The sun sometimes shone brightly upon the little round panes of the
ancient building, the Golden Cross, on the northern side of the square,
which the people of Ratisbon call “on the moor”; sometimes it was veiled
by gray clouds. A party of nobles, ecclesiastics, and knights belonging
to the Emperor’s train were just coming out. The spring breeze banged
behind them the door of the little entrance for pedestrians close beside
the large main gateway.
The courtiers and ladies who were in the chapel at the right of the
corridor started. “April weather!” growled the corporal of the Imperial
Halberdiers to the comrade with whom he was keeping; guard at the foot
of the staircase leading to the apartments of Charles V, in the second
story of the huge old house.
“St. Peter’s day,” replied the other, a Catalonian. “At my home fresh
strawberries are now growing in the open air and roses are blooming in
the gardens. Take it all in all, it’s better to be dead in Barcelona
than alive in this accursed land of heretics!”
“Come, come,” replied the other, “life is life! ‘A live dog is better
than a dead king,’ says a proverb in my country.”
“And it is right, too,” replied the Spaniard. “But ever since we came
here our master’s face looks as if imperial life didn’t taste exactly
like mulled wine, either.”
The Netherlander lowered his halberd and answered his companion’s words
first with a heavy sigh, and then with the remark: “Bad weather upstairs
as well as down--the very worst! I’ve been in the service thirteen
years, but I never saw him like this, not even after the defeat in
Algiers. That means we must keep a good lookout. Present halberds! Some
one is coming down.”
Both quickly assumed a more erect attitude, but the Spaniard whispered
to his comrade: “It isn’t he. His step hasn’t sounded like that since
the gout--”
“Quijada!” whispered the Netherlander, and both he and the man from
Barcelona presented halberds with true military bearing; but the staves
of their descending weapons soon struck the flags of the pavement again,
for a woman’s voice had detained the man whom the soldiers intended to
salute, and in his place two slender lads rushed down the steps.
The yellow velvet garments, with ash-gray facings, and cap of the same
material in the same colours, were very becoming to these youths--the
Emperor’s pages--and, though the first two were sons of German and
Italian counts, and the third who followed them was a Holland baron, the
sentinels took little more notice of them than of Queen Mary’s pointers
following swiftly at their heels.
“Of those up there,” observed the halberdier from Haarlem under his
breath, “a man would most willingly stiffen his back for Quijada.”
“Except their Majesties, of course,” added the Catalonian with dignity.
“Of course,” the other repeated. “Besides, the Emperor Charles himself
bestows every honour on Don Luis. I was in Algiers at the time. A
hundred more like him would have made matters different, I can tell you.
If it beseemed an insignificant fellow like me, I should like to ask why
his Majesty took him from the army and placed him among the courtiers.”
Here he stopped abruptly, for, in spite of the gaily dressed nobles and
ladies, priests, knights, and attendants who were passing up and down
the corridor, he had heard footsteps on the stairs which must be
those of men in high position. He was not mistaken--one was no less
a personage than the younger Granvelle, the Bishop of Arras, who,
notwithstanding his nine-and-twenty years, was already the favourite
counsellor of Charles V; the other, a man considerably his senior, Dr.
Mathys, of Bruges, the Emperor’s physician.
The bishop was followed by a secretary clad in black, with a portfolio
under his arm; the leech, by an elderly assistant.
The fine features of the Bishop of Arras, which revealed a nature
capable of laughter and enjoyment, now looked as grave as his
companion’s--a fact which by no means escaped the notice of the
courtiers in the corridor, but no one ventured to approach them with
a question, although--it had begun to rain again--they stopped before
going out of doors and stood talking together in low tones.
Many would gladly have caught part of their conversation, but no one
dared to move nearer, and the Southerners and Germans among them did not
understand the Flemish which they spoke.
Not until after the leech had raised his tall, pointed hat and the
statesman had pressed his prelate’s cap closer upon his short, wavy dark
hair and drawn his sable-trimmed velvet cloak around him did several
courtiers hasten forward with officious zeal to open the little side
door for them.
Something must be going wrong upstairs.
Dr. Mathys’s jovial face wore a very different expression when his
imperial patient was doing well, and Granvelle always bestowed a
friendly nod on one and another if he himself had cause to be content.
When the door had closed behind the pair, the tongues of the
ecclesiastics, the secular lords, and the ladies in the corridor
were again loosed; but there were no loud discussions in the various
languages now mingling in the Golden Cross, far less was a gay
exclamation or a peal of laughter heard from any of the groups who stood
waiting for the shower to cease.
Although each individual was concerned about his own affairs, one
thought, nevertheless, ruled them all--the Emperor Charles, his health,
and his decisions. Upon them depended not only the destiny of the world,
but also the weal and woe of the greatest as well as the humblest of
those assembled here.
“Emperor Charles” was the spell by which the inhabitants of half the
world obtained prosperity or ill-luck, war or peace, fulfilment or
denial of the wishes which most deeply stirred their souls. Even the
highest in the land, who expected from his justice or favour fresh
good-fortune or the averting of impending disasters, found their way
to him wherever, on his long and numerous journeys, he established his
court.
Numerous petitioners had also flocked to Ratisbon, but the two great
nobles who now entered the Golden Cross certainly did not belong to
their number. One shook the raindrops from his richly embroidered velvet
cloak and the plumes in his cap, the other from his steel helmet and
suit of Milan mail, inlaid with gold. Chamberlain de Praet accosted the
former, Duke Peter of Columna, in Italian; the latter, the Landgrave of
Leuchtenberg, in a mixture of German and his Flemish native tongue. He
had no occasion to say much, for the Emperor wished to be alone. He had
ordered even crowned heads and ambassadors to be denied admittance.
The Duke of Columna gaily begged for a dry shelter until the shower
was over, but the Landgrave requested to be announced to the Queen of
Hungary.
The latter, however, had also declined to grant any audiences that
afternoon. The royal lady, the Emperor’s favourite sister, was in
her own room, adjoining her imperial brother’s, talking with Don Luis
Quijada, the brave nobleman of whom the Spanish and the Netherland
soldiers had spoken with equal warmth.
His personal appearance rendered it an easy matter to believe in the
sincerity of their words, for the carriage of his slender, vigorous
form revealed all the pride of the Castilian noble. His face, with its
closely cut pointed beard, was the countenance of a true warrior, and
the expression of his black eyes showed the valiant spirit of a loyal,
kind, and simple heart.
The warm confidence with which Mary, the widow of the King of Hungary,
who fell in the Turkish war, gazed into Quijada’s finely modelled,
slightly bronzed countenance proved that she knew how to estimate his
worth aright. She had sent for him to open her whole heart.
The vivacious woman, a passionate lover of the chase, found life in
Ratisbon unendurable. She would have left the city long ago to perform
her duties in the Netherlands--which she ruled as regent in the name
of her imperial brother--and devote herself to hunting, to her heart’s
content, if the condition of the monarch’s health had not detained her
near him.
She pitied Charles because she loved him, yet she was weary of playing
the sick nurse.
She had just indignantly informed Quijada what an immense burden of
work, in spite of the pangs of the gout, her suffering brother had
imposed upon himself ever since the first cock-crow. But he would take
no better care of himself, and therefore it was difficult to help him.
Was it not utterly unprecedented? Directly after mass he had examined
dozens of papers, made notes on the margins, and affixed his signature;
then he received Father Pedro de Soto, his confessor, the nuncio, the
English and the Venetian ambassadors; and, lastly, had an interview with
young Granvelle, the Bishop of Arras, which had continued three full
hours, and perhaps might be going on still had not Dr. Mathys, the
leech, put an end to it.
Queen Mary had just found him utterly exhausted, with his face buried in
his hands.
“And you, too,” she added in conclusion, “can not help admitting that if
this state of things continues there must be an evil end.”
Quijada bent his head in assent, and then answered modestly:
“Yet your Majesty knows our royal master’s nature. He will listen calmly
to you, whom he loves, or to me, who was permitted to remain at his side
as a page, or probably to the two Granvelles, Malfalconnet, and others
whom he trusts, when they venture to warn him--”
“And yet keep on in his mad career,” interrupted Queen Mary with an
angry gesture of the hand.
“Plus ultra--more, farther--is his motto,” observed Quijada in a tone of
justification.
“Forward ceaselessly, for aught I care, so long as the stomach and the
feet are sound!” replied the Queen, raising her hand to the high lace
ruff, which oppressed the breathing of one so accustomed to the outdoor
air. “But when, like him, a man must give up deer-stalking and at every
movement makes a wry face and can scarcely repress a groan--it might
move a stone to pity!--he ought to choose another motto. Persuade him to
do so, Quijada, if you are really his friend.”
The smile with which the nobleman listened to this request plainly
showed the futility of the demand.
The Queen noticed it, threw her arm aloft as if she were hurling a
hunting spear, and exclaimed “I’m not easily deceived, Luis. Whether you
could or not, the will is lacking. You shun the attempt! Because you are
young yourself, and can still cope with the bear and wild boar, you like
the motto, which will probably lead to new wars, and thereby to
fresh renown. But, alas! my poor, poor brother, who--how long ago it
is!--could once have thrown even you upon the sand, what can he do, with
this accursed gout? And besides, what more can the Emperor Charles gain,
since there is no chance of obtaining the sovereignty of the world, of
which he once dreamed? He must learn to be content! Surely at his age!
It is easy to calculate, for his life began with the century, and this
is its forty-sixth year. Of course, with you soldiers the years of
warfare count double, and he--Duke Alba said so--was born a general. One
need not be able to reckon far in order to number how many months he has
spent in complete peace. And then he attained his majority at fifteen,
and with what weighty cares the man of the ‘plus ultra’ has loaded his
shoulders since that time! You, and many others at the court, had still
more to do, but, Luis, one thing, and it is the hardest burden, you were
all spared. I know it. It is called responsibility. Compared with
this all others are mere fluttering feathers. Its weight may become
unendurable when the weal and woe of half the world are at stake. Thus
every year of government was equal to three of war; but you, Luis--the
question is allowable when put to a man-how old are you?”
“Within a few months of forty.”
“So young!” cried the Queen. “Yet, when one looks at you closely, your
appearance corresponds with your years.”
Quijada pointed to the gray locks on his temples, but the Queen eagerly
continued:
“I noticed that at Brussels. And do you know what gave you those few
white hairs? Simply the responsibility that so cruelly shortened the
Emperor’s youth, and which at least grazes you. As I saw him to-day,
Luis, many a man of sixty has a more vigorous appearance.”
“And yet, if your Majesty will permit me to say so,” Quijada replied
with a low bow, “he may be in a very different condition to-morrow. I
heard Dr. Mathys himself remark that the life of a gouty patient was
like a showery day in July--gloomy enough while the thunder-storm was
raging, but radiant before and afterward until the clouds rose again.
Surely your Majesty remembers how erect, how vigorous, and how knightly
his bearing was when he greeted you on your arrival. The happiness of
having his beloved sister again restored his paralyzed buoyancy speedily
enough, although just at present there is certainly no lack of cares
pressing upon him, and notwithstanding the disastrous conditions which
we found existing among the godless populace here. That this cruel
responsibility, however, can mature the mind without harming the body
your Majesty is a living example.”
“Nonsense!” retorted the regent in protest. “From you, at least, I
forbid idle flattery!”
As she spoke she pointed with the riding whip, which, on account of her
four-footed favourites, she carried in her hand, to her own hair. True,
so far as it was visible under the stiff jewelled velvet cap which
covered her head, the fair tresses had a lustrous sheen, and the braids,
interwoven with pearls, were unusually thick, but a few silver threads
appeared amid the locks which clustered around the intellectual brow.
Quijada saw them, and, with a respectful bow, answered.
“The heavy burden of anxiety for the Netherlands, which is not always
rewarded with fitting gratitude.”
“Oh, no,” replied the Queen, shrugging her shoulders contemptuously.
“Yes, many things in Brussels rouse my indignation, but they do not turn
my hair gray. It began to whiten up here, under the widow’s cap, if
you care to know it, and, if the Emperor’s health does not improve, the
locks there will soon look like my white Diana’s.”
Here she hesitated, and, accustomed both in the discharge of the duties
of her office and during the chase not to deviate too far from the goal
she had in view, she first gave her favourite dog, which had leaped on
Don Luis in friendly greeting, a blow with her whip, and then said in a
totally different tone:
“But I am not the person in question. You have already heard that you
must help me, Luis. Did you see the Emperor yesterday after vespers?”
“I had the honour, your Majesty.”
“And did not the conviction that he is in evil case force itself upon
you?”
“I felt it so keenly that I spoke to Dr. Mathys of his feeble
appearance, his bowed figure, and the other things which I would so
gladly have seen otherwise.”
“And these things? Speak frankly!”
“These things,” replied the major-domo, after a brief hesitation, “are
the melancholy moods to which his Majesty often resigns himself for
hours.”
“And which remind you of Queen Juana, our unhappy mother?” asked the
Queen with downcast eyes.
“Remind is a word which your Majesty will permit me to disclaim,”
replied Quijada resolutely. “The great thinker, who never loses sight of
the most distant goal, who weighs and considers again and again ere
he determines upon the only right course in each instance--the great
general who understands how to make far-reaching plans for military
campaigns as ably as to direct a cavalry attack--the statesman whose
penetration pierces deeper than the keen intelligence of his famous
councillors--the wise law-giver, the ruler with the iron strength of
will and unfailing memory, is perhaps the soundest person mentally among
all of us at court-nay, among the millions who obey him. But, so far as
my small share of knowledge extends, melancholy has nothing to do with
the mind. It is dependent upon the state of the spirits, and springs
from bile----”
“You learned that from Dr. Mathys,” interrupted the royal lady, “and the
quacks repeat it from their masters Hippocrates and Galen. Such parrot
gabble does not please me. To my woman’s reason, it seems rather that
when the mind is ill we should try a remedy whose effect upon it has
already been proved, and I think I have found it.”
“I am still ignorant of it,” replied Quijada eagerly; “but I would swear
by my saint that you have hit upon the right expedient.”
“Listen, then, and this time I believe you will have no cause to repent
your hasty oath. Since death robbed our sovereign lord of his wife,
and the gout has prevented his enjoyment of the chief pleasures of
life--hunting, the tournament, and the other pastimes which people of
our rank usually pursue--in what can he find diversion? The masterpieces
of painters and other artists, the inventions of mechanicians and
clock-makers, and the works of scholars have no place here, but
probably----”
“Then it is the noble art of music which your Majesty has in view,”
Quijada eagerly interrupted. “Admirable! For, since the days of King
Saul and the harper David----”
“There is certainly no better remedy for melancholy,” said the Queen,
completing the exclamation of the loyal man. “But it could affect no
one more favourably than the Emperor. You yourself know how keen a
connoisseur he is, and how often this has been confirmed by our greatest
masters. Need I remind you of the high mass in Cologne, at which the
magnificent singing seemed fairly to reanimate him after the defection
of the heretical archbishop--which threatens to have a disastrous
influence upon my Netherlanders also--had robbed him of the last remnant
of his enjoyment of life, already clouded? The indignation aroused by
the German princes, and the difficult decision to which their conduct is
forcing him, act upon his soul like poison. But hesitation is not in
my nature, so I thought: Let us have music--good, genuine music. Then
I sent a mounted messenger to order Gombert, the conductor of his
orchestra, and the director of my choir of boys, to bring their
musicians to Ratisbon. The whole company will arrive this evening. Dash
forward is my motto, and not only while in the saddle during the chase.
But, Luis, you must now tell me--”
“That your Majesty’s sisterly affection has discovered the only right
course,” cried Quijada, deeply touched, pressing his lips respectfully
to the flowing sleeve of her robe.
The major--domo’s assurance undoubtedly sprang from the depths of his
heart, yet the doubts which the hasty action of the vivacious sovereign
aroused in his mind compelled him to represent to her, though with the
courteous caution which his position demanded, that her bold measure
might only too easily arouse the displeasure of the person whom it was
intended to benefit. The expense it would entail especially troubled
Quijada, and the Queen herself appeared surprised when he estimated the
sum which would be required for the transportation of the band and the
boy choir from Brussels to Ratisbon and back again.
Forty musicians, twelve boy singers, the leaders, and the paymaster must
be moved, and in their train were numerous grooms and attendants, as
well as conveyances for the baggage and the valuable instruments.
Besides, the question of accommodation for this large number in the
already crowded city now arose, for the Queen confessed that, in order
to make the surprise complete, no one had been commissioned to find
lodgings.
The musicians, who had displayed the most praiseworthy promptness, would
arrive three days earlier than she had expected.
The royal lady readily admitted that the utmost haste was necessary.
Yet she knew that, if any one could accomplish the impossible, it was
Quijada, where the object in view was to serve her and the Emperor.
The influence of this eulogy was doubled by a tender glance from her
bright eyes, and the Spaniard promised to do everything in his power to
secure the success of her beautiful surprise. There would undoubtedly
be difficulties with his Majesty and the treasurer on the score of the
expense, for their finances were at the very lowest ebb.
“There is always the same annoyance where money is concerned,” cried the
Queen irritably, “in spite of the vast sums which my Netherlands pour
into the treasury--four times as much as Spain supplies, including the
gold and silver of the New World. You keep it secret, but two fifths
of the revenue from all the countries over which Charles reigns are
contributed by my provinces. Torrents of ducats inundate your treasury,
and yet--yet--it’s enough to drive one mad!--in spite of this and the
lamentable parsimony with which the Emperor deprives himself of both
great and small pleasures--it is simply absurd!--the story is always:
The finances are at the lowest ebb--save and save again. To protect the
plumes in his new cap from being injured by the rain, the sovereign
of half the world ordered an old hat to be brought, and waited in the
shower until the shabby felt came. And where are the millions which this
excellent economist saves from his personal expenses? The dragon War
devours them all. True, he has vanquished foes enough, but the demon of
melancholy, that makes even Dr. Mathys anxious, is far worse than the
infidels before whom you were compelled to retreat in Algiers--far more
terrible than the Turks and heretics combined. Yet what are you and
the wise treasurer doing? The idea of lessening the salaries of the
physician-in-ordinary and his colleagues has never entered the heads
of the estimable gentlemen who call themselves his Majesty’s faithful
servants. Very well! Then put the musicians’ travelling expenses upon
the apothecary’s bill. They have as much right to be there as the senna
leaves. But, if the penny pinchers in the council of finance refuse to
advance the necessary funds, why--charge this medicine to my account.
I’ll pay for it, in spite of the numerous leeches that suck my
substance.”
“It certainly will not come to that, your Majesty,” replied Quijada
soothingly. “Our sovereign lord knows, too, that it beseems him to be
less rigid in saving. Only yesterday he dipped into his purse deeply
enough for another remedy.”
“What was that?” asked the Queen in surprise.
“He paid the debts of my colleague Malfalconnet, not less than ten
thousand ducats.”
“There it is!” exclaimed the regent, striking her hands sharply
together. “The baron dispels the Emperor’s melancholy by his ready wit,
which often hits the nail on the head, and his nimble tongue, but my
medicine must provide the fitting mood for Malfalconnet’s dearly bought
jests and witticisms to exert the proper influence.”
“And, moreover,” Quijada added gaily, “your Majesty will present the
completed deed for the treasurer’s action. But now I most humbly entreat
you to dismiss me. I must inform the quartermasters at once, and look
after the matter myself if your Majesty’s costly magic pills are not to
be spoiled by this wet April weather. Besides, many of the musicians are
not the strongest of men.”
Bowing as he spoke, he prepared to take leave of the Queen, but she
detained him with the remark:
“Our invitation went to Sir Wolf Hartschwert also. He is a native of
Ratisbon, and can aid you and the quartermasters in assigning lodgings.”
“A fresh proof of the wise caution of my august mistress,” replied
Quijada. “If your Majesty will permit, I should like to talk with my
royal patroness about this man shortly. I have something in my mind
concerning him which can not be easily explained in a few words,
especially as I know that the modest, trustworthy fellow----”
“If what you have in view is for his benefit,” the Queen eagerly
interrupted, “it is granted in advance.”
The promise reached Quijada just as he gained the threshold; ere he
crossed it, Queen Mary called to him again, saying frankly: “I will not
let you go so, Luis! You are an honest man, and I am ashamed to deceive
you. The cure of his Majesty’s melancholy is my principal object, it is
true, but one half the expense of this medicine ought to be credited
to me; for--but do not tell the treasurer--for it will afford me relief
also. I can endure these rooms no longer. The forest is putting forth
its first green leafage. The birds are returning. Red deer are plenty in
the woods along the Danube. I must get out of doors into the open air.
As matters are now, I could not leave his Majesty; but when the band
and the boy choir are at his disposal, they will dispel his melancholy
moods, and I can venture later to leave him to you and Malfalconnet,
whose wit will be freshly seasoned by the payment of his debts. O Luis!
if only I can get out of doors! Meanwhile, may music do for my imperial
brother what we anticipate! And one thing more: Take Master Adrian with
you. I released him from attendance upon the Emperor until midnight. It
was no easy matter. When you have provided the favourites of Apollo
with lodgings, come to me again, however late the hour may be. Sir Wolf
Hartschwert must call early to-morrow morning. The nuncio brought some
new songs from Rome. The music is too high for my voice, and the knight
understands how to transpose the notes for me better than even the
leader of the choir, Appenzelder.”