; above all, of William of Orange, their only tooclear-sighted, cautious, devoted leader, also skilled in the arts ofdissimulation, in whom she recognised the most dangerous foe of Spanishsovereignty and the unity of the Church.

  When, by the Duke of Alba's orders, the Counts Egmont and Horn wereexecuted one June day in the market place of Brussels, opinions, even ofmembers of the Spanish party, were divided, especially as Count Egmontwas a Catholic, and had acted finally according to the views of thegovernment.

  Barbara sincerely lamented his terrible end, for she had seen in him abrilliant model for her John. In hours of depression, the sudden fall ofthis favourite of the people seemed like an evil omen. But she would notlet these disquieting thoughts gain power over her, for she wished atlast to enjoy life and, as the mother of such a son, felt entitled to doso.

  She regarded this cruel deed of Alba as a false step at any rate, for,though she kept so far aloof from the Netherland burghers and commonpeople, she perceived what deep indignation this measure aroused.

  Meanwhile the Prince of Orange, the spirit and soul of this execrablerebellion, had escaped the sentence of the court.

  Nevertheless, she regarded Alba with great admiration, for he was a manof ability, whom the Emperor Charles had held in high esteem. Besides,after her husband's death the haughty noble had been courteous enough toassure her of his sympathy.

  Moreover, a time was just approaching in which she withdrew too far fromthis conflict to follow it with full attention, for her son's first deedof heroism became known in Brussels.

  The King had appointed John to the command of the fleet, and sent himagainst the pirates upon the African coast. He could now gather hisfirst laurels, and to do everything in her power for the success of hisarms, Barbara spent the greater portion of her time in church, prayingdevoutly. In September he was greeted in Madrid as a conqueror, buther joy was not unclouded; for the Infant Don Carlos had yielded up hisyoung life in July as a prisoner, and she believed him to be her John'sbest friend, and lamented his death because she thought that it wouldgrieve her hero son.

  But this little cloud soon vanished, and how brilliantly the bluesky arched above her the next year, when she learned that Don John ofAustria had received the honourable commission of crushing the rebellionof the infidel Moriscoes in Andalusia! Here her royal son first provedhimself a glorious military hero, and his deeds at the siege of Galeraand before Seron filled her maternal heart with inexpressible pride. Thewords which he shouted to his retreating men: "Do you call yourselvesSpaniards and not know what honour means? What have you to fear when Iam with you?" echoed in her ears like the most beautiful melody whichshe had ever sting or heard.

  Yet a dark shadow fell on these radiant joys also; her John's friend andfoster-father, Don Luis Quijada, had been wounded in these battles, anddied from his injuries. Barbara felt what deep pain this would cause herdistant son, and expressed her sympathy to him in a letter.

  But the greatest happiness was still in store for her and for him. Onthe 7th of October, 1571, the young hero, now twenty-four years old, ascommander of the united fleets of Spain, Venice, and the Pope, gainedthe greatest victory which any Castilian force had ever won over thetroops of the infidels.

  Instead of the name received at his baptism, and the one which he owedto his brother, that of Victor of Lepanto now adorned him. Not oneof all the generals in the world received honours even distantlyapproaching those lavished upon him. And besides the leonine courage andtalent for command which he had displayed, his noble nature was praisedwith ardent enthusiasm. How he had showed it in the distribution of thebooty to the widow of the Turkish high admiral Ali Pasha! This renownedMoslem naval commander had fallen in the battle, and his two sons hadbeen delivered to Don John as prisoners. When the unfortunate motherentreated him to release the boys for a large ransom, he restored one toher love with the companions for whose liberty he had interceded, witha letter containing the words, "It does not beseem me to keep yourpresents, since my rank and birth require me to give, not to receive."

  These noble words were written by Barbara Blomberg's son, the boy towhom she gave birth, and who had now become just what her lofty souldesired.

  After the conquest of Cyprus, the Crescent had seriously threatened theCross in the Mediterranean, and it was Don John who had broken the powerof the Turks.

  Alas, that her father could not have lived to witness this exploit ofhis grandson! What a happy man the victory of Lepanto, gained by his"Wawerl's" son, would have made him! How the fearless old champion ofthe faith would have rejoiced in this grandchild, his deeds, and nature!

  And what honours were bestowed upon her John!

  King Philip wrote to him, "Next to God, gratitude for what has beenaccomplished is due to you." A statue was erected to him in Messina. ThePope had used the words of Scripture, "There was a man sent by God, andhis name was John." Now, yes, now she was more than rewarded for thesacrifice of Landshut; now the splendour and grandeur for which sh
e hadlonged and prayed was far, far exceeded.

  This time it was gratitude, fervent gratitude, which detained her inchurch. The child of her love, her suffering, her pride, was now happy,must be happy.

  When, two years later, Don John captured Tunis, the exploit could nolonger increase his renown.

  At this time also happened many things which filled the heart of a womanso closely connected with royalty sometimes with joy, sometimes withanxiety.

  In Paris, the night of St. Bartholomew, a year after her son hadchastised the Moslems at Lepanto, dealt the French heretics a deep,almost incurable wound, and in the Netherlands there were not gallowsenough to hang the misguided fanatics.

  Yet this rebellious nation did not cease to cause the King unspeakabledifficulties and orthodox Christians sorrow. On the sea the "Beggars"conquered his Majesty's war ships; Haarlem, it is true, had been forcedby the Spanish troops to surrender, but what terrible sacrifices thesiege had cost where women had taken part in the defence with thecourage of men!

  And, in spite of everything, Alba's harshness had been futile.

  Then Philip recalled him and put in his place the gentle Don Luis deRequesens, who had been governor in Milan. He would willingly have madepeace with the people bleeding from a thousand wounds, but how could heconcede the toleration of the heretical faith and the withdrawal of thetroops on which he relied? And how did the rebels show their gratitudeto him for his kindness and good will?

  The Beggars destroyed his fleet, and, though the brother of Williamof Orange had been defeated upon the Mooker-Heide, this by no meansdisheartened the enraged nation, resolved upon extremes, and theirsilent but wise and tireless leader.

  In Leyden the obstinacy of the foes of the King and the Church showeditself in a way to which even Barbara and her party could not deny acertain degree of admiration. True, the nature of the country aided therebels like an ally. Mortal warriors could not contend against wind andstorm. But he who from without directed the defence here, who had issuedthe order to break through the dikes, and then with shameful effronteryhad founded in the scarcely rescued city a university which was tonurture the spirit of resistance in the minds of the young men, wasagain the Prince of Orange; and who else than he, his shrewdness andfirmness, robbed Requesens of gratitude for his mildness and the successof his honest labours?

  But how much easier was the part of the leader of the enemy, who inBrussels had escaped the fate of Egmont, than the King's kindly disposedgovernor! When Barbara chanced to hear the men of the people talkingwith each other, and they spoke of "Father William," they meant thePrince of Orange; and with what abuse, both verbally and in handbills,King Philip and the Spanish Government were loaded!

  To Barbara, as well as to the members of her party, William of Orange,whom she often heard called the "Antichrist" and "rebel chief," wasan object of hatred. Now he frustrated the kind Requesens's attempt atmediation, and it was also his fault that two provinces had publiclyrevolted from the Holy Church. The Protestant worship of God was nowexercised as freely there as in Ratisbon. Like William of Orange, mostof the citizens professed the doctrine of Calvin, but there was no lackof Lutherans, and the clergyman whose sermons attracted the largestcongregations was Erasmus Eckhart, Barbara's old acquaintance, Dr.Hiltner's foster-son, who during the Emperor Charles's reign had come tothe Netherlands as an army chaplain, and, amid great perils, was said tohave lured thousands from the Catholic Church. Deeply as her sentimentsrebelled, here, too, Barbara had become his preserver; for when theBloody Council had sentenced him to the gallows, she had succeeded, withgreat difficulty, through her manifold relations to the heads of theSpanish party, in obtaining his pardon. A grateful letter from FrauSabina Hiltner had abundantly repaid her for these exertions.

  The boldness with which William of Orange, who was himself the mostdangerous heretic and rebel, protested that he was willing to grantevery one full religious liberty, had no desire to injure the CatholicChurch in any way, and was even ready to acknowledge the supremacy ofthe King, could not fail to enrage every pious Catholic and faithfulsubject of King Philip.

  To spoil a Requesens's game was no difficult task for the man who,though by no means as harmless as the dove, was certainly as wise as theserpent; but that the Duke of Alba, the tried, inflexible commander, hadbeen obliged to yield and retire vanquished before the little, merry,industrious, thoroughly peaceful nation which intrusted itself to theleadership of William of Orange, had been too much for her and, when ithappened, seemed like a miracle.

  What spirits were aiding the Prince of Orange to resist the King and thepower of the Church so successfully? He was in league with hell, her oldconfessor said, and there were rumours that his Majesty was trying tohave the abominable mischief-maker secretly put out of the world. Butthis would have been unworthy of a King, and Barbara would not believeit.

  In the northern provinces the Spanish power was only a shadow, but inthe southern ones also hatred of the Spaniards was already bursting intoflames, and Requesens was too weak to extinguish them.

  The King and Barbara's political friends perceived that Alba's pitiless,murderous severity had injured the cause of the crown and the Church farmore than it had benefited them. Personally, he had treated her onthe whole kindly, but he had inflicted two offences which were hard toconquer. In the first place, he urged her to leave Brussels and settlein Mons; and, secondly, he had refused to receive her Conrad, who hadgrown up into a steady, good-looking, but in no respect remarkable youngman, in one of his regiments, with the prospect of promotion to the rankof officer.

  In both cases she had not remained quiet and, at the second audiencewhich the duke gave her, her hot blood, though it had grown so muchcooler, played her a trick, and she became involved in a vehementargument with him. In the course of this he had been compelled tobe frank, and she now knew that Alba had persuaded her to change herresidence at the King's desire, and why it was done.

  She afterward learned from acquaintances that the duke had said one wasapt to be the loser in a dispute with her; yet she had yielded,though solely and entirely to benefit her John, but she could not helpconfessing to herself that her residence in the capital could not beagreeable to him. The highest Spanish officials and military commanderslived there, as well as the ambassadors of foreign powers, and it wasnot desirable to remind them of the maternal descent of the general whonow belonged to the King's family.

  The case was somewhat similar, as Alba himself had confessed to her,with regard to her son Conrad's promotion to the rank of an officer;for if he attained that position he might, as the brother of Don John ofAustria, make pretensions which threatened to place the hero of Lepantoin a false, nay, perhaps unpleasant position. This, too, she did notdesire. But in removing from Brussels she had possibly rendered Don Johna greater service than she admitted to herself, for, since her son'sbrilliant successes had made her happy and her external circumstanceshad permitted it, she had emerged from the miserable seclusion of formeryears.

  Her dress, too, she now suited to the position which she arrogated toherself. But in doing so she had become a personage who could scarcelybe overlooked, and she rarely failed to be present on the very occasionswhich brought together the most aristocratic Spanish society inBrussels.

  So, after a fresh dispute with Alba, in which the victor on many abattlefield was forced to yield, she had obtained his consent to retireto Ghent instead of Mons.

  True, the duke would have preferred to induce her to go to Spain, andtried to persuade her to do so by the assurance that the King himselfdesired to receive her there.

  But she had been warned.

  Through Hannibal Melas and other members of her own party she hadlearned that Philip intended, if she came to Spain, to remove her fromthe eyes of the world by placing her in a convent, and never had shefelt less inclination to take the veil.

  Her departure from Brussels had done Alba and his functionaries aservice, for she had constantly forced herself into the governmentbuilding to o
btain news of her son.

  The great and opulent city of Ghent, the birthplace of the EmperorCharles, of which he had once said to Francis I, the King of France,that Paris would go into his glove (Gant), had been chosen by Barbarafor several reasons. The principal one was that she would find thereseveral old friends of former days, one of whom, her singing-masterFeys, had promised to accept her voice and enable her to serve her artagain with full pleasure.

  The other was Hannibal Melas, who before Granvelle's fall had beentransferred there as one of the higher officials of the government.

  She also entered into relations with other heads of the Spanish party,and thus found in Ghent what she sought. The pension allowed her enabledher to hire a pretty house, and to furnish it with a certain degree ofsplendour. A companion, for whom she selected an elderly unmarried ladywho belonged to an impoverished noble family, accompanied her in herwalks; a major-domo governed the four men-servants and the maids ofthe household; Frau Lamperi retained her position as lady's maid; thesteward and cook attended to the kitchen and the cellar; and two pages,with a pretty one-horse carriage, lent an air of elegance to her styleof living.

  For the religious service, which was directed by her own chaplain,she had had a chapel fitted up in the house, according to the Ratisbonfashion. The poor were never turned from her door without alms, andwhere she encountered great want she often relieved it with a generosityfar beyond her means. Under the instruction of Maestro Feys, she eagerlydevoted herself to new exercises in singing. Doubtless she realized thattime and the long period of hoarseness had seriously injured her voice,but even now she could compare with the best singers in the city.

  Thus Barbara saw her youthful dreams of fortune realized--nay,surpassed--and in the consciousness of liberty which she now enjoyed,elevated by the success gained by the person she loved best, she againfollowed her lover's motto. With the impelling "More, farther" beforeher eyes, she took care that she did not lack the admiration for whichshe had never ceased to long, and to which, in better days, she hadpossessed so well-founded a claim.

  Now a lavish and gracious hospitality, as well as her relationship tothe greatest and most popular hero of his time, must give her what shehad formerly obtained through her art; for she rarely sang in largecompanies, and when she did so, no matter how loudly her hearersexpressed their delight, she could not regain the old confident securitythat she was justly entitled to it. But she could believe all the morefirmly that the acknowledgments of pleasure which she reaped from herlittle evening parties were sincere. They even gained a certain degreeof celebrity, for the kitchen in her house was admirably managed, andwhatever came from it found approval even in the home of the finestculinary achievements. But it was especially the freedom--though not theslightest indecorum was permitted--with which people met at "Madame deBlomberg's," as she now styled herself, that lent her house so great anattraction, and finally added the more aristocratic members of her partyto the number of her guests.

  The very different elements assembled in her home were united byBarbara's unaffected vivacity and frank, enthusiastic temperament,receptive to the veriest trifle. These evening entertainments rarelylacked music; but she had learned to retire into the background, andwhen there were talented artists among her guests she gave them theprecedence. The way in which she understood how to discover and bringout the best qualities of every visitor rendered her a very agreeablehostess.

  Maestro Feys made her acquainted with his professional friends in Ghent,and her opinion of music was soon highly valued among them. Where womenchoirs were being trained, she was asked to join them, and often tooka part which seemed to the others too difficult. Thus Barbara was heardand known in larger circles, and she had the pleasure of hearing heradmirable training and excellent method of delivery praised by thedirector of the choir of the Cathedral of Saint Bavon, one of thegreatest musicians in the Netherlands. But it afforded her specialgratification when a choir of Catholic women chose her for their leader.She devoted a large portion of her time and strength to it, and felthonoured and elevated by its progress and admirable performances.

  Although nearly fifty, she was still a very fine-looking woman. The fewsilver threads which now mingled in her hair were skilfully concealed byLamperi's art, and few ladies in Ghent were more tastefully and richlyapparelled.

  Among the guests who thronged to her house there was no lack of elderlygentlemen who would gladly have married the vivacious, unusual woman,who was so nearly connected with the royal family, and lived in suchluxurious style.

  Never had she had more suitors than at this time; but she had learnedthe meaning of a loveless marriage, and her heart still belonged to theone man to whom, notwithstanding the deep wounds he had inflicted, sheowed a brief but peerlessly sublime happiness.

  She could not even have bestowed upon her husband the alms of a sincereinterest, for, in spite of the increasing number of social and musicalengagements which filled her life, one thought alone occupied the depthsof her soul--her John, his renown, grandeur, and honour.

  Her son Conrad had no cause to complain of lack of affection from hismother, but the victor of Lepanto was to her the all-animating sun, theformer only a friendly little star. Besides, she rarely saw him now, ashe was studying in Lowen.

  As she had modelled her housekeeping after that of the Castilian nobles,and her guests almost exclusively belonged to the royal party, shealso sought Spanish houses or those of the city magistrates who werepartisans of the King.

  News of her son would be most fully supplied there, and many an officerwhom she met had served under her John, and willingly told themother what he admired and had learned from him. The young Duke ofFerdinandina, a Spanish colonel, who had studied with John in Alcala,and then fought by his side at the conquest of Tunis, stirred her heartmost deeply by his enthusiastic admiration for the comrade who was hissuperior in every respect.

  All the pictures of Don John, the young officer who had shared his tentdeclared, gave a very faint idea of his wonderful beauty and bewitchingchivalrous grace. Not only women's hearts rushed to him; his frank,lovable nature also won men. As a rider in the tournament, in games ofball and quarter staff, he had no peer; for his magnificently formedbody was like steel, and he himself had seen Don John share in playingracket for six hours in succession with the utmost eagerness, and thenshow no more fatigue than a fish does in water. But he was also sure ofsuccess where proof of intellect must be given. He did not understandwhere Don John had found time to learn to speak French, German, andItalian. Moreover, he was thoroughly the great noble. On the pilgrimagewhich he made to Loretto he had distributed more than ten thousandducats among the poor. The piety and charity which distinguished him--hehad told him so himself--owed to the lady who reared him, the widow ofthe never-to-be-forgotten Don Luis Quijada. His eye filled with tearswhen he spoke of her. But even she, Barbara, could not love him moretenderly or faithfully than this admirable woman. Up to the day sheinsisted upon supplying his body linen. The finest linen spun and wovenin Villagarcia was used for the purpose, and the sewing was done byher own skilful hands. Nothing of importance befel him that he did notdiscuss with Tia in long letters.--["Tia," the Spanish word for aunt.]

  Barbara had listened to the young Spaniard with joyous emotion until, atthe last communication, her heart contracted again.

  How much that by right was hers this worm snatched, as it were, fromher lips! What delight it would also have given her to provide her son'slinen, and how much finer was the Flanders material than that made atVillagarcia! how much more artistically wrought were Mechlin and Brusselaces than those of Valladolid or Barcelona!

  And the letters!

  How many Dona Magdalena probably possessed! But she had not yet beheld asingle pen stroke from her son's hand.

  Yet she thanked the enthusiastic young panegyrist for his news, and theemotion of displeasure which for a short time destroyed her joy meltedlike mist before the sun when he closed with the assurance that, nomatter how much he
thought and pondered, he could find neither spot norstain the brilliantly pure character of her son, irradiated by nobilityof nature, the favour of fortune, and renown.

  The already vivid sense of happiness which filled her was stronglyenhanced by this description of the personality of her child and, in aperiod which saw so many anxious and troubled faces in the Netherlands,a sunny radiance brightened hers.

  She felt rejuvenated, and the acquaintances and friends who declaredthat no one would suppose her to be much older than her famous son,whose age was known to the whole world, were not guilty of undueexaggeration.

  Heaven, she thought, would pour its favour upon her too lavishly if thereport that Don John was to be appointed Governor of the Netherlandsshould be verified.

  It was not in Barbara's nature to shut such a wealth of joy into her ownheart, and never had her house been more frequently opened to guests,never had her little entertainments been more brilliant, never since thetime of her recovery had the music of her voice been more beautiful thanin the days which followed the sudden death of the governor, Requesens.

  Meanwhile she had scarcely noticed how high the longing for liberty wassurging in the Netherland nation, and with how fierce a glow hatred ofthe Spanish tyrants was consuming the hearts of the people.

  But even Barbara was roused from her ecstasy of happiness when she heardof the atrocities that threatened the provinces.

  What did it avail that the King meanwhile left the government to theCouncil of State in Brussels? Even furious foes of Spain desired to seea power which could be relied upon at the head of the community, eventhough it were a tool of the abhorred King. The danger was so terriblethat it could not fail to alarm and summon to the common defence everyindividual, no matter to what party he might belong; for the unpaidSpanish regiments, with unbridled violence, rioting and seeking booty,capable of every crime, every shameful deed, obedient only to their ownsavage impulses, were already entering Brabant.

  Now many a Spanish partisan also hoped for deliverance from the Princeof Orange, but he took advantage of the favour of circumstances inbehalf of the great cause of liberty. The "Spanish" in Ghent heard withterror that all the heads of the royalist party who were at the helm ofgovernment had been captured, that province after province had revolted,and would no longer bow to the despot. Philip of Croy, Duke of Aerschot,had been appointed military governor of Brabant.

  The inhabitants of Ghent now saw the States-General meet within thewalls of their city, in order, as every other support failed, to appealfor aid to foreign powers, and entreat "Father William," who could doeverything, to guard the country from the rebellious soldiery. Eventhose who favoured Spain now relied upon his never-failing shrewdnessand energy until the King sent the right man.

  Then the rumour that King Philip would send his brother Don John ofAustria, that, as his regent, he might reconcile the contending parties,strengthened into authentic news, and not only the Spanish partisanshailed it with joyous hope, for the reputation of military ability, aswell as of a noble nature, preceded the victor of Lepanto.

  Barbara received these tidings through the distinguished City CouncillorRassingham, who invited her for the first time to a meeting of theSpanish party in his magnificent home--an honour bestowed, in additionto herself, upon only a few women belonging to the highest socialcircles, and which she probably owed to the summons to Don John. Themembers of the States-General who favoured the King were also to bepresent at this assembly, and a banquet would follow the politicaldiscussions. This invitation promised to lend fresh distinction to hersocial position, and open a sphere of activity which suited her taste.

  The King's cause was hers, and to be permitted to work for it gained aspecial charm by her son's appointment to be governor of the country,which filled her with mingled anxiety and joy. If he were regent, everyservice which she rendered the party would benefit him personally.

  Yet it was not perfectly easy for her to accept Rassingham's invitation.

  Nothing could be more desirable and flattering than to obtain admittanceto this house, from which all foreign and doubtful elements wereexcluded with special care, but she would be obliged to remain thereuntil late at night, and this was difficult to reconcile with certainduties she had undertaken.

  Her old music teacher, Feys, to whom she was so much indebted, had beenattacked by slow fever, and she had received him in her house five daysago, and provided with loving devotion for his nursing. The bachelor ofseventy had been so ill cared for in his lonely, uncomfortable home thather kind heart had urged her to take charge of him.

  She had left him only a few hours since he had been under her roof, andif the banquet at the Rassinghams, after the deliberations, lasted untila very late hour, she would, for the sake of her invalid guest, great aswas the sacrifice, attend only the former.

  Yet she was pleased at the thought of sharing this festal assembly, andshe, her companion, and Lamperi all went into ecstasies over the dressshe intended to wear, which had just arrived from Brussels.

  Maestro Feys passed a restless night, and Barbara watched beside hiscouch for hours. In the morning she allowed herself a little sleep, butshe was obliged at noon to dress for the assembly, which was to beginbefore sunset.

  She had just sat down to have her hair arranged, which occupied a longtime, when one of the pages handed her a letter brought by a mountedcourier.

  She opened it curiously, and while reading it her cheeks paled andflushed as in the days of her youth. Then it dropped into her lap,and for a moment she remained motionless, with closed eyes, as thoughstupefied.

  Then, rising quickly, she again read the violet-scented missive, writtenon the finest parchment.

  "Your son," ran the brief contents--"your son, who has so long beenseparated from his mother, at last desires to look into her eyes. If thewoman who gave him birth wishes to make him feel new and deep gratitude,let her hasten at once to Luxemburg, where he has been for several hoursin the deepest privacy. The weal and woe of his life are at stake."

  The letter, written in the German language, was signed "John ofAustria."

  Panting for breath, Barbara gazed a long time into vacancy. Then,suddenly drawing herself up proudly, she exclaimed to Lamperi: "I'lldress my hair myself. Yesterday Herr De la Porta offered me histravelling carriage. The major-domo must go to him at once and say thatMadame de Blomberg asks the loan of the vehicle. Let the page Diegoorder post and courier horses at the same time. The carriage must beready in an hour."

  "But, Madame," cried the maid, raising her hands in alarm andadmonition, "the Rassinghams are expecting you. The honour! Every onewho is well disposed in the States-General will be there. Who knows whatthe party has in store for you? And then the banquet! What may there notbe to hear!"

  "No matter," replied Barbara. "The chaplain--I'll speak to him-must sendthe refusal. No summons from Heaven could be more powerful than the callthat takes me away. Bestir yourself! There is not an instant to lose."

  Frau Lamperi retired with drooping head. But when she had executed hermistress's orders and returned, Barbara laid her hand upon her shoulder,whispering: "You can keep silence. I am going to Luxemburg. He who callsme is one whom you saw enter the world, the hero of Lepanto. He wantshis mother. At last! at last! And I--"

  Here tears stifled her voice, and obeying the desire to pour out toanother the overflowing gratitude and love which had taken possession ofher soul, she threw herself upon the gray-haired attendant's breast,and amid her weeping exclaimed: "I shall see him with these eyes, I canclasp his hand, I shall hear his voice--that voice--His first cry--Athousand times, waking and sleeping, I have fancied I heard it again. Doyou remember how they took him from me, Lamperi?

  "To think that I survived it! But now--now If that voice lured me to thedeepest abyss and called me away from paradise, I would go!"

  The maid's old eyes also overflowed, and when Barbara read her son'sletter aloud, she cried: "Of course there can be no delay, even if,instead of the Rassingha
ms, King Philip himself should send for you. AndI--may I go with you? Oh, Madame, you do not know what a sweet littleangel he was from his very birth! We were not allowed to show him toyou. And it was wise, for, had you seen him, it would have broken yourpoor mother heart to give him up."

  She sobbed aloud as she spoke. Barbara permitted her to accompany her,though she had intended to take her companion, and would have preferredto travel with the woman of noble birth.

  Besides, she could have confided the care of her sick guest to Lamperimore confidently than to the other. But the faithful old soul's wishto see the boy whose entrance into the world she had been permitted togreet was too justifiable for her to be able to refuse it.

  How much Barbara had to do before her departure! Most of the time wasconsumed by the suffering maestro and the arrangements which she hadto make for him. She did not leave his bedside until the arrival of thesister who was to assist her companion in nursing her old friend untilher return. She certainly would not be absent long; the importantthings John had to say might probably require great haste, while, onthe contrary, whatever needed time for execution could be comfortablydespatched during his stay in the Netherlands. So she assured Feys, whoregarded her as his good angel and felt her departure painfully,that she would soon be with him again, and then gave the order to askHannibal Melas, in her name, to pay frequent visits to the sick maestro.It was very hard for her to leave him and neglect the duties which shehad undertaken, but in the presence of the summons addressed to herevery other consideration must be silent.

  When Barbara returned to her own apartments Lamperi was still busiedwith the packing.

  Several dresses--first of all the new Brussels gown and its belongings,even the pomegranate blossoms which the garden city of Ghenthad supplied as something rare in November for her mistress'sadornment--were placed carefully in the largest trunk, while Barbara,overpowered by inexpressible restlessness, paced the room with hastysteps from side to side.

  Only when one or another article was taken from a casket or box didshe pause in her walk. Among the things selected was the pearl necklacewhich Charles had given her, and the only note her royal lover had everwritten, which ran, "This evening, quia amore langueo." This she laidwith her own hand among the laces and pomegranate blossoms, for thiscry of longing might teach her son what she had once been to his father.When John had seen her and felt how clear he was to her, he must becomeaware that he had another mother besides the Spanish lady whom he called"Tia," and who made his underclothing; then he could no more forget herthan that other woman.

  Lastly, she summoned the major-domo and told him what he must do duringher absence, which she thought would not exceed a week at the utmost.The guests invited for Wednesday must be notified; the women's choirmust be requested to excuse her non-appearance; Sir Jasper Gordon, hermost faithful admirer, an elderly Englishman, must learn that she hadgone away; but, above all, writing tablet in hand, she directed himhow to provide for her poor, what assistance every individual shouldreceive, or the sums of money and wood which were to be sent to otherhouses to provide for the coming winter. She also placed money at themajordomo's disposal for any very needy persons who might apply for helpwhile she was out of reach.

  Before the November sun had set she entered the La Porta travellingcarriage. The chaplain, whom she referred to the major-domo for anymatters connected with the poor, gave his blessing to the departingtraveller, whose cheerful vivacity, after so many severe trials, headmired, and whose "golden heart," as he expressed it, had made her dearto him. The servants gathered at the door of the house, bowing silently,and her "Farewell, till we meet again!" fell from her lips with joyousconfidence.

  While on the way she reflected, for the first time, what John coulddesire of her for the "weal and woe of his life." It was impossible toguess, yet whatever it might be she would not fail him.

  But what could it be'

  Neither during the long night journey nor by the light of day did shefind a satisfactory answer. True, she had not thought solely of herson's entreaty. Her whole former life passed before her.

  How much she had sinned and erred! But all that she had done for the manto whom the posthorses were swiftly bearing her seemed to her free fromreproach and blameless. Every act and feeling which he had received fromher had been the best of which she was capable.

  Not a day, scarcely an hour, had she forgotten him; for his sake she hadendured great anguish willingly, and, in spite of his mute reserve--shecould say so to herself--without any bitter feeling. How she hadsuffered in parting from her child she alone knew. Fate had raised herson to the summit of earthly grandeur and saved him from every clanger.Providence had adorned him with its choicest gifts. When she thought ofthe last account of him from the Duke of Ferdinandina, it seemed to heras if his life had hitherto resembled a triumphal procession, a walkthrough blooming gardens.

  What could he mean by the "woe" after the "weal"?

  John was to her the embodied fulfilment of the most ardent prayers. Theblessings she had besought for him, and for which she had placed her ownheart on the rack, had become his-glory and splendour, fame and honour.

  She had not been able to give them to him, and undoubtedly he owed muchto his own powers and to the favour of his royal brother, but Barbarawas firmly convinced that her prayers had raised him to his presentgrandeur.

  What more could now be given to him? Everything the human heart desireswas already his. His happiness was complete, and during recent yearsthis, too, had cheered her heart and restored her lost capacity forthe enjoyment of life. She had been carried to the very verge ofrecklessness whenever bitter grief had oppressed her heart.

  Her greatest sorrow had been that she was not permitted to see andembrace him, and the knowledge that another filled the place in hisheart which belonged to her; but lesser troubles had also gnawed at hersoul.

  It had been especially hard to bear that, as the object of the greatestEmperor's love and the mother of his son, she had so long felt thatshe was reluctantly tolerated, and not really recognised in the circleswhich should have been hers also. Moreover, the consciousness ofexercising an art over which she had once attained a mastery, yet neverbeing able to shake off the painful doubt whether the applause thatgreeted her performance was genuine, spoiled many a pleasant hour.

  Still, all these things had probably been only the tribute which she wascompelled to pay for the proud joy of being the mother of such a son.

  Now she at last felt safe from these malicious little attacks. She hadgained a good social position; she was not only valued as a singer, butalways sought wherever the women of Ghent were earnestly pursuing musicand singing. The invitation to the Rassinghams flung wide the doorswhich had formerly been closed against her, and she might be sure of notbeing deemed the least important among the ladies of her party to whosehearts the cause of King and Church was dear.

  When she returned to Ghent, even if Don John had not been appointedgovernor, she might even have ventured to make her house the rendezvousof the heads of the royalist party.

  But now that her son entered the Netherlands as the leader, therepresentative of the sovereign, to reign in Philip's name, everythingshe could wish was attained, and his father's "More, farther," had lostall meaning for her.

  She could meet her happy son as a happy mother; she said this to herselfwith a long breath. These thoughts had animated her restless halfslumber during the nocturnal drive, and she still dwelt upon them allthe following day.

  Toward evening they reached Luxemburg. At the gate, where every carriagewas stopped, the guards asked her name.

  At the reply the inspector of taxes bowed profoundly, and signed to theSpanish officer behind him.

  He was waiting for her, by the command of the captain-general, wholonged to see her, and with the utmost courtesy undertook the office ofguide.

  Then the carriage rolled on again, and turned into the magnificent parkof a palace, which belonged to the royal governor, Prince Peter Ernstv
on Mansfeld.

  A gentleman dressed in black, whose bright eyes revealed an active mind,while the expression of his well-formed features inspired confidence,Don John's private secretary, Escovedo, of whose shrewdness and fidelityBarbara had often heard, ushered her into the apartments assigned toher.

  In two hours, he said, the captain-general would be happy to receiveher. He first wished her to rest completely after the fatiguing journey.

  Barbara dismissed, without making use of their services, the pages whomhe placed at her disposal. The more than luxurious meal which was servedsoon afterward she scarcely touched; the impetuous throbbing of herheart choked her breathing so that she could scarcely speak to Lamperi.

  With eager zeal the maid tried to induce her to put on the fresh andextremely tasteful Brussels gala robe. The candlesticks, with thedozens of candles, the elegant silver dishes, the whole manner of thereception, led her to make the suggestion. But Barbara had scarcelynoticed these magnificent things.

  Her every thought and feeling centred upon the son whom she was nowactually to see with her own eyes, whose hand she would touch, whosevoice she would hear.

  The splendid costume did not suit such a meeting after a longseparation, so solemn a festal hour of the heart.

  A heavy black silk which she had brought was more appropriate for thisoccasion. Only she allowed the pomegranate blossoms, which had remainedperfectly fresh, to be fastened on her breast, that her dress might notlook like mourning. While Lamperi was putting the last touches to hertoilet, a priest came for her, as Escovedo had arranged, exactly twohours after her arrival. This was Father Dorante, Don John's confessor,an elderly man with a face in which earnest piety was so happily mingledwith kindly cheerfulness that Barbara rejoiced to know that such aguardian of souls was at her son's side.

  While he was descending the stairs with her, Barbara noticed one of thesearching glances he secretly cast at her, and wondered what this man'spure, keen eyes had probably discovered.

  The spacious apartment into which she was now ushered was hung withcostly bright-hued Oriental rugs.

  "Gifts from the widow of the Turkish lord high admiral," the priestwhispered, pointing to the superb textures, and Barbara nodded. Sheknew how he had obtained them, but the passionate agitation of her souldeprived her of the power to inform the monk of this knowledge, of whichprobably she would usually have boasted to a friend of her son so worthyof all respect.

  The folding doors of the adjoining room were open. Surely John wasthere, and how gladly she would have rushed toward it! But the confessorasked her to sit down, as the captain-general still had several ordersto give. Then he entered the other room.

  Barbara, panting for breath, looked after him and, as she glancedthrough the open door, it seemed as though her heart stood still.

  Yonder aristocratic gentleman, in the full prime of youthful beauty,must be her son.

  The man from whom she had so long been parted looked like the apparitionof the Count Egmont, at whom she had once gazed full of admiration, withthe wish that her John might resemble him; only she thought her John,with his open brow and floating, waving golden locks, far handsomer thanthe unfortunate victor of St. Quentin and Gravelines.

  How noble and yet how easy was the bearing of the dignitary, who wasstill less than thirty years old!

  His figure was only slightly above middle height. What gave it the airof such royal stateliness?

  Certainly it was not merely his dress, which consisted wholly of velvet,silk, and satin, with the gold of the Fleece that hung below the laceruff at his throat. True, the colours of the costume were becoming.Dark violet and golden yellow alternated in the slashed doublet and widebreeches. His father had worn similar apparel when he confessed his lovefor her.

  Should Barbara regard this as a good omen or an evil one?

  He was not yet aware of her arrival for, completely absorbed in thesubject of their conversation, he was talking with his private secretaryEscovedo.

  How animated his beautiful features became! how leonine he looked whenhe indignantly shook his head with its wealth of golden hair!

  Oh, yes! Women's hearts must indeed fly to him, and Barbara nowunderstood what she had heard of the beautiful Diana of Sorrento, andthe no less beautiful Alaria Mendoza, and their love for him.

  Thus she had imagined him. Yet no! His outer man, in its proud patricianbeauty and winning charm, even surpassed her loftiest expectation. Onething alone surprised her: the seriousness of his youthful features andthe lines upon his lofty brow.

  Why did her favourite of fortune bear these traces of former anxieties?

  Now the priest interrupted him. Had he told her John of her entrance?

  Yet that was scarcely possible, for his face revealed no trace of filialpleasure. On the contrary. He rallied his courage, as if he were aboutto step into a cold river, straightened himself, and pressed hisright hand, clinched into a fist, upon his hip. Perhaps--the saints bepraised!--Father Dorante might have reminded him of something else, forhe turned to Escovedo again and gave him an order.

  Then he waved his hand, flung back his handsome head as King Philip wasin the habit of doing, but in a far nobler, freer manner, hastily passedhis hand through his wavy hair, as if to strengthen his courage, andthen walked slowly, with haughty, almost arrogant dignity, to the door.

  On the threshold he paused and looked at her. How bright were thelarge blue eyes which now gazed at Barbara with an expression far moresearching than joyous.

  Yet even while, with one hand resting on the back of the chair and theother pressed upon her panting bosom, she was striving to find the rightwords, Don John's glance brightened.

  She was not mistaken. He had dreaded this meeting, and now with joyfulsurprise was asking himself whether this could be the woman who had beendescribed to him as a showy, extremely whimsical, perverse person, whoused her son's renown to obtain access to aristocratic houses and asmany pleasures as possible.

  She must at any rate have been remarkably beautiful, and how wonderfullyher delicately chiselled features had retained a charm which is usuallypeculiar to youth! how well the now dull gold of her thick tressesharmonized with the faint flush on the almost unwrinkled face! and howdignified was the bearing of her figure, still slender, in spite of hermatronly increase in flesh!

  No wonder that she had once fired the heart of his distinguished father!Now--that sunny glance could not deceive Barbara--now her appearance hadceased to be unpleasant to him; nay, perhaps even pleased him. And nowshe could bear it no longer; from the inmost depths of her heart rosethe cry: "John, my child! My dear, dear son!"

  Again, with the speed of lightning, the question darted through DonJohn's mind: "Is this the woman whose voice, I was told, offended theear? Spiteful, base slander!" How fervent, how gentle, how full oftender affection her cry had sounded! Not even from the lips of DohaMagdalena, his much-loved "Tia," had his own name ever echoed somusically as from those of yonder woman, whom he had just shrunk frommeeting as though it were an inevitable misfortune.

  Shame, regret, love, seethed hotly within him. It was long since he hadfelt emotion like that which mastered him when her tearful eyes againmet his, and now, in the enthusiastic soul of this favourite of fortune,whose lofty flight neither glory, nor fame, nor disappointment couldparalyze, in the bosom of this good, high-minded young human beingstirred the consciousness that a great new happiness was in store forhim, and from his lips rang the cry for which Barbara had waited so longwith vain yearning, "Mother!" and again "Mother!"

  It seemed to her as if the bright sun had suddenly burst in its full,dazzling radiance from midnight darkness. Three swift steps took her toDon John and, no longer able to control herself, she seized one of thehands which he had extended to her to kiss it; but his chivalrous natureforbade him to permit this, and at the same moment he had obeyed theimpulse to kiss the face upturned to his with such loving tenderness.

  On the way she had pondered long over the question how she shoulda
ddress him; but now she knew that she need not call him "YourExcellency," far less "Your Highness." To impose so severe a constraintupon her poor, poor heart was no longer required and, though interruptedby low sobbing, she again cried with all the fervour of the most tendermaternal love: "My son! My dear, dear child!"

  Then suddenly the words she had vainly sought came voluntarily, and influent speech she told him how her heart had so long consumed itselfwith yearning for him, and that she had now left everything behind toobey his summons; and he thanked her with eager warmth by raising thehand which clasped his to his lips.

  What he desired of her would be hard for her to do, but now that he knewher it was far harder to ask. Yet it must be done, because upon thismight perhaps depend the great hopes which he fixed upon the future, andwhich would atone for what had so cruelly embittered and poisoned thepast.

  Barbara gazed more intently into the noble face whose blooming youthfulbeauty had just delighted her, and in doing so perceived far moredistinctly the sorrowful, anxious expression which she had formerlythought she noticed. In pained surprise she inquired what cause he, whomHeaven had hitherto loaded with its most precious gifts, had to complainof Fate, as whose spoiled favourite she, like all the rest of the world,had believed him happy.

  He laughed softly, but with such keen bitterness that it pierced her tothe heart, and the bright flush with which joy had suffused her cheekssuddenly vanished.

  Her favourite of Fortune indignantly rejected the belief that he hadreason to look back upon his past life with gratitude and pleasure.

  It was incomprehensible and, carried away by the violent agitation whichseized upon her, she described with fiery vivacity how the convictionthat he had gained everything which her hard sacrifice and her prayershad sought, had beautified her life and helped her to bear even the mostpainful trials with quiet submission, nay, with joyous gratitude.

  Stimulated by the power of the extraordinary things which she hadexperienced, she described in a ceaseless flow of vivid words how shehad torn her child from her soul in order to place it in the path whichwas to lead to fame, splendour, and honour--in short, to everything thatadorns and lends value to life.

  "And why, in the name of all the saints," she concluded, "why must I nowtell myself that I endured this great suffering in vain, and that whatfilled my heart with joy was only an idle delusion? Yet I watched yoursteps as the hunter follows the trail of the game. I saw how every freshonset led you to greater splendour, higher renown, and more exaltedgrandeur."

  His cheeks, too, had now flushed. What life was still pulsing in theveins of this woman, already past her youth! with what impressive powershe understood how to describe what moved her! Yet how mistaken wasthe view to which maternal love and the desire of her heart had ledher artist nature! She had seen only the light, not the shadow, thedarkness, the gloom, which had clouded his course of fame.

  To secure splendour and grandeur for him, she had yielded to the mostcruel demand, and what had been the result of this sacrifice? What hadshe gained by it?

  How had the happiness in which she fancied she saw him revelling beenconstituted?

  The power of the newly awakened experiences bore him away also, and hedescribed no less vividly what he had suffered.

  Yes, indeed! He had not lacked great successes, far-reaching renown,high honours, and some degree of glory. But what a tale he--not yetthirty--now related! He, the son of an Emperor, the brother of apowerful King, who was adorned by as many crowns as there were fingerson his hand!

  He had been King Philip's servant and useful commander in chief, nothingmore.

  And now he described the sovereign's cold nature, unfeeling calculation,and offensive suspicion. He, Don John, the not all unworthy son of thegreat Emperor Charles, was not born to obey all his life, and allowhimself to be turned to account, worn out, and abused for the benefit ofanother. He, too, might lay claim to the right of governing a kingdom ofhis own as its ruler, benefactor, and Mehrer.

  After Lepanto, the crowns of the Morea and Albania had been offered tohim. Then, after he had conquered Tunis for his brother Philip, he hadwished to reign over that country as its king. Had it been ceded to him,large provinces would have been taken from the infidels. This, it mighthave been supposed, was sufficient reason for Philip to intrust it tohis government. But although the Holy Father in Rome and other rulershad recognised the justice of these wishes, his royal brother could notbe persuaded to grant his just demands, and destroyed these hopes withcruel coldness. He had not even been induced to recognise him as Infant,as a lawful member of his family.

  With trivial pretexts, and promises which he never intended to fulfil,the hypocritical, selfish, niggardly man had repulsed, delayed, and puthim off.

  So his life had been spoiled by the most cruel disappointments, by asuccession of the bitterest wrongs. Since Lepanto, no pure happinesshad bloomed again for him. He was a miserable, disappointed, ill-treatedman, who could never regain his former happiness until he obtained, onhis own account, what he himself called greatness, honour, glory, andpower. The gifts, no, the more than well-earned payments for which hewas indebted to the King, were only a bodiless shadow, a caricature ofthese lofty gifts of Heaven.

  His mother, alarmed, cried in terror, "What an ambition!"

  But Don John, with increasing excitement, exclaimed: "Yes, mother! Iam so ambitious that, if I knew there was another man who more ardentlydesired renown and honour, I would throw myself out of this window. 'Whodoes not struggle ward, falls back!' has long been my motto, and I amstruggling upward and know the goal."

  A startling suspicion seized Barbara, and with anxious caution shewhispered:

  "Do I see aright? You have learned from Flanders and Brabant howbitterly King Philip is hated there, and you now hope to contend withhim for the crown of the Netherlands? The victory you, my hero, mygeneral, you would surely attain--" But here she was interrupted.

  Don John cut short her words with the cry, "Mother!" and then went onindignantly: "If any one else had given me this advice, I woulddeprive him of any inclination to repeat it. God granted Don Philip thesovereignty. My oath, my honour, forbid me to rise against him. He haslost all claim to my love, my gratitude, but he is sure of the fidelityof his ill-treated brother. Besides," he added proudly, "my wishes mounthigher."

  Barbara had listened to her son with the utmost eagerness; now, taking alocket from the breast of his doublet, he whispered:

  "Do you know whom this lovely picture represents? No? Well, these arethe features of the fairest and most unfortunate of women. Mary Stuart,the hapless Queen of Scotland, the devout, patient sufferer for our holyfaith, looks at you from this frame. She does not refuse me her hand.The Holy Father in Rome and the Guises in France approve the boldenterprise; but I shall take the army under my command by sea toEngland. I am sure of victory in this conflict. With the most beautifulof women, I shall gain the crown which I need and which will best suitme."

  "John!" Barbara exclaimed, carried away by the daring of this proposal,and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "This desire is worthy of you andyour great father. If I can aid you in its realization----"

  "You can," Don John eagerly interrupted; "for the first step is to gainthe consent of the States-General to despatch the army, which must nowbe sent back to Spain, thither by sea. When the troops are once on theway they will steer to England, instead of southward. But even to embarkthese forces I shall need the consent of the representatives of thecountry. Therefore, difficult as it is for me, the words must beuttered: Your residence in the provinces will prevent my obtaining it.Spare me the mention of my reasons; but the circumstance that you alwaysopened your house to the Spanish party must fill the King's enemies withdistrust of you. Besides, it is scarcely credible; but you must believeEscovedo, to whom I owe this information. How petty people in theprovinces can be about such matters! An edict was recently issued whichcommands the removal of every official who can not prove that the unionof the parents who gave him
life was consecrated by the Holy Church.Alas, mother, that I should be compelled to wound you at our firstmeeting! But if your love is as great as your every glance tells me, asyou have just confessed with such touching warmth----"

  "And as I shall confess," she cried impetuously, "so long as a singlebreath stirs this bosom; for I love you, John--love you with all thestrength of this poor, sorely tortured soul. But, child, child! What youask of me--It comes so unexpectedly--you have no suspicion how deeply itpierces into the very heart of my life. I must leave the country whichhas become my home, the city where prejudice and enmity greeted me, andwhere I have now obtained the position that befits me. A venerable sickman is in my house, longing for the return of the nurse who left him foryour sake. My poor--The rest that I must cast aside and abandon ismore than I can enumerate now. Nor could I, this request bewilders meso--Give rue a little time to collect my thoughts, for you see--But ifyou look at me so, John, I can--Yet no!--It certainly is not necessarythat I should say yes or no at once. I must first learn whetheryou--whether the sacrifice I made for your glory and grandeur--it was inLandshut, you know--whether it was really so useless, whether you are inreality as unhappy as you, the fame-crowned, beloved, and lauded childof an Emperor, would have me believe, or whether--Forgive me, John, butbefore I make this terribly difficult decision I must--yes, I must seeclearly. As surely as your hero soul harbours no falsity, it would beunworthy of you to show your mother a distorted image of your innerlife; you must confess whether you--"

  "Whether," Don John, with a smile of sorrowful bitterness, hereinterrupted the deeply troubled woman--"whether, in order to soften yourheart, I am not painting in blacker colours than reality requires. Oh,how little you know me yet! I would rather this tongue should witherthan that I should unchivalrously permit it to deviate one straw'sbreadth from the truth in order to attain a selfish purpose. No, mother!My description of the grief which often overpowers this soul was far toolukewarm. If your first sacrifice was intended to make me a happy man,its effect was no stronger than the light of the candle which is burnedamid the radiance of the noonday sun. Perhaps I should have been happierhad I been allowed to grow up in modest circumstances under your tendercare; for then my course would have been long and steep, and I shouldhave been forced to climb many steps to reach the point where barriersare fixed to ambition. But as it is, I began at the place which many ofthe best men regard as the highest goal. The great man whom you lovedunderstood life better than you. Had I obeyed his wish, and in thestillness of the cloister striven for blessings which do not belong tothis world, this miserable existence would have seemed less unendurableto me, then doubtless a much wider space would have separated me fromdespair; for I am so unhappy, mother, that I envy the poor peasant whoin the sweat of his brow gathers the harvest which his sterile fieldsproduce; for years I have been as wretched as the captive lion inits cage, the lover whose bride is torn from him on the marriage day.Imagine the wish as a woman, and beside her a magician who, by virtue ofthe power which he possesses, cries, 'The fulfilment of every desire youstrive to attain shall be forever withheld,' and you will have an ideaof the devastated existence of the pitiable man who, if it were notsinful, would curse those who gave him the life in which he has longseen nothing save the horrible, jeering spectre of disappointment."

  "Stop!" moaned Barbara sorrowfully, pressing her hand upon her brow asif frantic. "So even my hardest sacrifice was futile, and what renderedlife valuable to my foolish heart was mere delusion and bewilderingdeception. What I beheld raising you to the stars, as though witheagles' wings, was a clogging weight; what seemed to me at a distancethe bright sunshine irradiating your path, was a Will-o'-the-wisp luringto destruction. What I thought white, was black, the radiant daylightwas dusk and the darkness of night. Oh, if it were really granted meYet, child, you certainly do not know what you are asking. So, before itcomes to the final decision, let me put this one more question: Do youbelieve, really and firmly, that if the confidence of the States-Generalpermits you to take your army by sea, and you lead it in England andsucceed in winning the crown and hand of this--whether she is guiltyor not--beautiful, devout, and, whatever errors she has committed,desirable Queen, that the troubles which it is so hard for yourambitious soul to bear will then vanish? When you have won the womanfor whom you yearn, the throne, and the sceptre, will your sore heartbe healed and happiness make its joyous entry, and also remain in yoursoul, that is so hard to satisfy? For--I see and feel it--it is carriedaway by the 'More, farther,' of your father. Can you, my John, have youreally the firm conviction that, if this lofty desire is fulfilled, youwill be content and believe that you have found the summit and the limitof your feverish struggle upward and forward?"

  "Yes, and again yes," cried Don John in a tone of immovably firm belief,while his large eyes beamed upon his mother with an expression of fulland genuine trust. "The vainglory which your first sacrifice brought mewas the source of this life full of bitter disappointment. The hand ofMary Stuart, the lovely martyr, the woman so lavishly endowed with everymental and physical gift, for whom my heart has yearned ever since I sawher picture, and the crown of England, the symbol of genuine majesty,will transform disappointment into the fulfilment which Heaven hashitherto denied me. If these both fall to the lot of the son, themother's sacrifice will not have been in vain; no, it will bring himgolden fruit, for the success of this enterprise will bestow upon yourJohn, besides the fleeting radiance, the sun whence the light emanates.It will raise him to the height to which he aspires, and for which Fatedestined him."

  Here he hesitated, for the agitated face of Escovedo, who entered with adespatch in his hand, showed that something unexpected and startling hadoccurred.

  The secretary, Don John's friend and counsellor, did not allow himselfto be intimidated by the angry gesture with which his master waved himback, but handed him the paper, exclaiming in a tone ringing withthe horror the news had inspired: "Antwerp attacked by his Majesty'srebellious troops, those in Alst, headed by their Eletto--burned toashes, plundered, destroyed!"

  With a hasty snatch Don John seized the parchment announcing themisfortune, and read it, panting for breath.

  The Council of Antwerp had addressed it to King Philip, and sent a copyto him, the newly appointed governor.

  When he let the hand which held the paper fall, he was deadly pale, andgazed around him as though seeking assistance.

  Then his eyes met those of his mother who, seized with anxious fears,was watching his every movement, and he handed her the fatal sheet, withthe half-sorrowful, half-disdainful exclamation:

  "And I am to lead this abused people back to love the man who sent themthe Duke of Alba, that he might heal their wounds with his pitiless ironhand, and who let the poor, brave fellows in his service starve and goin rags until, in fierce despair, they seized for themselves what theiremployer denied."

  The sheet Barbara's son had handed to her trembled in her hand as sheread half aloud: "It is the greatest commercial city in Europe, thefosterer of art, knowledge, manufactures, and the Catholic faith, whichnever wavered in obedience to the King, hurled in a single day from theheight of honour and happiness to a gulf of misery, and become a den ofrobbers and murderers, who know nothing of God and the King. Old men,women, and children have been slaughtered by them without distinction,the goods belonging partly to foreign owners have been stolen andburned, and the magnificent Town Hall, with all its treasures ofdocuments and patents, has become a prey of the flames."

  "Horrible! horrible!" cried Barbara, and Don John repeated her words,and added in a hollow tone: "And this happened yesterday, on theselfsame Sunday which saw me ride into the Netherlands! These are thebonfires which redden the heavens on my arrival!"

  "William of Orange will call them incendiary flames crying aloud forvengeance," fell in half-stifled accents from Barbara's lips.

  "And this time with some reason," replied Don John in a tone of assent,"for the men who kindled them are mercenaries of the King, formerlyo
ur own troops, who have been driven to desperation." Then he continuedpassionately: "And Philip sends me--me, a man of the sword--to theseprovinces. What is the warrior to do here? This blade is too goodto deal the death-blow to the body which is already bleeding from athousand wounds. If, nevertheless, I did it, I should destroy the mostproductive fountain of the King's wealth. It is not a man who can fightand command an army and a navy that is needed here, but a woman whounderstands how to mediate and to heal. The King sent me to this countrynot to gather fresh laurels, but to be shipwrecked, and with bleedingbrow return defeated. Oh, I see through him! But I also know--Heaven bepraised!--what I owe to myself, my father's son. If the States-Generalpermit me to take the troops away by sea, I will gain the woman and thecrown that are beckoning to me in another country, and his Majesty maysend a more pliant regent of either sex to the provinces to continuethe battle with William of Orange, who fights with weapons which mystraightforward nature and firm sword ill understand how to meet. Thissheet places the decision before me. Real, genuine glory, the fairest ofwives, and a proud crown--or defeat and ruin."

  The close of this outpouring of the young hero's heart sounded like amanly, irrevocable resolution; but his mother laid her hand upon hisarm, and said quietly, "I will go."

  A sunny glance of gratitude from her son rested upon her; she, however,only bent her head slightly and went on as calmly as if she had foundthe strength to be content, but with warm affection:

  "My first sacrifice was vain. May the second not only aid you to gainthe splendour of a crown, but, above all, instil into your soul thesatisfaction with that longed-for highest happiness which your mother'sheart desires for you!"

  Then Don John obeyed the mighty impulse of his soul to pour forth to hismother the gratitude and love which her unselfish retirement wrungfrom him. His arms clasped her closely and tenderly, and never hadhe rewarded even his foster-mother in Villagarcia for her love andfaithfulness with a more affectionate kiss.

  "My gratitude will die only with myself," he cried as he released her."Blessed be the day on which I found my own mother! It led you, dearlady, not only to your John, but to his love."

  Escovedo, moved to the depths of his heart, had listened in surpriseto this outburst of feeling from the famous son of the Emperor, whomhe loved, to whom he had devoted his fine intellect and wealth ofexperience, and for whom it was appointed that he should die.

  Thus ended Don John's meeting with his mother, which he had dreaded asan inevitable evil. Alba, who described her as an extremely obstinatewoman, had advised him to use a stratagem to induce her to yield to hiswish and leave the Netherlands. He was to represent that his sister, theDuchess Margaret, who was holding her court at Aquila, in the AbruzziMountains, invited her to visit her in order to make her acquaintance.She would not resist this summons, for she had often made her way tothe government building, and took special pleasure in the society of thearistocratic Spaniards. When she was once on board a ship, she wouldbe obliged to submit to being carried to Spain, whence her return couldeasily be prevented.

  To set such a snare for this woman had been impossible for Don John.Truth and love had sufficed to induce her to fulfil his wish.

  Senor Escovedo had witnessed much that was noble during this hour, butespecially a mother whom in the future he could remember with gratitudeand joy; for Don John's confidant knew that of all he saw and heard herenot a word was false and feigned, yet he knew better than any other manhis master's heart and every look. Barbara, too, believed her son noless confidently, and as the shout of victory reaches combatants lyingon the ground, wounded by lances and arrows, the cry of a secret voicewithin her soul, sorely as she was stricken, great as was the sacrificeand suffering which she had imposed upon herself, called upon her torejoice in the highest of all gifts--the love of her child, to whomhitherto she had been only a dreaded stranger.

  She could not yet obtain a clear insight into the result of the promisewhich she had given her son; it seemed as though a veil was drawn overher active mind.

  Yet again and again she asked herself what power could have induced herto grant so quickly and unconditionally to the son a demand which inher youth she would have refused, with defiant opposition, even to hisardently loved father. But she took as little trouble to find the answeras she felt regret for her compliance.

  The world to which she returned after this hour had gained a newaspect. She had not understood the real nature of the former one. Theexclamation which her son's confession had elicited she still believedafter long reflection. What she had deemed great, was small; what hadseemed to her light and brilliant, was dark. What she had consideredworthy of the greatest sacrifice was petty and trivial; no fountainof joy, but a fierce torrent of new wishes constantly surpassing oneanother. With their boundless extent they had of necessity remainedunfulfilled. Thus woe on woe, and at the same time the painfullyparalyzing feeling of the hostility of Fate had been evoked from itssurges and, instead of happiness, they had brought sorrow and suffering.

  Pride in such a son had been the delight of her life; henceforth, shefelt it, she must seek her happiness, her joys, elsewhere, and sheknew also where, and realized that she was receiving higher for smallerthings. Instead of sharing his renown, she had gained the right to sharehis misfortune and his griefs.

  The more and the more eagerly she pondered in silence, the more surelyshe perceived that earthly glory and magnificence, which she hadthought the greatest blessings, were only a series of sunbeams, swiftlyfollowing one another, which would be clouded by one shadow after theother until darkness and oblivion ingulfed them.

  Like every outward splendour, fame dazzles the eyes of men. It would dimher son's--she knew it now--whether he looked backward to the past orforward to the future. The greatness he had gained he overlooked; whatawaited him in the future, having lost his clearness of vision andimpartiality, he was disposed to overvalue.

  From her eyes, on the contrary, this knowledge removed veil after veil.

  It was a vain delusion which led him to the belief that the Scottishand English crowns possessed the power to render him happy, and end hisstruggle for new and higher honours; for royalty also belonged to theglory whose worthlessness she now perceived as plainly as the reflectionof her own face in the surface of the mirror.

  Barbara saw her son for only a few more fleeting hours; the "Spanishfury" which destroyed the flower of Antwerp doubled his business cares,forbade any delay, and imperiously claimed his whole time and strength.

  The mother watched his honest labours sorrowfully. She knew that thechivalrous champion of the faith, the sincere enthusiast, to whomnothing was higher than honour and the stainless purity of his name,must succumb to his most eminent foe, the Prince of Orange, with histireless, inventive, thoroughly statesmanlike intellect, which preservedthe power of seeing in the darkness, and did not shrink from deceitwhere it would promote the great cause which she did not understand, butto which he consecrated every drop of his heart's blood, every penny ofhis property.

  Her son came to the country as a Spaniard and the brother of the hatedPhilip on the day of the most abominable crime history ever narrated,and which his followers committed; and who stood higher in the hearts ofthe people of the Netherlands than their beloved helper in need, their"Father William"?

  She saw her son go to this hopeless conflict like a garlanded victim tothe altar. She had nothing to aid him save her prayers and the executionof the heavy sacrifice which she had resolved to make. The collapse ofher belief, wishes, and expectations produced a transformation of herwhole nature. A world of ideas had crumbled into fragments before andwithin her, and from their ruins a new one suddenly sprang up in herstrong soul. Where yesterday her warlike temper had defied or resisted,to-day she retired with lowered weapons. To contend against her son, andforce her new knowledge upon him, would have seemed to her foolish andfruitless, for she desired and expected nothing more from him than thathe should keep for her the love she had won.

  So
she yielded to his desire without resistance. However his destinymight turn, he should be obliged to admit that his mother had omittednothing in her power to open to him the path which, according to his ownopinion, might lead to the height for which he longed.

  She made use of his affectionate readiness to serve her only so far asto beg him to take charge of her son Conrad. He did so willingly, andendeavoured to induce the young man to enter the priesthood. He wishedto spare him the disappointments which had marred his own life, butConrad preferred the army.

  His mother did not forget him, and did everything in her power for him.He remained on terms of affectionate union with her, but he did notsee her again until the gold of her hair was changed to silver, and hehimself had risen to the rank of colonel.

  This was to happen in Spain. Barbara had gone there by way of Genoaunder the escort of Count Faconvergue, commander of the Germanmercenaries, and while doing so had been treated with the respect anddistinguished consideration which was her due as the mother of Don Johnof Austria, who had now acknowledged her.

  Like every other wish of her son, Barbara had fulfilled with quietindulgence his desire that she would not again enter the Netherlands andGhent.

  From Luxemburg she directed what should be done with her house, herservants, and the recipients of her alms. Hannibal Melas relieved herof the care of Maestro Feys, which she had undertaken, and under hisfaithful nursing the old musician was granted many more years of life.The Maltese also distributed among her poor the large sums which thesale of Barbara's property produced.

  In Spain she was received with the utmost consideration by the Marquisde la Mota, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa's brother, and later by the ladyherself. But at first there was no real bond of affection between thesewomen, and this was Barbara's fault, for Dona Magdalena's experiencewas the same as Don John's. She perceived with shame how greatly she hadundervalued Don John's mother--nay, how much she had wronged her--buther sedulous efforts to make amends for the error produced an effectupon Barbara different from her expectations; for the great lady'smanner seemed like a confession of guilt, and kept alive the memory ofthe anguish of soul which Dona Magdalena had so often inflicted uponher.

  The early death of the young hero whom both loved so tenderly first drewthem together. Barbara had witnessed with very different feelings fromDona Magdalena and her brother how the former regarded every false stepof Don John, and especially that of his expedition to England, as aheavy misfortune, and as such bewailed it. Dona Magdalena had beenfirmly convinced that the spell of fame which surrounded the victor ofLepanto, and the irresistible lovableness characteristic of his wholenature, would finally win the hearts of the Netherlanders, and eveninduce the Prince of Orange, whose friendship Don John himself hoped togain, to join hands with him in the attempt to work for the welfare ofhis country.

  Barbara knew that this expectation deceived him.

  Toleration and liberty were the blessings which the Prince of Orangedesired to win for his people, and both were hateful to her son, rearedat the Spanish court, as she herself saw in them an encroachment uponthe just demands of the Church and the claims of royalty. Fire and watercould harmonize more easily than these two men, and Barbara foresawwhich of them in this conflict would be the extinguishing flood.

  She perceived how waterfall after waterfall was quenching the flameswhich burned in Don John's honest soul for the supposed welfare of thenation intrusted to him. He was reaping hatred, scorn, and humiliationwherever he had hoped to win love and gratitude in the Netherlands. Hisroyal brother left him in the lurch where he was entitled to depend uponhis assistance. But when Philip let the mask fall and showed openly howdeeply he distrusted the glorious son of his dead father, and to whata degree his ill will had risen--when he committed the cruel crime ofhaving Escovedo, the devoted, loyal friend and counsellor of the victorof Lepanto, assassinated in Madrid, where he had come to labour in hismaster's cause--the most ambitious and sensitive of hearts received thedeathblow which was to put an end to his famous career and his younglife.

  Scarcely two years after Barbara's meeting with Don John, the EmperorCharles's hero son died. Even in the Netherlands he had remained to thelast victor on the battlefield. Alessandro Farnese, his dearest friend,his companion in youth, in study, and in war, had valiantly supportedhim with his good sword; but his faithful friendship had been unable toheal the sufferings which wore out Don John's strong body and brave soulwhen, to the severest political failures, was added the bloody treacheryof his royal brother.

  The death of this son doubtless first taught Barbara with what cruelanguish a mother's heart can be visited; but her John had not reallydied to her. Accustomed to love him from a distance, she continued tolive in and with him, and in her thoughts and dreams he remained herown.

  At first, without leaving the lay condition, she had joined theDominican Sisters in the Convent of Santa Maria la Real at Cebrian; buteven the slight constraint which life behind stone walls imposed uponher still seemed unendurable, so she retired to the little city ofColindres, in the district of Loredo. There stood the deserted houseof Escovedo, the murdered friend and counsellor of her John and, aseverything under its roof reminded her of the beloved dead, it seemedthe most fitting spot in which to pass the remnant of her days. In itshe led an independent but quiet, secluded life. She spent only a fewmaravedis for her own wants, while she used the thousands of ducatswhich, after her son's death, King Philip awarded her as an annualincome, to make life easier for the poor and the sick whom sheaffectionately sought out.

  With every tear she dried she believed that she was showing the besthonour to her son's memory.

  She was denied the pleasure of placing a flower upon his grave, for KingPhilip had done his dead brother the honour which he withheld from himduring life and, though only as a corpse, received him among the membersof his illustrious race. His coffin had been entombed in the cold familyvault of the Escurial, where no sunbeam enters.

  But Barbara needed no place associated with his person in order toremember him; she always felt near him, and memories were the vitalair which nourished her soul. Music remained the best ornament of hersolitary existence, and never did the forms of the son and the fathercome nearer to her than when she sang the songs--or in after yearsplayed them on the harp and lute--to which her imperial lover had likedto listen.

  The memory of her John's father now taught her to change the "More,farther," of his motto into the maxim, "Learn to be content," the memoryof the son, that every sacrifice which we make for the happiness ofanother is futile if, besides splendour and glory, fame and honour, itdoes not also gain the spiritual blessings whose possession first lendsthose gifts genuine value. These much-envied favours of Fortune hadlittle to do with the indestructible monument which she erected inher heart to her son and her lover. What built it and lent it eternalendurance were the modest gifts of the heart.

  She now knew the names of the blessings which might have guided her boyto a loftier happiness and, full of the love which even death could notassail and lessen, mourned by many, Barbara Blomberg, at an advancedage, closed her eyes upon the world.

  ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

  A live dog is better than a dead king Always more good things in a poor family which was once rich Attain a lofty height from which to look down upon others Before learning to obey, he was permitted to command Catholic, but his stomach desired to be Protestant (Erasmus) Dread which the ancients had of the envy of the gods Grief is grief, and this new sorrow does not change the old one Harder it is to win a thing the higher its value becomes No happiness will thrive on bread and water Shuns the downward glance of compassion That tears were the best portion of all human life The blessing of those who are more than they seem The greatness he had gained he overlooked To the child death is only slumber Who does not struggle hard, falls back Whoever will not hear, must feel

 
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