The winter came and passed. Instead of leaving the Netherlands, the
Emperor Charles remained nearly a year in Brussels. He lived in a modest
house in Lion Street and, although he had resigned the sovereignty,
nothing was done in the domain of politics to which he had not given his
assent.
Barbara, more domestic than ever before, was leading a dream life, in
which she dwelt more with her beloved dead and her child in Spain than
with her family at home. She thought of the boy's father sometimes with
bitter resentment, sometimes with quiet pity. Outward circumstances
rendered it easier for her to conceal these feelings, for Pyramus
attributed the melancholy mood which sometimes overpowered her to grief
for her father.
Her husband left the settlement of the business connected with her
inheritance solely to her. There were many letters to be written and,
as she had become unfamiliar with this art, Hannibal faithfully aided
her.
Dr. Hiltner, of Ratisbon, to whom, in spite of his heretical belief, she
intrusted the legal business of the estate, acted wisely and promptly in
her behalf. Thus the sale of the house which she had purchased for the
dead man, and the disposal of her father's share in the Blomberg
business, brought her far more money than she had expected.
It seemed as though Fate desired to compensate her by outward prosperity
for the secret sorrow which, in spite of her husband's affectionate
solicitude and the thriving growth of her two boys, she could not shake
off.
In one respect she regarded the money which this winter brought her as a
genuine blessing, for it seemed to invite her to go to Ems and do all in
her power for the restoration of her voice. The hoarseness was now
barely perceptible in her speech, and Dr. Mathys, whom she visited in
April, encouraged her, and told her of really marvellous cures wrought by
the famous old springs.
When May came and the trees and shrubs in leafy Brussels adorned
themselves with new buds, she could not help thinking more frequently,
as usual in this month, of her wasted love and of the man for whom it had
bloomed and who had destroyed it. So she liked to pass through Lion
Street in her walks, for it led her by his house. She might easily meet
him again there, and she longed to see his face once more before the
departure for Spain, which would remove him from her sight forever.
And behold! One sunny noon he was borne toward her in a litter. She
stopped as though spellbound, bowing profoundly; her glance as he passed
met his, and he waved his emaciated hand--yes, she was not mistaken--he
waved it to her.
For an instant it seemed as if a crimson rose had bloomed in the midst of
winter snows. She had been as sure that he had not forgotten her as that
she herself had not ceased to think of him.
Now her confidence was, as it were, confirmed by letter and seal, and
this made her happy.
The man in the litter had been only the wreck of the Charles whom she
loved; even the fiery light in his eyes, though not extinguished, had
appeared subdued and veiled. Other women would probably have thought him
repulsively plain, but what did she care for his looks? Each of them was
still a part of the other, for her image lived in his soul, as his dwelt
in hers.
Barbara did not take as long a walk as usual; but when she was again
approaching the house occupied by the abdicated sovereign, Dr. Mathys
came toward her. The expression of his broad, dignified face suited the
bright May morning; nay, she imagined that his step was lighter and less
sedate than usual.
During the whole decade which they had known each other he had never
flattered her, but to-day, after the first greeting, he began his
conversation with the question:
"Do you know, Frau Barbara, that you were never more beautiful and
charming than just at this very time? Perhaps it is the mourning which
is so becoming to your pink-and-white complexion and the somewhat subdued
lustre of your golden hair. But why do I feed your vanity with such
speeches? Because I think that our gracious lord, who for many a long
day has not bestowed even the least side glance upon any of your
bewitching sex, noticed the same thing. And now you will presently be
obliged to admit that the old messenger of bad news in Ratisbon, whom you
requited so ill for his unpleasant errand, can also bring good tidings;
for the Emperor Charles--in spite of the abdication, he will always be
that until he, too, succumbs to the power which makes us all equal--his
Majesty sends you his greetings, and the message that he desires to do
what he can to restore to you the art in which you attained such rare
mastery. He places at your disposal--this time, at least, he was not
economical--a sum which will take you to the healing springs four or five
times, nay, oftener still."
Barbara had listened thus far, speechless with joyful surprise. If it
was Charles to whom she owed her recovery, the gift of song which it
restored would possess tenfold value for her, if that was conceivable.
She was already beginning to charge the leech to be the bearer of her
gratitude and joy, but he did not let her finish, and went on to mention
the condition which his Majesty attached to this gift.
Barbara must never mention it to any one, and must promise the physician
to refrain from all attempts to thank him either in person or by letter
in short, to avoid approaching him in any way.
The old physician had communicated this stipulation--which his royal
patient had strictly associated with the gift--to Barbara in the emphatic
manner peculiar to him, but she had listened, at first in surprise, then
with increasing indignation. The donation which, as a token of
remembrance and kind feeling, had just rendered her so happy, now
appeared like mere alms. Nay, the gift would make her inferior to the
poorest beggar, for who forbids the mendicant to utter his "May God
reward you"?
Charles kept her aloof as if she were plague-stricken. Perhaps it was
because he feared that if he saw her once he might desire a second and a
third meeting. But no matter. She would accept no aid at the cost of so
severe an offence to her pride, least of all when it came from the man
who had already wounded her soul often and painfully enough.
The startled physician perceived what was passing in her mind, and when,
not passionately as in her youth, but with cool composure, she requested
Dr. Mathys to tell his master that it would be as impossible for her to
accept a gift for which she could not express her thanks as to give alms
without wishing well to the recipient, the leech eagerly endeavoured to
persuade her to use the sum bestowed according to the donor's wish. But
Barbara firmly persisted in her refusal, and when she parted from the old
man he could not be angry with her, for, as in the garden of the little
Prebrunn castle, he could not help saying to himself that the wrong was
not wholly on the side of the independent young woman.
The result in this case was the usual one when the weaker party succeeds
in maintaining itself against the superior power of the stronger.
Barbara set out on her way home with her head proudly erect, but she soon
asked herself whether this victory was not too dearly purchased. In a
few months John was to meet his father, and then might there not be cause
to fear that the opposition which she, his mother, had offered to the
Emperor, in order to escape an offence to her own pride, would prove an
injury to the son? She stopped, hesitating; but after a brief period of
reflection, she continued her walk. What she had done might vex the
monarch, but it must rather enhance than lower her value in his eyes,
and everything depended upon that. Charles would open the path to high
honours and royal splendour to the son of a haughty mother rather than
to the child of a narrow-minded woman, who would receive a gift without
being suffered to express her thanks.
She had done right, and rejoiced that this time she had obeyed the voice
of her imperious soul. She no longer desired to meet again the man whom
she loved. Her wish to look into his eyes once more before his death or
hers was fulfilled, and his glance, which had certainly been the last
that he could give her, had expressed the kind feeling and forgiveness
for which she had secretly yearned. So what he had done was surely not
intended to wound her. She understood his desire to obtain peace of mind
and his fear of entering into communication with her again, and from this
time it once more became a necessity to her to include him in her
prayers.
She left her home with a lighter heart, better satisfied with herself
than she had been for years. The Emperor Charles could not help thinking
of her now as she desired. The love which she had never wholly withdrawn
was again his, and the feeling of belonging to him exalted her pride and
brightened her clouded soul.
Frau Lamperi accompanied her, and marvelled at her mistress's happy mood.
Besides, the Ems waters and the excellent advice of the physician to
whose care she intrusted herself exerted a beneficial influence upon her
ailment.
Her mourning garb prevented her from taking any part in the gay life of
the watering-place, but she found pleasure in watching it.
When she returned to Brussels, Pyramus thought she looked as young as
in her girlhood, and every wish that her husband fancied he could read
in her eyes was gratified with loving eagerness.
But the preparations for war against France allowed him only a short time
to remain in Brussels, and during his absence Barbara enjoyed unlimited
freedom.
The Emperor had sailed for Spain, Queen Mary had retired from the
regency, and Duke Emanuel Philibert of Savoy had taken it in her place.
King Philip remained in the Netherlands, and it was said in his praise
that he showed the boundless arrogance characteristic of him in a less
offensive way, and had acquired more affable manners.
Barbara often longed to seek an audience with him.
But what would it avail?
Philip was perhaps the very person who would be glad to have his half-
brother disappear in a monastery.
Yet the yearning to hear some news of her child would not be silenced.
Of the distant Emperor, who was said to be near his end, and spent his
days and sleepless nights in the monastery of San Yuste in prayer and
severe mortification, as the most pious of monks, she thought with
sympathizing affection.
The following year Barbara went to Ems again, this time no longer in
mourning robes, but scarcely less magnificently attired than many a
Rhenish noble's wife, who was also seeking health and amusement there.
The property she had inherited, and which the conscientious Pyramus would
not touch, and Frau Lamperi's skilful fingers had accomplished this.
Though the materials which she selected were not the most costly, her
aristocratic bearing made them appear valuable. She still possessed the
pearl necklace and other ornaments of more prosperous days, and on festal
occasions they did not remain in a chest.
She by no means lacked notice, partly on her own account, partly in
consequence of the conversations with which Granvelle, who visited the
springs for a short time, honoured her, while he kept entirely aloof from
all the other guests. This favour on the part of so famous and powerful
a statesman induced many of the most aristocratic ladies and nobles to
seek her, and many who had been attracted solely by curiosity were
charmed with the entertaining sprightliness of the beautiful woman, and
admitted her to their very exclusive circle.
This time the springs proved still more beneficial than when she first
used them, and the hope of soon being able to exercise her beloved art
again gained new and solid foundation.
This occupied a large share of her thoughts, but a still greater one was
filled with the yearning for her John, of whom, in spite of many
inquiries, she could hear nothing.
When, in her quiet home life, the monotony of her days oppressed her more
heavily, she often remembered Ems, and the pleasures and attention which
the next summer there would bring tier. Now that the great, passionate
emotions which had been devoted to others were at rest, she began to
think more of her own person. It seemed desirable to show herself to
advantage, and though she longed for her recovery above all for the sake
of her art and the pleasure which its exercise afforded her, she was
already secretly thinking how she could use it to restore and obtain
satisfaction for her paralyzed self-esteem.
In consequence of the victory of St. Quentin, Brussels was filled with
festal joy; but Barbara took very little part in the numerous festivities
which followed one another, and again went to Ems.
When she returned, much benefited, her first visit was to the Dubois
house in the park. Unfortunately, it was futile; but when, a few weeks
before the battle of Gravelines, she repeated it for the second time, she
met the couple, now advancing in years, out of doors, and saw that some
good fortune had come to them.
Usually she had always been received here with a certain shade of
embarrassment, but to-day her coming seemed to please Herr Adrian. From
the great arm-chair, which he now never left, he held out his hand to
her, and Frau Traut's merry eyes looked a glad welcome.
After the first greetings, they eagerly expressed their joyful amazement
at the clear tones of her voice. Then Frau Dubois exchanged a
significant glance with her husband, and now Barbara learned that a
letter had arrived from San Yuste that very morning, which contained
little except pleasant news of his Majesty and John.
While speaking, Adrian drew from his doublet the precious missive, showed
it to the young wife as cautiously as a fragile ornament which we are
reluctant to let pass out of our hands, and said in an agitated voice:
"The writer is no less a personage than Dona Magdalena de Ulloa. May
Heaven reward her for it!"
Barbara gazed beseechingly into his wrinkled face, and from the inmost
depths of her heart rose the cry: "Oh, let me see it, for I--you know it
--I am his mother!"
"So she is," said the old man in a tone of assent, nodded his long head,
whose hair was now snow-white, and glanced questioningly at his wife.
The answer was an assent.
Adrian clasped his chin--during the period of his service he had always
worn it smooth-shaven, but the white stubble of a full beard was now
growing on it--in his emaciated hand, and asked Barbara if she understood
Spanish.
Her knowledge of it was very slight; but Frau Traut, who, like her
husband, had mastered it during the long years of intercourse with the
Castilian court, now undertook to put the contents of the letter into
German.
This was not difficult, for she had already been obliged to read it aloud
three times to Adrian, who could no longer decipher written characters.
The address was not omitted; it had pleased them both. It ran as
follows:
"To his Majesty's good and faithful servant, Adrian Dubois, from his
affectionate friend of former days, Dona Magdalena de Ulloa, wife of Don
Luis Mendez Quijada, Lady of Villagarcia."
Frau Trout read these noble names aloud to Barbara proudly, as if they
were her own; but before she went on Adrian interrupted--
"As to friendship, you may think, Frau Barbara, that Dona Magdalena is
showing me far too much honour in using those words; but I would still
give my right hand for that lovely creature with her kindly soul. When,
just after Don Luis married her, his Majesty took her young husband
away, she entreated me most earnestly to look after him, and I could
sometimes be of assistance. To be sure, we broke many a piece of bread
together in war and peace in the same service. Ah, Frau Barbara! I am
far better off here than I deserve to be; but sometimes my heart is ready
to break when I think of my Emperor, and that I must leave the care of
him to others."
"But it is hard enough for the major-domo and his Majesty to do without
you," said Frau Traut importantly. "Don Luis, the letter says, would
gladly have written with his own hand, but he had not a single leisure
moment; for, since Adrian had gone, he was obliged to be at hand to serve
his Majesty by day as well as by night. My husband's successor, Bodart,
whom he trained for the service, is skilful and makes every effort, but
he can not replace Adrian to his suffering master."
Then Frau Traut looked more closely at the letter, and began to translate
its contents.
"Of course," she began, "San Yuste is not like Brussels; but if they
think there that his Majesty lives like a monk and submits to the rules
of the monastery, they are misinformed."
Here she lowered the sheet; but Barbara's cheeks were glowing with
impatient interest, and she exclaimed with urgent warmth: "Oh, please,
read on! But where--it is probably in the letter--where is our child?"
"One thing after the other, as the letter communicates it," replied the
translator in a reproving tone; but her husband nodded soothingly to
Barbara, and said:
"Only this first: Our John is near his father, and there is something
especially good about him toward the end. Dona Magdalena is a true
Castilian--first the King, then her husband, then the others according to
their rank. It is different here and in your country. Patience and you,
Frau Barbara, have been bad friends ever since I knew you."
Barbara's sorrowful smile confirmed this statement, and when Frau Traut
at last went on, the tone of her voice betrayed how little she liked
interruptions just now.
"You were informed of his Majesty's safe landing at Quiposcoa. It was
pitiful to see how the people in his train who did not belong to the
number of those who were to accompany him to Jarandilla behaved at the
parting from their beloved master. The body-guards flung their halberds
on the pavement, and there were plenty of tears and lamentations. On St.
Blasius's day--[February 3, 1557]--his Majesty at last entered San Yuste.
Don Luis, as you know, had gone before to get the house in readiness for
his master. One could scarcely imagine a pleasanter spot, for there is
no greener valley than that of San Yuste in the whole range of the
Carpetano Mountains, nay, perhaps in all Spain. It is difficult to
describe how everything is growing and blossoming here now, in the month
of May. The little garden of the house is well kept and full of
beautiful orange trees. While blossoming, they exhale the most exquisite
perfume, and his Majesty enjoys the delicious fragrance which the wind
bears to him.
"In your noisy Brussels it is hard to imagine how quiet it can be here,
dear Senor Adrian. Nothing is to be heard save the carol of a bird, the
rippling of a clear stream flowing swiftly through the valley, and at
intervals the distinct notes of the little bells and cymbals upon the
clocks which his Majesty brought with him. Even their ticking is often
audible. At certain hours the ringing of the monastery bells blends
solemnly and softly with the silence. The Hieronymites in the monastery
are pious monks. His Majesty sometimes listens to their choir. Its
music is very fine since Sir Wolf Hartschwert, whom you also know, has
taken charge of it.
"From all this, you will perceive that the master, with whom your faithful
soul doubtless often dwells, is supplied--restricted by no monastic
discipline--with whatever suits his taste. He frequently devotes himself
for hours to religious exercises, and also retires to the black-draped
room with the coffin, which you know; but the old industry and secular
cares pursued him here. Mounted messengers come and go continually, but
they are not allowed to remain near the house.
"Even in Brussels he can scarcely have written and answered more letters
than he does here.
"If only the body would prosper as well as the mind. That is as active
and alert as ever. But the body--the body! O Senor Adrian! I fear that
the end is not far distant, although our royal sufferer looks better than
at his arrival.
"'The eating!' Dr. Mathys complains; but you know well enough how that
is.
"Three days have passed since I began this letter. You are aware of most
of what concerns your beloved master; now for my husband.
"He has never had service so arduous as here, for the grand prior, Don
Luis de Avila, is nothing to his Majesty except a dear old brother in
arms, with whom he is fond of talking about the past. Everything rests
on my poor husband. He said, a short time ago, that he would no longer
endure playing the host to everybody who comes to San Yuste, being agent
for everybody in Spain who desires anything from the Emperor Charles, and
at the same time constantly caring for the person of the sick sovereign.
This life, he thinks, may suit a person who has taken leave of his
property and the world, but he still clings to both, and especially to
me, the poor wife who has been parted from him so long. He has served
the Emperor twenty-five years, and during this time he lost all his
brothers in the war. The estates came to him, and how long they have
already been deprived of the master's eye!
"Don Luis told the Emperor Charles all this, yet he refused him leave of
absence to go to Villagarcia. Instead, I was obliged to move near my
husband, and am now living with Geronimo, in the wretched village of
Cuacos, which is easily reached from San Yuste. There I finally arrived
with the boy whom the Virgin, in her inexhaustible mercy, gave to me, a
poor, childless woman, to make me happy, although on his account I
wronged my lord and husband by a sinful suspicion.
"Here I must begin my letter for the third time.
"It was fortunate that Geronimo left Massi and Leganes, for he was
allowed to grow up there like a little savage. Before learning to obey,
he was permitted to command.--No one opposed him, so in Villagarcia the
first thing necessary was to accustom him to discipline, obedience, and
the manners of the nobles. The trouble was not great, and how richly the
boy rewarded it! He is now in his twelfth year, and how your good wife
would stare, Adrian, if she could see her nursling again! Do not suppose
that it is blind partiality when I say that few handsomer lads could be
found in all King Philip's dominions. His figure is slender and only
slightly above middle height; but how erect and noble is his bearing, how
symmetrically his pliant form is developing! His delicately cut features
and large blue eyes glow with the bold courage which fills his soul, and
which he displays in riding, hunting, and fencing. He still has his
wealth of fair, waving locks. Among a thousand other boys no one will
overlook him. Don Luis, too, admits that he was born to dignity and
honour. Every chivalrous and royal virtue is in his blood. Even his
mother could not sully it."
Here Frau Traut paused to look at Barbara, who had listened, panting for
breath.
She was sorry that she had not omitted the last sentence, but in the zeal
of translating it had unconsciously escaped her lips, and, as she found
no softening word, she went on:
"Geronimo has become a dear child to me. He thinks that I am his own
mother, and clings to me with filial affection. To lead such a son to
this august father was the greatest joy that Heaven has bestowed upon me.
"Dressed as my page, he rode with me to Jarandilla to meet his Majesty.
He was to present to the imperial master, of whose near relationship he
had no idea, a little basket filled with beautiful oranges from our
garden in Villagarcia, which you know.
"The young horseman, who understands how to wheel his steed, swung
himself from the saddle close beside his Majesty, bent the knee with
noble grace, raised his little plumed hat, and, pressing his left hand
upon his heart, presented the little gift to his sovereign and master.
As the weather was mild, the latter sat in an open sedan chair, and when
he saw Geronimo he scanned him with the keen glance of the ruler, and
then looked inquiringly at my husband. Don Luis nodded the answer which
he desired to receive, and a bright smile flitted over his emaciated,
corpselike features. Then he accepted the oranges, stroked his son's
curls, addressed a few questions to him, which he answered modestly but
aptly, and then called to my husband, 'This boy must remain near me.'
"Oh, what pleasure all this gave me! Now Geronimo goes in and out of his
Majesty's apartments freely, and my reason for writing this letter is an
incident I happened to witness, and which will please you, Adrian, and
your good wife, as it filled my heart with fervent gratitude. So listen:
When the Emperor meets Geronimo in the presence of strangers, he seems to
take neither more nor less notice of him than of the other pages who come
to San Yuste. Only he often calls him, asks a question, or gives him
some trivial commission. Others would scarcely notice it, but I see the
brightening of his eyes as he does so.
"Recently I looked through the open door which leads from his Majesty's
work-room into the garden, and what did the Virgin permit me to behold?--
Geronimo, who was alone with the Emperor, picked up a sheet of paper that
had fluttered to the ground and handed it to him. Then the Emperor
Charles suddenly raised his poor hands oh, how they are disfigured by the
gout!--laid them on the boy's temples, drew his head nearer, and kissed
his brow and eyes! Charles V, the fugitive from the world, the man
crushed by sorrow and disappointment, did that! This kiss--Don Luis
believes it also--sealed the son's acceptance into his father's heart."
Here Frau Traut let the sheet fall. Her voice had failed during the last
sentences; now she exclaimed amid her tears, "The Emperor's kiss!" and
her husband, no less deeply stirred by emotion, cried, "The Emperor
Charles--no one knows as well as I what that means--the Emperor Charles,
whose heart compels him to kiss some one."
Here Barbara rose with flushed cheeks, panting for breath.
She felt as if she must cry aloud to these good people: "What do you know
about my lover's kiss? I, I alone, not you, you poor, good man, could
tell you. Insignificant and wretched as I may be, no woman on earth can
boast of prouder memories, and now that he has also kissed his child and
mine, everything is forgiven him."
Silently, with hurrying breath, she stood before the agitated couple, who
were waiting for some remark, some outburst of gratitude and delight; but
there was only a quivering of the lips, and her blue eyes flashed with a
fiery light.
What was the matter with her?
Frau Train turned anxiously to her husband to ask, in a whisper, whether
joy had turned the poor young mother's brain; but Barbara had already
recovered her composure, and, passing her hand quickly across her brow,
murmured softly, "It came over me too strongly."
Then she thanked them with earnest warmth; yet when Frau Traut praised
Dona Magdalena's heavenly goodness, she nodded assent, it is true; but
she soon took her leave--she felt paralyzed and dazzled.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Before learning to obey, he was permitted to command
Grief is grief, and this new sorrow does not change the old one
To the child death is only slumber