The cantor house was only a few steps from the Red Cock, and Wolf knew
every stone in the street, which was named for the tavern. Yet that very
circumstance delayed him, for even the smallest trifle which had changed
during his absence attracted his attention.
He had already noticed at the familiar inn that the gay image of the
Madonna and Cluld, and the little lamp above, were no longer there. The
pictures of the saints had been removed from the public rooms, and even
the painting which had been impressed upon his memory from boyhood--like
a sign of the house--had vanished. A large red cock, crowing with
wide-open beak at the Apostle Peter, had been there.
This venerable work of an old artist ought to have been retained, no
matter what doctrine the Leitgebs now professed. Its disappearance
affected the knight unpleasantly.
It also induced him to see whether the Madonna with the swords in her
heart, which, at the time of his departure, had adorned the Ark, the
great house at the corner of the Haidplatz, had met with the same fate,
and this sacred witness of former days had likewise been sacrificed to
the iconoclasm of the followers of the new Protestant faith. This also
grieved him, and urged him to go from street to street, from church to
church, from monastery to monastery, from one of the chapels which
no great mansion in his native land lacked to another, in order to
ascertain what else religious fanaticism had destroyed; but he was
obliged to hasten if he wished to be received by those in his home whom
he most desired to see.
The windows of the second story in the Golden Cross, opposite to the
Ark, were brilliantly lighted. The Emperor Charles lodged there, and
probably his royal sister also. Wolf had given his heart to her with
the devotion with which he had always clung to every one to whom he was
indebted for any kindness. He knew her imperial brother’s convictions,
too, and when he saw at one of the windows a man’s figure leaning,
motionless against the casement with his hand pressed upon his brow,
he realized what deep indignation had doubtless seized upon him at the
sight of the changes which had taken place here during the five years of
his absence.
But Emperor Charles was not the man to allow matters which aroused his
wrath and strong disapproval to pass unpunished. Wolf suspected that the
time was not far distant when yonder monarch at the window, who had won
so many victories, would have a reckoning with the Smalcalds, the allied
Protestants of Germany, and his vivid imagination surrounded him with an
almost mystical power.
He would surely succeed in becoming the master of the Protestant
princes; but was the steel sword the right weapon to destroy this
agitation of the soul which had sprung from the inmost depths of
the German nature? He knew the firm, obstinate followers of the new
doctrine, for there had been a time when his own young mind had leaned
toward it.
Since those days, however, events had happened which had bound him
by indestructible fetters to the old faith. He had vowed to his dying
mother to remain faithful to the Holy Church and loyally to keep his
oath. It was not difficult for one of his modest temperament to be
content with the position of spectator of the play of life which he
occupied. He was not born for conflict, and from the seat to which he
had retired he thought he had perceived that the burden of existence was
easier to bear, and the individual not only obtained external comfort,
but peace of mind more speedily, if he left to the Church many things
which the Protestant was obliged to settle for himself. Besides, as
such, he would have missed many beautiful and noble things which the old
faith daily bestowed upon him, the artist.
People in Ratisbon held a different opinion. Defection from the Roman
Catholic Church, which seemed to him reprehensible, was considered here
a sacred duty, worthy of every sacrifice. This threatened to involve
him in fresh spiritual conflicts, and, as he dreaded such things as
nocturnal birds shun the sunlight, he stood still, thoughtfully asking
himself whether he ought not at once to give up the desire of striking
new roots into this perilous soil.
Only one thing really bound him to Ratisbon, and that was by no means
the house which he had inherited, but a very young girl, and, moreover,
a very changeable one, of whose development and life he had heard
nothing during his absence except that she had not become another’s
wife. Perhaps this girl, whose charm and musical talent, according
to his opinion, were unequalled in Ratisbon, had remained free solely
because she was keeping the promise made when, a child of sixteen, she
bade him farewell. She had told him, though only in her lively childish
fashion, that she would wait for him and become his wife when he
returned home a made man. Yet it now seemed that she had been as
sincerely in earnest in that youthful betrothal as he himself.
This fair hope crowded every scruple far into the shade. If Barbara had
kept her troth to him, he would reward her. Wherever he might build his
nest with her, he would be sure of the richest happiness. Therefore
he persisted in making his decision for the future depend upon her
reception.
The only question was whether it had not already grown too late for him
to visit her and her father, who went to bed with the chickens. But the
new clock in Jacobsplatz pealed only nine bell-like strokes through the
stillness of the evening, and, as he had sent his gifts in advance, he
was obliged to follow them.
He might now regard the cantor house, which was quickly gained, as his
own. Though it was now in the deepest darkness, he gazed up at the high,
narrow building, with the pointed arches of the windows and the bracket
which supported the image of St. Cecilia carved from sandstone, as
intently as if he could distinguish every defect in the windows, every
ornament carved in the ends of the beams.
The second story, which projected above the ground floor into the
street, was completely dark; but a faint glimmer of light streamed from
the little window over the spurge laurel tree, and--this was the main
thing--the bow window in the third story was still lighted.
She whom he sought was waiting there with her father, while beneath it
was the former abode of the precentor and organist and his wife, who had
reared Wolf, and whose heir, after the old man’s death, he had become.
He would take up his quarters in the room which he had occupied as a
scholar, where he had studied, practised music, trained himself in the
art of composition, and in leisure hours had even drawn and painted a
little.
Old Ursula, as he had learned from the legal document which informed him
of his inheritance, was taking care of the property bequeathed to him.
With what pleasure the old maid-servant, faithful soul, who had come
with him--then a little four-year-old boy--and his mother to Ratisbon
twenty-two years ago, would make a bed for him and again cook the
pancakes, which she knew to be his favourite dish!
The thought of the greeting awaiting him from her dispelled the timidity
with which he had set his foot on the first of the three steps that led
up to the threshold of the house. He had no occasion to use the knocker;
a narrow, long streak of light showed that, notwithstanding the late
hour, the outer door was ajar.
Now he heard an inner door open, and this again aroused the anxiety he
had just conquered. Suppose that he should find Wawerl below? Ardently
as he yearned for her to whom all the love of his heart belonged, this
meeting would have come too quickly. Yet she might very easily happen to
be in the lower story, for the lighted window beside the door belonged
to the little house chapel, and since her confirmation she had
undertaken to sweep it, clean the candlesticks and lamps, and keep them
in order, fill the vases on the little altar with blossoms, and adorn
the image of the Madonna with flowers on Lady day and other festivals.
How often he had helped the child and heard her father call her “his
little sacrist”!
The chapel here had gained greater importance to him when the Blombergs
placed above the altar the Madonna and Child which he, who tried all the
arts, had copied with his own hand from an ancient painting. This
had been in July; but when, on the Virgin’s Assumption day in August,
Barbara was twining a beautiful garland of summer flowers around it, and
he, with an overflowing heart, was helping her, his head accidentally
struck against hers, and to comfort her he compassionately kissed the
bruised spot. Only a short time ago she had frankly thrown her arms
around his neck if she wanted him to gratify a wish or forgive an
offence without ever receiving a response to her affection. This time he
had been the aggressor, and received an angry rebuff; during the little
scuffle which now followed, Wolf’s heart suddenly grew hot, and his kiss
fell upon her scarlet lips. The first was followed by several others,
until steps on the stairs parted the young lover from the girl, who
offered but a feeble resistance.
Now he remembered the incident, and his cheeks flushed again. Oh, if
to-day he should possess the right to have those refractory lips at his
disposal!
During the five months spent in Ratisbon after that attack in the chapel
he had more than once been bold enough to strive for more kisses, but
always in vain, and rarely without bearing away a sharp reprimand, for
Barbara had felt her slight resistance in the chapel as a grave offence.
She had permitted something forbidden under the eyes of the Virgin’s
image, and this had seemed to her so wicked that she had confessed it,
and not only been sternly censured, but had a penance imposed.
Barbara had not forgotten this, and had understood how to keep him aloof
with maidenly austerity until, on the evening before his departure, he
had hung around her neck the big gold thaler his godfather had given
him.
Then, obeying an impulse of gratitude, she had thrown her arms around
his neck; but even then she would not allow him to kiss her lips again.
Instead, she hastily drew back to examine the gold thaler closely,
praised its weight and beauty, and then promised Wolf that when she was
rich and he had become a great lord she would have a new goblet made for
him out of just such coins, like one which she had seen at the Wollers
in the Ark, the richest of her wealthy relatives.
As Wolf now recalled this promise it vexed him again.
What had he expected from that parting hour--the vow of eternal
fidelity, a firm betrothal, ardent kisses, and a tender embrace? But,
instead of obtaining even one of these beautiful things, he had become
involved in a dispute with Barbara because he desired to receive nothing
from her, and only claimed the right of showering gifts upon her later.
This had pleased her, and, when he urged her to promise to wait for him
and become his wife when he returned home a made man, she laughed gaily,
and declared that she liked him, and, if it should be he who obtained
for her what she now had in mind, she would be glad.
Then his loving heart overflowed, and with her hands clasped in his he
entreated her to give up these arrogant thoughts, be faithful to him,
and not make him wretched.
The words had poured so ardently, so passionately from the quiet, sedate
young man’s lips that the girl was thoroughly frightened, and wrenched
her hands from his grasp. But when she saw how deeply her struggling
hurt him, she voluntarily held out her right hand, exclaiming:
“Only succeed while you are absent sufficiently to build a house like
our old one in the Kramgasse, and when the roof is on and your knightly
escutcheon above the door we will move in together, and life will be
nothing but music and happiness.”
This was all that gave him the right to consider her as his betrothed
bride, for after a brief farewell and a few kisses of the hand flung to
him from the threshold, she had escaped to the little bow-windowed
room and thereby also evaded from the departing lover an impressive,
well-prepared speech concerning the duties of a betrothed couple.
Yet in Rome and Brussels Wolf had held fast to the conviction that a
beloved betrothed bride was awaiting him in Ratisbon.
So long as his foster-parents lived he had had news from them of the
Blombergs. After the death of the old couple, Barbara’s father had
answered in a very awkward manner the questions which he had addressed
to him in a letter, and his daughter wrote a friendly message under the
old captain’s signature. True, it was extremely brief, but few fiery
love letters ever made the recipient happier or were more tenderly
pressed to the lips.
The girl he loved still bore the name of Barbara Blomberg.
This outweighed a whole archive of long letters. The captain, who, for
the sake of fighting the infidels, had so sadly neglected his property
that his own house in the Kramgasse fell into the hands of his
creditors, had rented the second story in the cantor house. Barbara at
that time was very small, but now she had ceased to be a child, and,
after she devoted herself earnestly to acquiring the art of singing, the
old warrior had undertaken to keep the little chapel in order.
The task certainly seemed strangely ill-suited to the tall,
broad-shouldered man with the bushy eyebrows, long beard, and mustache
twisted stiffly up at the ends, who had obtained in Tunis and during the
Turkish war the reputation of being one of the most fearless heroes, and
carried away severe wounds; but he knew how to make scoffers keep their
distance, and did not trouble himself at all about other people.
Regularly every evening he went down the stairs and performed the duty
he had undertaken with the punctilious care of a neat housewife.
He was a devout man, and did his work there in the hope of pleasing the
Holy Virgin, because the reckless old warrior was indebted to her for
more than one deliverance from impending death, and because he trusted
that she would repay it to him in his child.
Besides, his income was not large enough for him to keep a maid-servant
of his own, and he could not expect old Ursel, who had worked for the
precentor and his wife, and performed the roughest labour in the third
story for a mere “thank you,” to take care of the chapel also. She had
plenty to do, and besides she had been a Protestant three years, and
took the Lord’s Supper in a different form.
This would have induced him to break off every connection with his old
friend’s maid-servant had not his kind, grateful heart forbidden him to
hurt her feelings. Besides, she was almost indispensable to his daughter
and himself; it was difficult enough, in any case, for the nobly born
captain to meet the obligations imposed by his position.
He now received only a very small portion of the profits of the lumber
trade which had supported his ancestors, his father, and himself very
handsomely, for he had been compelled to mortgage his share in the
business.
Notwithstanding the title of “Captain” with which his imperial commander
had honoured him when he received his discharge, the pension he had was
scarcely worth mentioning, and, besides, it was very irregularly paid.
Therefore the father and daughter had tried to obtain some means of
earning money which could be kept secret from their fellow-citizens.
The “Captain” busied himself with tracing coats-of-arms, ornaments, and
inscriptions upon tin goblets, mugs, tankards, and dishes. Barbara, when
she had finished her exercises in singing, washed fine laces. This
was done entirely in secret. A certain Frau Lerch, who when a girl
had served Barbara’s dead mother as waiting maid, and now worked as
a dressmaker for the most aristocratic women in Ratisbon, privately
obtained this employment. It was partly from affection for the young
lady whom she had tended when a child; but the largest portion of
Barbara’s earnings returned to her, for she cut for the former all the
garments she needed to appear among her wealthy relatives and young
companions at dances, musical entertainments, banquets, and excursions
to the country. True, Frau Lerch, who was a childless woman, worked very
cheaply for her, and, when she heard that Barbara had again been the
greatest beauty, it pleased her, and she saw her seed ripening.
What a customer the vain darling, who was very ambitious, promised
to become in the future as the wife of a rich aristocrat! She would
undoubtedly be that. There was absolute guarantee of it in her
marvellously beautiful head, with its abundant golden hair, her
magnificent figure, which--she could not help knowing it--was unequalled
in Ratisbon, and her nightingale voice.
Even old Blomberg, who kept aloof from the meetings of his distinguished
fellow-citizens, but, on the other hand, when his supply of money would
permit, enjoyed a drinking bout at the tavern with men of the sword all
the more, rejoiced to hear his daughter’s rare gifts lauded. The use of
the graver was thoroughly distasteful and unsuited to his rank; but even
the most laborious work gained a certain charm for his paternal heart
when, while wiping the perspiration from his brow, he thought of what
his diligence would allow him to devote to the adornment and instruction
of his daughter.
He preferred to be alone at home, and his reserved, eccentric nature had
caused his relatives to shun his house, which doubtless seemed to them
contemptibly small.
Barbara endured this cheerfully, for, though she had many relatives
and acquaintances among the companions of her own age, she possessed no
intimate friend.
As a child, Wolf had been her favourite playmate, but now visits from
her aunts and cousins would only have interrupted her secret work, and
disturbed her practice of singing.
When Wolf entered the house, the captain had just left the chapel. He
did not notice the returning owner, for people must have made their way
into the quiet dwelling. At least he had heard talking in the entry of
the second story, where usually it was even more noiseless than in his
lodgings in the third, since it was tenanted only by old Ursel, who was
now confined to her bed.
Wolf saw Barbara’s father, whose height surpassed the stature of
ordinary men by a head, hurrying up the stairs. It was a strange, and,
for children, certainly an alarming, sight--his left leg, which had
been broken by a bullet from a howitzer, had remained stiff, and, as
he leaped up three stairs at a time, he stretched his lean body so far
forward that it seemed as though he could not help losing his balance
at the next step. He was in haste, for he thought that at last he could
again acquit himself manfully and cope with one or rather with two or
three of the burglars who, since the Duke of Bavaria had prohibited the
conveyance of provisions into Ratisbon as a punishment for its desertion
of the Catholic Church, had pursued their evil way in the city.
He first discovered with what very small ill-doers he had to deal when
he held the little lamp toward them, and, to his sincere vexation, found
that they were only little boys, who, moreover, were the children of
honest folk, and therefore could scarcely be genuine scoundrels.
Yet it could hardly be any laudable purpose which brought them at so
late an hour to the cantor house, and therefore, with the intention of
turning the serious attack into a mirthful one; he shouted in a harsh
voice the gibberish which he had compounded of scraps of all sorts of
languages, and whose effect upon unruly youngsters he had tested to his
own amusement.
As his rough “Larum gardum quantitere runze punze ke hi voi la” now
reached the little ones, the impression was far deeper than he had
intended, for the cellar man’s youngest son, a little fellow six years
old, first shrieked aloud, and, when the terrible old man’s long arms
barred his way, he began to cry piteously.
This troubled the kind-hearted giant, who was really fond of children,
and, ere the little lad was aware of it, the captain’s free left hand
grasped the waistband of his little leather breeches and lifted him into
the air.
The swift act doubled the terror and anguish of the struggling little
wight.
As the strong man held him on his arm he fought bravely with his fat
little fists and his sturdy little legs. But though in the unequal
conflict the boy pitilessly pulled the powerful monster’s grayishy
yellow imperial and bushy mustache, and the captain recognised the child
from the Red Cock as one of the rascals who often shouted their nickname
of “Turkey gobbler” after his tall figure, conspicuous from its height
and costume, he strove with honest zeal to soothe the little one.
His deep voice, meanwhile, sounded so gentle and friendly, and his
promise to give him a piece of spice cake which he was bringing home
to Ursel to sweeten the disagreeable taste of her medicine produced
so soothing an influence, that little Hans at last looked up at him
trustingly and hopefully.
The cellar man’s oldest son, who had violently assaulted the old
gentleman to release his little brother, now stood penitently before
him, and the landlord’s boy related, in somewhat confused but perfectly
intelligible words, the object of their coming, and in whose name they
were bringing the roll and yonder little package to old Ursel.
The story sounded humble enough, but as soon as the captain had set
little Hans on his feet and bent curiously over the forerunners of the
dear friend, which had been placed on the little bench by the door,
the three boys dashed down the stairs, and the shrill voice of the
landlord’s son shrieked from the lowest step one “Turkey gobbler” and
“Pope’s slave” after another.
“Satan’s imps!” shouted the old man; but the outer door, which banged
below him, showed that pursuit of the naughty mockers would result to
his disadvantage. Then as, with an angry shake of the head, he drew back
from the banisters, he saw his daughter’s playmate.
How dear the latter was to him, and how fully his aged heart had
retained its capacity of feeling, were proved by the reception which he
gave the returning knight. The injury just inflicted seemed to have been
entirely forgotten. With tears in his eyes and a voice tremulous with
deep emotion, he drew Wolf toward him, kissing first his head, which
reached only to his lips, then his cheeks and brow. Then, with youthful
vivacity, he expressed his pleasure in seeing him again, and, without
permitting Wolf to speak, he repeatedly exclaimed:
“And my Wawerl, and Ursel in there! There’ll be a jubilee!”
When Wolf had at last succeeded in returning his old friend’s greeting
and then expressed a wish, first of all, to clasp the faithful old
maid-servant’s hand, the old gentleman’s beaming face clouded, and he
said, sighing:
“What has not befallen us here since you went away, my dear Wolf! My
path has been bordered with tombstones as poplars line the highway.
But we will let the dead rest. Nothing can now disturb their peace. Old
Ursel, too, is longing for the end of life, and we ought not to grudge
it to her. Only I dread the last hour, and still more the long eternity
which will follow it, for the good, patient woman entered the snare of
the Satanic Protestant doctrine, and will not hear of taking the holy
sacrament.”
Wolf begged him to admit him at once, but Blomberg declared that, after
the attack of apoplexy which she had recently had, one thing and another
might happen if she should so unexpectedly see the man to whom her whole
heart clung. Wolf would do better first to surprise the girl upstairs,
who had no suspicion of his presence. He, Blomberg, must look after the
old woman now. He would carry those things--he pointed to the parcels
which the boys had left--into the young nobleman’s old room. Ursel had
always kept it ready for his return, as though she expected him daily.
This suited Wolf, only he insisted upon having his own way about the
articles he had brought, and took them upstairs with him.
He would gladly have greeted the faithful nurse of his childhood at
once, yet it seemed like a fortunate dispensation that, through the old
man’s delay below, his wish to have his first meeting with the woman he
loved without witnesses should be fulfilled.