Through the storm, which lashed her face with whirling clouds of dust and
drops of rain, Barbara reached the little Prebrunn castle.
The marquise had not yet left her litter. The wind had extinguished two
of the torches. One bearer walked in front of Barbara with his, and the
gale blew the smoking flame aside. But, ere she had reached the gate,
a man who had been concealed behind the old elm by the path stepped
forward to meet her. She started back and, as he called her by name, she
recognised the young Wittenberg theologian, Erasmus Eckhart. Sincerely
indignant, she ordered him to go away at once, but her first words were
interrupted by the shrill voice of the marquise, who had now left her
litter, and with loud shrieks ordered the steward to seize the burglar.
Erasmus, however, trusted to his strength and nimbleness and, instead of
promptly taking flight, entreated Barbara to listen to him a moment. Not
until, far from allowing herself to be softened, she, too, threatened
him, did he attempt to escape, but both litters were in his way, and when
he had successfully passed around them the gardener, suddenly emerging
from the darkness, seized him. But the sturdy young fellow knew how to
defend his liberty, and had already released himself from his assailant
when other servants grasped him.
Above the roar of the storm now rose the shrieks of the marquise, the
shouts of "Stop thief!" from the men, and Erasmus's protestations that he
was no robber, coupled with an appeal to Jungfrau Blomberg, who knew him.
Barbara now stated that he was the son of a respectable family, and had
by no means come here to steal the property of others; but the marquise,
though she probably correctly interpreted the handsome young fellow's
late visit, vehemently insisted upon his arrest. She treated Barbara's
remonstrance with bitter contempt; and when Cassian, the almoner's
servant, appeared and declared that he had already caught this rascal
more than once strolling in a suspicious manner near the castle, and that
he himself was here so late only because his beloved bride, in her
mistress's absence, was afraid of the robber and his companions,
Barbara's entreaties and commands were disregarded, and Erasmus's hands
were bound.
By degrees the noise drew most of the inmates of the castle out of doors,
and among them Frau Lerch. Lastly, several halberdiers, who were coming
from the Lindenplatz and had heard the screams in the garden, appeared,
chained the prisoner, and took him to the Prebrunn jail.
But scarcely had Erasmus been led away when the priests of the household
also came out and asked what had happened. In doing this Barbara's
caution in not calling Erasmus by name proved to have been futile, for
Cassian had recognised him, and told the ecclesiastics what he knew.
The chaplain then asserted that, as the property of the Prince Abbot
of Berchtesgaden, the house and garden were under ecclesiastical
jurisdiction, and committed the further disposal of the burglar's fate
to the Dominican whom the almoner had placed there. For the present he
might remain in secular custody. Early the following morning he must be
brought before the Spanish Dominicans who had come with the Emperor, and
from whom greater severity might be expected than from the Ratisbon
brotherhood, by whom monastic discipline had been greatly relaxed.
Meanwhile the wind had subsided, and the storm had burst with thunder,
lightning, and torrents of rain. Priests and laymen retreated into the
house, and so did Barbara and the marquise. The latter had exposed
herself to the tempest only long enough to emphasize the necessity of
delivering the heretical night-bird to the Spanish Dominicans very early
the next morning, and to show Barbara that she did not overlook the
significance of the incidents under the lindens. With a disagreeable
blending of tenderness and malice, she congratulated the young girl on
the applause she had received as a dancer, the special favour which she
had enjoyed from the Duke of Saxony, and the arrest of the dangerous
burglar, which would also be a gratification to his Majesty.
With these words the old aristocrat, coughing slightly, tripped up the
stairs; but Barbara, without vouchsafing an answer to this speech, whose
purpose she clearly understood, turned her back upon her and went to her
own room.
She had desired no gift in return when, to save this contemptible woman's
son and his child, she sacrificed her lover's precious memento; but the
base reward for the kind deed added a burning sense of pain to the
other sorrows which the day had brought. What a shameful crime was
ingratitude! None could be equally hateful to eternal justice, for--she
now learned it by her own experience--ingratitude repaid kindness with
evil instead of with good, and paralyzed the disappointed benefactor's
will to perform another generous deed.
When she entered her sleeping-room the courage which she had summoned
during the walk, and the hope to which she had yielded, appeared to be
scattered and blown away as if by a gust of wind. Besides, she could not
conceal from herself that she had drawn the nails from the planks of her
wrecked ship of life with her own hand.
Did it not seem as if she had intentionally done precisely what she ought
most studiously to have left undone? Her sale of the star had been only
an unfortunate act of weakness, but the dance, the luckless dance! Not
once only, several times Charles had stated plainly enough how unpleasant
it was to him even to hear the amusement mentioned. She had behaved as
if she desired to forfeit his favour.
And why, in Heaven's name, why? To arouse his jealousy?
Fool that she was! This plant took root only in a heart filled with love
And his?
Because she perceived that his love was dying, she had awakened this
fatal passion. Was it not as if she had expected to make a water-lily
blossom in the sands of the desert?
True, still another motive had urged her to this mad act. She knew not
what name to give it, yet it was only too possible that, in spite of her
recent experiences, it might overpower her again on the morrow.
Surprised at herself, she struck her brow with her hand, and when Frau
Lerch, who was just combing her wet hair, perceived it, she sobbed
aloud, exclaiming: "Poor, poor young gentleman, and the Hiltners, who
love him as if he were their own son! Such a terrible misfortune! Old
fool that I am! The first time he asked admittance to show you the
tablature, and you did not want to receive him, I persuaded you to do so.
Then he fared like all the others whose heads you have turned with your
singing. Holy Virgin! If the Hiltners learn that you and I let him be
bound without making any real protest. It will fall heaviest upon me;
you can believe that, for Fran Hiltner and Jungfrau Martina, since the
young girl has gone to dances, have been among my best customers. Now
they will say: Frau Lerch, who used to be a good little woman, left the
young fellow in the lurch when his life was at stake, for they will take
him to the Spanish Dominicans. They belong, to the Holy Inquisition, and
think no more of burning people at the stake than we do of a few days in
prison."
Here Barbara interrupted her with the remark that Erasmus could be
convicted of no crime, and the Holy Inquisition had no authority in
Ratisbon.
But Frau Lerch knew better. That was all very well during the Emperor's
absence, but now that his Majesty resided in the city the case was
different. Erasmus had been arrested on ecclesiastical ground, the
chaplain had ordered him to be delivered to the Spaniards early the next
morning and, ere the syndic could interpose, the rope would already be
twisted for him, for with these gentlemen the executioner stood close
beside the judge. Besides, she had heard of a pamphlet against the Pope,
which the young theologian had had published, that had aroused great
indignation among the priesthood. If he fell into the hands of the
Dominicans, he would be lost, as surely as she hoped to be saved. If he
were only in the custody of the city, of course a better result might be
hoped.
Here she stopped with a shriek, dropping the comb, for the thundercloud
was now directly over the city, and a loud peal, following close upon the
flash of lightning, shook the house; but Barbara scarcely heeded the
dazzling glare and the rattling panes.
She had risen with a face as white as death. She knew what severe
sentences could be pronounced by the Council of the Inquisition, and the
thought that the keenest suffering should be inflicted upon the Hiltners
through her, to whom they had showed so much kindness, seemed
unendurable. Besides, what she had just said to herself concerning
ingratitude returned to her mind.
And then, Inquisition and the rack were two ideas which could scarcely be
separated from one another. What might not be extorted from the accused
by the torture! In any case, the almoner's suspicion would obtain fresh
nourishment, and her lover had told her more than once--what a special
dislike he felt for women who, with their slender intelligence, undertook
to set themselves above the eternal truths of the Holy Church. And the
jealousy which, fool that she was, she had desired to arouse in her
lover, what abundant nourishment it would derive from the events which
had occurred on her return from the festival!
But even these grave fears were overshadowed by the thought of Dr.
Hiltner's wife and daughter. With what fair-mindedness the former in the
Convivium had made her cause her own, how touching had been Martina's
effort to approach her, and how ill that very day she had requited their
loyal affection! Erasmus was as dear as a beloved son to these good
women, and Frau Lerch's reproach that her intercession for him was but
lukewarm had not been wholly groundless. The next day these friends who,
notwithstanding the difference in their religious belief, had treated her
more kindly than any one in Ratisbon, would hear this and condemn her.
That should not be! She would not suffer them to think of her as she did
of the shameless old woman whose footsteps she still heard over her head.
She must not remain idly here, and what her impetuous nature so
passionately demanded must be carried into execution, though reason and
the loud uproar of the raging storm opposed it.
Fran Lerch had just finished arranging her hair and handed her her night-
coif, when she started up and, with the obstinate positiveness
characteristic of her, declared that she was going at once to the
Hiltners to inform the syndic of what had happened here. Erasmus was
still in the hands of the town guards, and perhaps it would be possible
for the former to withdraw the prisoner from ecclesiastical jurisdiction.
Frau Lerch clasped her hands in horror, exclaiming: "Holy Virgin, child!
Have you gone crazy? Go out in this weather? Whoever is not killed by
lightning will drown in the puddles."
But with that violent peal of thunder the storm had reached its height,
and when the next flash of lightning came the thunder did not follow
until some time after, though the rain continued to beat as heavily
against the panes. Yet even had the tempest continued to rage with full
fury, Barbara would not have been dissuaded from the resolution which she
had once formed.
True, her attempt to persuade Frau Lerch to accompany her remained
futile. Her frail body, the dressmaker protested, was not able to
undertake such a walk through the storm. If she yielded, it would be her
death. It would kill Barbara, also, and this crazy venture would be too
dearly paid for at the cost of two human lives.
Barbara's angry remark that if she would not run the risk of getting wet
for the sake of compassion, she might on account of the Hiltners' good
custom, finally made the excited woman burst into piteous crying; yet in
the midst of it she brought Barbara's dress and old thick cloak and, as
she put them on the girl, exclaimed, "But I tell you, child, you'll turn
back again when you get halfway there, and all you bring home will be a
bad illness."
"Whoever can execute the gagliarde to dance herself into misery," replied
Barbara impatiently, "will not find it difficult to take a walk through
the rain to save some one else from misfortune. The cloak!"
"She will go," sobbed Frau Lerch. "The servants must still obey you. At
least order the litter. This crazy night pilgrimage can not remain
concealed."
"Then let people talk about it," replied Barbara firmly and, after having
the cloak clasped and the hood drawn over her head, she went out. Frau
Lerch, who had the key, opened the door for her amid loud lamentations
and muttered curses; but when the girl had vanished in the darkness, she
turned back, saying fiercely through her set teeth: "Rush on to ruin, you
headstrong creature! If I see aright, the magnificence here is already
tottering. Go and get wet! I've made my profit, and the two unfinished
gowns can be added to the account. The Lord is my witness that I meant
well. But will she ever do what sensible people advise? Always running
her head against the wall. Whoever will not hear, must feel."
She hastened back into the house as she spoke to escape the pouring rain,
but Barbara paid little heed to the wet, and waded on through the mire of
the road.
The force of the storm was broken, the wind had subsided, distant flashes
of lightning still illumined the northern horizon, and the night air was
stiflingly sultry. No one appeared in the road, and yet some belated
pedestrian might run against her at any moment, for the dense darkness
shrouded even the nearest objects. But she knew the way, and had
determined to follow the Danube and go along the woodlands to the
tanner's pit, whence the Hiltner house was easily reached. In this way
she could pass around the gate, which otherwise she would have been
obliged to have opened.
But ere gaining the river she was to learn that she had undertaken a more
difficult task than she expected. Her father had never allowed her to go
out after dark, unaccompanied, even in the neighbourhood, and the terrors
of night show their most hideous faces to those who are burdened by
anxious cares. Several times she sank so deep into the mud that her shoe
stuck fast in it, and she was obliged to force it on again with much
difficulty. As she walked on and a strange, noise reached her from the
woodyard on her left, when she constantly imagined that she heard another
step following hers like an audible shadow, when drunken raftsmen came
toward her, hoarsely singing an obscene song, she pressed against a fence
in order not to be seen by the dissolute fellows. But now a light came
wavering toward her, looking like a shining bird flying slowly, or a
hell-hound, with glowing eyes, and at the sight it seemed to her
impossible to wander on all alone. But the mysterious light proved to be
only a lantern in the hand of an old woman who had been to fetch a
doctor, so she summoned up fresh courage, though she told herself that
here near the lumber yards she might easily encounter raftsmen and guards
watching the logs and planks piled on the banks of the river, fishermen,
and sailors. Already she heard the rushing of the swollen Danube, and
horrible tales returned to her memory of hapless girls who had flung
themselves into the waves here to put an end to lives clouded by disgrace
and fear.
Then a shiver ran through her, and she asked herself what her father
would say if he could see her wading alone through the water. Perhaps
the fatigues of the long journey had thrown him upon a sick-bed; perhaps
he had even--at the fear she felt as though her heart would stop beating
--succumbed to them. Then he knew how matters stood with her, the sin
she had committed, and the shame she had brought upon him that she might
enjoy undisturbed a happiness which was already changing into bitter
sorrow. Meanwhile it seemed as if she was gazing into his rugged,
soldierly face, reddish-brown, with rolling eyes, as it looked when
disfigured by anger, and she raised her hands as if to hold him back; but
only for a few minutes, for she perceived that her excited imagination
was terrifying her with a delusion.
Drawing a long breath, she pushed her dank hair back into her hood and
pressed her hand upon her heart. Then she was calm a while, but a new
terror set it throbbing again. Close beside her--this time at her right
--the loud laughter of men's harsh voices echoed through the darkness.
Barbara involuntarily stopped, and when she collected her thoughts and
looked around her, her features, distorted by anxiety and terror,
smoothed again, and she instantly knocked with her little clinched hand
upon the door of the hut from whose open windows the laughter had issued.
It stood close to the river bank, and the tiny dwelling belonged to
the Prior of Berchtesgaden's fisherman and boatman, who kept the
distinguished prelate's gondolas and boats in order, and acted as rower
to the occupants of the little Prebrunn castle. She had often met this
man when he brought fish for the kitchen, and he had gone with the boats
in the water excursions which she had sometimes taken with Gombert and
Appenzelder or with Malfalconnet and several pages. She had treated him
kindly, and made him generous gifts.
All was still in the house after her knock, but almost instantly the deep
voice of the fisherman Valentin, who had thrust his bearded face and red
head out of the window, asked who was there.
The answer received an astonished "Can it be!" But as soon as she
informed him that she needed a companion, he shouted something to the
others, put on his fisherman's cap, stepped to Barbara's side, and led
the way with a lantern which stood lighted on the table.
The road was so softened that, in spite of the light which fell on the
ground, it was impossible to avoid the pools and muddy places. But the
girl had become accustomed to the wet and the wading. Besides, the
presence of her companion relieved her from the terrors with which the
darkness and the solitude had tortured her. Instead of watching for new
dangers, she listened while Valentin explained how it happened that she
found him still awake. He had helped hang the banners and lamps tinder
the lindens, and when the storm arose he assisted in removing the best
pieces. In return a jug of wine, with some bread and sausages, had been
given to him, and he had just begun to enjoy them with two comrades.
The Hiltner house was soon reached. Nothing had troubled Barbara during
the nocturnal walk since the fisherman had accompanied her.
Her heart was lighter as she rapped with the knocker on the syndic's
door; but, although she repeated the summons several times, not a sound
was heard in the silent house.
Valentin had seen the Hiltners' two men-servants with the litters under
the lindens, and Barbara thought that perhaps the maids might have gone
to the scene of the festival to carry headkerchiefs and cloaks to the
ladies before the outbreak of the storm. That the deaf old grandmother
did not hear her was easily understood.
The Hiltners could not have returned, so she must wait.
First she paced impatiently to and fro in the rain, then sat upon a
curbstone which seemed to be protected from the shower by the roof. But
ever and anon a larger stream of water poured down upon her from the jaws
of a hideous monster in which the gutter ended than from the black
clouds, and, dripping wet, she at last leaned against the door, which was
better shielded by the projecting lintel, while the fisherman inquired
about the absent occupants of the house.
Thus minute after minute passed until the first and then the second
quarter of an hour ended. When the third commenced, Barbara thought she
had waited there half the night. The rain began to lessen, it is true,
but the sultry night grew cooler, and a slight chill increased her
discomfort.
Yet she did not move from the spot. Here, in front of the house in
which estimable women had taken her to their hearts with such maternal
and sisterly affection, Barbara had plainly perceived that she, who had
never ceased to respect herself, would forever rob herself of this right
if she did not make every effort in her power to save Erasmus from the
grave peril in which he had become involved on her account. During this
self-inspection she did not conceal from herself that, while singing his
own compositions to him, she had yielded to the unfortunate habit of
promising more with her eyes than she intended to perform. How could
this vain, foolish sport have pleased her after she had yielded herself,
soul and body, to the highest and greatest of men!
Anne Mirl Woller had often been reproved by her mother, in her presence,
for her freedom of manner. But who had ever addressed such a warning to
her? Now she must atone for her heedlessness, like many other things
which her impetuous will demanded and proved stronger than the reason
which forbade it. It was a wonder that Baron Malfalconnet and Maestro
Gombert had not sued more urgently for her favour. If she was honest,
she could not help admitting that her lover--and such a lover!--was
justified in wishing many things in her totally different. But she was
warned now, and henceforth these follies should be over--wholly and
entirely over!
If only he would refrain from wounding her with that irritating
sharpness, which made her rebellious blood boil and clouded her clear
brain! He was indeed the Emperor, to whom reverence was due; but during
the happy hours which tenderly united them he himself desired to be
nothing but the man to whom the heart of the woman he loved belonged.
She must keep herself worthy of him, nothing more, and this toilsome
errand would prevent her from sullying herself with an ugly sin.
During these reflections the chill had become more and more unendurable,
yet she thought far less of the discomfort which it caused her than of
increased danger to Erasmus from the Hiltners' long absence.
The third quarter of an hour was already drawing to an end when Valentin
came hurrying up and told Barbara that they were on the way. He had
managed to speak to the syndic, and told him who was waiting for him.
A young maid-servant, running rapidly, came first to open the house and
light the lamps. She was followed, quite a distance in advance of the
others, by Dr. Hiltner.
The fisherman's communication had made him anxious. He, too, had heard
that Barbara was the Emperor's favourite. Besides, more than one
complaint of her offensive arrogance had reached him. But, for that very
reason, the wise man said to himself, it must be something of importance
that led her to him at this hour and in such weather.
At first he answered her greeting with cool reserve, but when she
explained that she had come, in spite of the storm, because the matter
concerned the weal or woe of a person dear to him, and he saw that she
was dripping wet, he honestly regretted his long delay, and in his manly,
resolute manner requested her to follow him into the house; but Barbara
could not be persuaded to do so.
To give the thunderstorm time to pass and take his wife and daughter home
dry, he had entered a tavern near the lindens and there engaged in
conversation with several friends over some wine. Whenever he urged
returning, the young people--she knew why--objected. But at last they
had started, and Bernhard Trainer had accompanied the Hiltners, in order
to woo Martina on the way. Her parents had seen this coming, and
willingly confided their child's happiness to him.
The betrothed couple now came up also, and saw with surprise the earnest
zeal with which Martina's father was discussing something, they knew not
what, with the singer on whose account they had had their first quarrel.
The lover had condemned Barbara's unprecedented arrogance during the
dance so severely that Martina found it unendurable to listen longer.
Frau Sabina, too, did not know how to interpret Barbara's presence; but
one thing was certain in her kindly heart--this was no place for such
conversation. How wet the poor girl must be! The wrong which Barbara
had done her child was not taken into consideration under these
circumstances and, with maternal solicitude, she followed her husband's
example, and earnestly entreated Barbara to change her clothes in her
house and warm herself with a glass of hot black currant wine. But
Barbara could not be induced to do so, and hurriedly explained to the
syndic what he lacked the clew to understand.
In a few minutes she had made him acquainted with everything that it was
necessary for him to know. Dr. Hiltner, turning to his wife, and mean
while looking his future son-in-law steadily in the eye, exclaimed, "We
are all, let me tell you, greatly indebted to this brave girl."
Frau Sabina's heart swelled with joy, and to Martina, too, the praise
which her father bestowed on Barbara was a precious gift. The mother and
daughter had always espoused her cause, and now it again proved that they
had done well.
"So I was right, after all," whispered the young girl to her lover.
"And will prove so often," he answered gaily. But when, a short time
after, he proposed to Barbara's warm advocate to accompany the singer
home, Martina preferred to detain him, and invited him to stay in the
house with her a little while longer.
These incidents had occupied only a brief period, and Dr. Hiltner
undertook to escort the young girl himself. To save time, he questioned
her about everything which he still desired to know, but left her before
she turned into the lane leading to the little castle, because he was
aware that she, who belonged to the Emperor's household, might he
misjudged if she were seen in his company.
Shortly after, he had freed Erasmus from imprisonment and sent him, in
charge of one of the Council's halberdiers, beyond the gate. He was to
remain concealed outside the city until the syndic recalled him.
The young theologian willingly submitted, after confessing to his foster-
father how strongly love for Barbara had taken possession of him.
This act might arouse strong hostility to the syndic, but he did not fear
it. Moreover, the Emperor had showed at the festival plainly enough his
withdrawal of the good opinion which he had formerly testified upon many
an occasion. This was on account of his religion, and where that was
concerned there was no yielding or dissimulation on either side.
Barbara returned home soothed.
Frau Lerch was waiting for her, and with many tokens of disapproval
undressed her. Yet she carefully dried her feet and rubbed them with her
hands, that she might escape the fever which she saw approaching.
Barbara accepted with quiet gratitude the attention bestowed upon her,
but, though she closed her eyes, the night brought no sleep, for
sometimes she shivered in a chill, sometimes a violent headache tortured
her.