The April sun, ere it sank to rest, had won the victory and kindly
dried the garments of the horsemen who were approaching Ratisbon by the
Nuremberg road.
A young man who had ridden forward in advance of the great train of
travellers behind him checked his steed above the village of Kneiting,
just where the highway descended in many a curve to the valley of the
Danube, and gazed at the landscape whose green spring leafage, freshened
by rain, appeared before him.
His heart throbbed faster, and he thought that he had seen no fairer
prospect in all the wide tract of earth over which he had wandered
during the past five years. Below him were green meadows and fields,
pleasant villages, and the clear, full current of the Danube, along
whose left bank extended a beautifully formed mountain chain, whose
declivity toward the river presented a rich variety to the eye,
for sometimes it was clothed in budding groves, sometimes displayed
picturesque bare cliffs, and again vineyards in which labourers were
working. From the farthest distance the steeples of Ratisbon offered the
first greeting to the resting horseman.
What a wealth of memories this pleasant landscape awoke in the mind of
the returning traveller! How often he had walked through these charming
valleys, climbed these heights, stopped in these villages! It was
difficult for him to turn from this view, but he let his bay horse have
its way when the companion whom he had left behind overtook him here,
and the animal followed the other’s black Brabant steed, with which it
had long been on familiar terms. He rode slowly at his friend’s side
into the valley.
Both silently feasted their eyes upon the scene opening with increasing
magnificence before them.
As they reached the village of Winzer, the victorious sun was
approaching the western horizon, and diffused over it a fan of golden
rays. The gray cloud bank above, which a light breeze was driving before
it, was bordered with golden edges. The young green foliage, refreshed
by the rain, glittered as richly and magnificently as emerald and
chrysoprase, and the primroses and other early spring flowers, which had
just grown up along the roadside and in the meadows, shone in brighter
colours than in the full light of noon. The big fresh drops on the
leaves and blossoms sparkled and glittered in the last rays of the sun.
Now Ratisbon also appeared.
The city, with its throng of steeples, was surrounded by a damp
vapour which the reflection of the sun coloured with a faint, scarcely
perceptible roseate hue. The notes of bells from the twin towers of the
cathedral and the convent of Nieder Munster, from St. Emmeram on the
right, and the church of the Dominicans on the left, echoed softly in
this hour when Nature and human activity were at rest--often dying away
in the distance--to greet the returning citizen.
Obeying an involuntary impulse, Wolf Hartschwert raised his hat. Within
the shelter of the walls of this venerable city he had played as a
boy, completed his school and student days, and early felt the first
quickened throbbing of the heart. Here he had first been permitted to
test what knowledge he had won in the schools of poetry and music.
He had remained in Ratisbon until his twenty-first year, then he had
ventured out into the world, and, after an absence of five years, he was
returning home again.
But was the stately city before him really his home?
When he had just gazed down upon it from the height, this question had
occupied his thoughtful mind.
He had not been born on the shore of this river, but of the Main. All
who had been dearest to him in Ratisbon--the good people who had reared
him from his fourth year as their own child, the woman who gave him
birth, and the many others to whom he was indebted for kindnesses--were
no longer there.
But why had he not thought first of the mother, who is usually the
centre of the circle of love, and whose figure precedes every other, now
that he was approaching the place where she rested beneath the turf? He
asked himself the question with a faint feeling of self-reproach, but he
did not confess the true reason.
When the summons to Ratisbon had reached him in Brussels, he had been
joyously ready to obey it--nay, he had felt it a great happiness to see
again the beloved place for which he had never ceased to long. And yet,
the nearer he approached it, the more anxiously his heart throbbed.
When, soon after noonday, the rain drenched him, he had experienced
no discomfort, because such exquisite sunny visions of the future had
hovered before him; but as the sky cleared they had shrivelled and
doubt of the result of the decision which he was riding to meet had cast
everything else into the shade.
Now the whole city appeared before him, and, as he looked at the
cathedral, whose machicolated tower permitted the rosy hue of the sky to
shine through, his heart rose again, and he gazed with grateful delight
at the verdant spring attire of his home and the magnificence with which
she greeted him; her returning son.
“Isn’t it beautiful here?” he asked, suddenly breaking the silence as
he turned to Massi, the violinist, who rode at his side, and then
was secretly grateful to him when, after a curt “Very pleasant,” he
disturbed him with no further speech.
It was so delightful to listen to the notes of the bells, so familiar to
him, whose pure tones had accompanied with their charming melody all his
wanderings in childhood and youth. At the same time, the mood in which
the best musical ideas came to him suddenly overpowered him. A new air,
well worth remembering, pressed itself on him unbidden, and his excited
imagination showed him in its train himself, and by his side, first,
a romping, merry child, and then a girlish figure in the first budding
charm of youth. He thought he heard her sing, and old, unforgotten notes
of songs swiftly crowded out his own musical creations.
Every tone from the fresh red lips of the lovely fair-haired girl
awakened a new memory. The past lived again, and, without his volition,
transformed the image of the child of whom he had thought whenever he
recalled his youthful days in Ratisbon into that of a lovely bride, with
the myrtle wreath on her waving hair, while beside her he beheld himself
with the wedding bouquet on his slashed velvet holiday doublet.
He involuntarily seized the saddlebag which contained the handsomest
gift he had bought in Brussels for the person who had drawn him back to
Ratisbon with a stronger power of attraction than anything else. If all
went well, that very day, perhaps, he might have the right to call her
his own.
These visions of the future aroused so joyous a feeling in his young
soul that Massi, the violinist, read in his by no means mobile features
what was passing in his mind. His cheery “Well, Sir Knight!” awakened
his ever-courteous colleague and travelling companion from his dream,
and, when the latter started and turned toward him, Alassi gaily
continued: “To see his home and his family again does, indeed, make any
man glad! The sight of yonder shining steeples and roofs seems to make
your heart laugh, Sir Wolf, and, by Our Lady, you have good reason
to bestow one or more candles upon her, for, besides other delightful
things, a goodly heritage is awaiting you in Ratisbon.”
Here he paused, for the sunny radiance vanished simultaneously from
the sky and from his companion’s face. The violinist, as if in apology,
added: “Some trouble always precedes an inheritance, and who knows
whether, in your case also, rumour did not follow the evil custom of
lying or making a mountain out of a molehill?”
Wolf Hartschwert slightly shrugged his shoulders and calmly answered:
“It is all true about the heritage, Massi, and also the trouble, but
it is unpleasant to hear you, too, call me ‘Sir.’ Let it drop for the
future, if we are to be intimate. To others I shall, of course, be the
knight or cavalier. You know what the title procures for a man, though
your saying--
‘Knightly Knightly rank with lack of land
More care than joy hath at command,’
is but too true. As for the heritage, an old friend has really named me
in his will, but you must not expect that it is a large bequest. The man
who left it to me was a plain person of moderate property, and I myself
shall not learn until the next few days what I am to receive in addition
to his modest house.”
“The more it is, the more cordially I shall congratulate you,” cried the
violinist, and then looked back toward the other travellers.
Wolf did the same, and turned his horse. If he did not urge on the
loiterers the gate, which was closed at nightfall, would need to be
opened for them, for the five troopers who acted as escort had deemed
their duty done when Winzer was reached, and made themselves comfortable
in the excellent tavern there.
The carters had used the lash stoutly, yet it had been no easy matter
to advance rapidly. The rain had softened the road, and the horses and
beasts of burden were sorely wearied by the long trip from Brussels to
Ratisbon, which had been made in hurried days’ journeys. The train of
horsemen and wagons stretched almost beyond the range of vision, for it
comprised the whole world-renowned orchestra of the Emperor Charles, and
Queen Mary’s boy choir.
Only the leaders were absent. Gombert had left Brussels later than the
others, and hastened after them with post-horses, overtaking them about
an hour before, when he induced Appenzelder, the leader of the boy
choir, to enter his carriage, though the latter was reluctant to leave
the young singers who were intrusted to his care. As to the other
travellers, the Queen and Don Luis Quijada had made a great mistake in
their calculations--the number considerably exceeded a hundred. Neither
had thought of the women and children who accompanied the musicians.
Most of the women were the wives of the members of the orchestra, who
had availed themselves of this opportunity to see something of the
world. Others, from motives of love or jealousy, would not part from
their husbands. The little children had been taken because their
mothers, who were fond of travelling and, like their husbands, were
natives of all countries, possessed no relatives in Brussels who would
care for them.
The jealous spouses especially had not joined the party without cogent
reasons, for the mirth in the first long wagon, covered with a linen
tilt, was uproarious enough.
Wolf and his companion heard shrill laughter and loud shrieks echoing
from its dusky interior.
The younger men and the women who liked journeying were sitting in
motley confusion upon the straw which covered the bottom of the vehicle,
and the boisterous mirth of the travellers gave ample proof that the
huge jugs of wine carried with them as the Emperor’s provision for the
journey had been freely used.
In the second cart, an immense ark, swaying between four wheels and
drawn by a team of four horses, grave older artists sat silently
opposite to each other, all more or less exhausted by the continual
rocking motion of the long ride. These men and the other travellers were
joyfully surprised by the news that the goal of the journey was already
at hand. Pressing their heads together, they gazed out of the open linen
tilt which arched above the first cart or crowded to the little windows
of the coaches to see Ratisbon.
Even the old Neapolitan nurse, who was predicting future events from a
pack of cards, dropped them and peered out. But the noise in the second
tilted wagon was especially confused, for there the gay shouts of the
boy choir, only half of whom were on horseback, mingled with the loud
talking of the women, the screams of the babies, and the barking of the
dogs.
The groans of two young singers who were seriously ill were drowned by
the din and heeded by no one except the old drummer’s pitying wife, who
sometimes wiped the perspiration from the sufferers’ brows or supported
their heads.
Other carts, containing the musicians’ instruments, followed this tilted
wagon. Some members of the orchestra would not part with theirs, and
behind the saddle of many a mounted virtuoso or attendant was fastened a
violin case or a shapeless bag which concealed some other instrument.
A large number of musicians mounted on horses or mules surrounded the
two-wheeled cart in which sat Hernbeize of Ghent, the treasurer of the
orchestra, and his fat wife. The corpulent couple, squeezed closely
together, silent and out of humour, had taken no notice of each other or
their surrounding since Frau Olympia had presumed to drag her husband by
force out of the first wagon, where he was paying a visit to a clarionet
player’s pretty young wife.
Whenever Wolf appeared he urged the horsemen and drivers to greater
haste, and thus the musical caravan, with its unauthorized companions,
succeeded in passing through the gate ere it closed. Beyond it the
travellers were received by Quijada, the imperial valet, Adrian Dubois,
and several quartermasters, who meanwhile had provided lodgings.
The major-domo greeted the musicians with dignified condescension, Wolf
with familiar friendship. Master Adrian, the valet, also shook hands
cordially with him and Massi, the “first violin” of the orchestra.
Finally Don Luis rode up to Wolf and informed him that the Queen of
Hungary wished to speak to him early the next morning, and that he also
had something important to discuss at the earliest opportunity. Then he
listened to the complaints of the quartermasters.
These men, who performed their duties with great lack of consideration,
had supposed that they had provided for all the expected arrivals, but,
after counting heads, they discovered that the billets were sufficient
for only half the number. Their attempt to escape providing for the
wives was baffled by the vigorous interposition of the treasurer and by
a positive order from Quijada.
Of course, under these circumstances they were very glad to have Sir
Wolf Hartschwert return his billet--the room in the Crane allotted to
him by the valet was large enough to accommodate half a dozen women.
The nobleman returning to his home had no occasion to find shelter in a
tavern.
Yet, as he wished to remove the traces of the long ride ere he entered
his own house and appeared before the person for whose sake he had
gladly left Brussels, he asked Massi’s permission to use his room in the
Red Cock for a short time.
Leonhard Leitgeb, the landlord, and his bustling better half received
Wolf as a neighbour’s son and an old acquaintance. But, after they had
shown him and Massi to the room intended for them and gone downstairs
again, the landlady of the Cock shook her head, saying:
“He was always a good lad and a clever one, too, but even if a duke’s
coronet should fall upon the thin locks of the poor knight’s son I
should never take him for a real nobleman.”
“Better let that drop,” replied her husband. “Besides, the fine fellow
is of more consequence since he had the legacy. If he should come here
for our Kattl, I’ll wager you wouldn’t keep him waiting.”
“Indeed I wouldn’t,” cried the landlady, laughing. “But just hear what a
racket those soldiers are making again down below!”
Meanwhile Wolf was hurriedly attending to his outer man.
Massi had stretched himself on the thin cushion which covered the seat
of the wooden bench in the bay-window, and thrust his feet far out in
front of him.
As he watched the Ratisbon knight diligently use the little hand mirror
while arranging his smooth, fair locks, he straightened himself, saying:
“No offence, Sir Knight, but when I think of the radiant face with which
you gazed down into the valley of the Danube from the hill where you
stopped before sunset, and now see how zealously you are striving to
adorn your person, it seems to me that there must be in this good
city some one for whom you care more than for all you left behind in
Brussels. At your age, that is a matter of course, if there is a woman
in the case, as I suppose. I know very well what I should do if I were
in your place. Longing often urges me back to Spain like a scourge. I
have already told you why I left my dear wife there in our home. A few
more years in the service, and our savings and the pension together will
be enough to support us there and lay aside a little marriage dowry for
our daughter. When I have what is necessary, I shall turn my back on the
orchestra and the court of Brussels that very day, dear as music is to
me, and sure as I am that I shall never again find a leader like our
Gombert. You do not yet know with how sharp a tooth yearning rends the
soul of the man whom Fate condemns to live away from his family. This
place is your home, and dearer to you than any other, so build yourself
a snug nest here with the person you have in mind.”
“How gladly I would do so!” replied the young knight, “but whether I can
must be decided within the next few davs.”
“Inde-e-ed?” drawled Massi; then he bent his eyes thoughtfully upon the
floor for a short time, and, after calling Wolf by name in a tone of
genuine friendly affection, he frankly added: “Surely you know how dear
a comrade you are to me! Yet precisely for that reason I stick to my
counsel. It’s not only on account of the homesickness--I am, thinking
rather of your position at court--and, let me speak candidly, it is
unworthy of a nobleman and a musician of such ability. The regent is
graciously disposed toward you, and you praise her liberality, but
do you yourself know the name of the office which you fill? More than
enough is placed upon you, and yet, so far as I see, nothing complete.
They understand admirably how to make use of you. It would be well
if that applied solely to the musician. But sometimes she makes you
secretary, and you have to waste whole days in writing letters and do
penance for having learned so many languages; sometimes you must share
in the folly of arranging performances, and your wealth of knowledge is
industriously utilized in preparing mythological figures and devising
new ideas for the exhibitions at which we have to furnish the music.
This affords plenty of labour, but others reap the credit. Recently the
Bishop of Arras even asked you to write in German what he dictated in
French, although you are in the regent’s service, and just at that time
you were transposing the old church songs for the boy choir. I regret to
see you do such tradesmen’s work without adequate reward. Why, even if
her Majesty would give you a fat living or appoint you to the imperial
council which directs musical affairs in the Netherlands! Pardon me, Sir
Wolf! But give people an inch, and they take an ell, and your ever ready
obligingness will injure you, for the harder it is to win a thing the
higher its value becomes. You made yourself too cheap at court here
people will surely know how to put a higher value upon a man who
is equally skilful in Netherland, Italian, and German music. In
counterpoint you are little inferior to Maestro Gombert, and, besides,
you play as many instruments as you have fingers on your hands. We all
like to have you lead us, because you do it with such delicate taste
and comprehension, and, moreover, with a vigour which one would scarcely
expect from you. You will not lack patrons. Look around you here or
elsewhere for a position as leader of an orchestra. Goinbert, to relieve
himself a little, would like to have de Hondt come from Antwerp to
Brussels. His place would be the very one for you if you find nothing
worthy of you here, where you have a house of your own and other things
that bind you to the city.”
“Here I should probably be obliged to crowd somebody else out of one
in order to obtain a position,” replied Wolf, “and I am unwilling to do
so.”
“You are wrong,” cried the violinist. “The course of the world causes
the stronger--and that you are--to take precedence of the weaker. Learn
at last to give up this modest withdrawal and elbow your way forward!”
“Pressing and jostling are not in my nature;” replied Wolf with a slight
shrug of the shoulders. “Since I may hope to be relieved of anxiety
concerning my daily bread, I am disposed to leave the court and seek
quiet happiness in a more definite circle of duties at home. You see,
Massi, it is just the same with us human beings as with material things.
There is my man cutting the rope from yonder package with his sharp
knife. The contents are distributed in a trice, and yet it was tiresome
to collect them and pack them carefully. Thus it would need only a
word to separate myself from the court; but to join it again would be a
totally different affair. There have been numerous changes in this city
since I went away, and many a hand which pressed mine in farewell is
no longer here, or would perhaps be withdrawn, merely because I am a
Catholic and intend to stay here among the Protestants. Besides--lay the
roll on the table, Janche--besides, as you have already heard, the
final decision does not depend upon myself.--Take care, Jan. That little
package is breakable!”
This last exclamation was addressed to Wolf’s Netherland servant, who
was just unpacking his master’s leather bag.
Massi noticed that the articles taken out could scarcely be intended
for a man’s use, and, pointing to a piece of Flanders velvet, he gaily
remarked:
“So my guess was correct. Here, too, the verdict is to be pronounced by
beardless lips.” Wolf blushed like a girl, but, after the violinist had
waited a short time for the confirmation of his conjecture, he continued
more gravely:
“It ill befits me to intrude upon your secret. Every one must go his own
way, and I have wondered why a person who so readily renders a service
to others pursues his own path so unsocially. Will you ever let your
friend know what stirs your heart?”
“I should often have confided in you gladly,” replied Wolf, “but a
certain shyness always restrained me. How can others be interested in
what befalls a lonely, quiet fellow like me? It is not my habit to talk
much, but you will always find me ready to use hand and brain in behalf
of one who is as dear to me as you, Massi.”
“You have already given me proof of that,” replied the violinist, “and I
often marvel how you find time, without neglecting your own business, to
do so much for others with no payment except thanks. I thought you
would accomplish something great, because you paid no heed to women; but
probably you depend on other powers, for if it is a pair of beautiful
eyes whose glance is to decide so important a matter----”
“Never mind that,” interrupted Wolf beseechingly, raising his hand
soothingly. “I confess with Terentius that nothing human is strange
to me. As soon as the decision comes, I will tell you--but you
alone--several particulars. Now accept my thanks for your well-meant
counsel and the use of your room. I’ll see you again early to-morrow. I
promised Gombert and the leader of the boy choir to lend them a helping
hand, so we shall probably meet at the rehearsal.--Go to the stable,
Janche, and see that the groom has rubbed the bay down thoroughly. As
for the rolls and packages here----”
“I’ll help you carry them,” said the violinist, seizing his shoes; but
Wolf eagerly declined his assistance, and went out to ask the landlord
to let him have one of his men.
But the servants of the overcrowded Red Cock all had their hands full,
so the nine-year-old son of the Leitgeb couple and the cellar man’s two
somewhat younger boys, who had not yet gone to bed, were made bearers of
the parcels.
How eager they were to do something which suited grown people, and, when
Wolf described the place where they were to carry the articles, Fran
Leitgeb sympathizingly helped him, and charged the children to hold the
valuable packages very carefully. They must not spare the knocker in the
second story of the cantor house, for old Ursula’s hearing was no longer
the best, and since the day before yesterday--Kathl had brought the news
home--she had been ill. “Some rare luck,” the landlady continued, “will
surely follow the knight up to the Blombergs. The same old steep path,
leads there; but as to Wawer!--it would be improper to say Jungfrau
Barbara--you will surer open your eyes--” Here she was summoned to the
kitchen, and Wolf followed his little assistants into the street.