In spite of the darkness and the zigzag turns of the stairs, Wolf was so
familiar with every corner of the old house that he did not even need to
grope his way with his hand.
He found the door of the Blomberg lodgings open. Putting down in the
anteroom whatever might be in his way while greeting Barbara, and
carrying the roll of velvet under his arm and a little box in his
pocket, he entered the chamber which the old man called his artist
workshop. It was in total darkness, but through the narrow open door in
the middle of the left wall one could see what was going on in Barbara’s
little bow-windowed room. This was quite brightly lighted, for she was
ironing and crimping ruffs for the neck, small lace handkerchiefs, and
cuffs.
The light required for this purpose was diffused by a couple of tallow
candles and also by the coals which heated the irons.
As she bent over the glow, it shone into her beautiful face and upon her
magnificent fair hair, which rippled in luxuriant confusion about her
round head or fell in thick waves to her hips. The red kerchief which
had confined it was lying on the floor. Another had slipped from her
neck and was hanging on the corner of the ironing board. Her stockings
had lost their fastenings and slipped down to her feet, revealing limbs
whose whiteness and beauty of form vied with the round arms which, after
holding the iron near her hot cheeks, she moved with eager diligence.
The image of a vivacious, early developed child had impressed itself
upon Wolf’s mind. Now he stood before a maiden in the full bloom of her
charms, whose superb symmetry of figure surprised and stirred him to the
depths of his nature.
In spite of her immature youth, he had cherished her in his inmost
heart. Youth, she confronted him as an entirely new and doubly desirable
creature. The quiet longing which had mastered him was transformed into
passionate yearning, but he restrained it by exerting all the strength
of will peculiar to him, for a voice within cried out that he was too
insignificant for this marvellous maiden.
But when she dipped the tips of her fingers into the dainty little bowl,
which he had once given her for a birthday present, sprinkled the linen
with water, and meanwhile sang in fresh, clear notes the ‘ut, re, me,
fa, sol, la’ of Perissone Cambio’s singing lesson, new wonder seized
him. What compass, what power, what melting sweetness the childish voice
against whose shrillness his foster-father and he himself had zealously
struggled now possessed! Neither songstress nor member of the boy
choir whom he had heard in Italy or the Netherlands could boast of such
bell-like purity of tone! He was a connoisseur, and yet it seemed
as though every tone which he heard had received the most thorough
cultivation.
Who in Ratisbon could have been her teacher? To whom did she owe this
masterly training? As if by a miracle, he knew not whether from looking
or listening, he found a combination of notes which he had long been
seeking for the motet on which he was working. When he had registered
it, and she sang a few passages from it, what an exquisite delight
awaited him! But what should he do now? Ought he to surprise her in this
way? It would certainly have been proper to be first announced by her
father; but he could not bring himself even to stir a foot. Beads of
perspiration stood upon his brow. Panting for breath, he seized his
handkerchief to wipe it, and in doing so the roll of velvet which he had
held under his arm fell on the floor.
Wolf stooped, and, ere he had straightened himself again, he heard
Barbara call in a questioning tone, “Father?” and saw her put down the
iron and stand listening.
Then, willing or not, he was obliged to announce his presence, and, with
a timid “It is I, Wolf,” he approached the little bow-windowed room and
hesitatingly crossed the threshold.
“Wolf, my tame Wolf,” she repeated gaily, without being in the least
concerned about the condition of her dress. “I knew that we should soon
meet again, for, just think of it! I dreamed of you last night. I was
entering a golden coach. It was very high, so I put my foot on your
hand, and you lifted me in.”
Then, without the least embarrassment, she held out her right hand, but
slapped his fingers smartly when he passionately endeavoured to raise it
to his lips.
Yet the blow was not unkindly meant, for even while he drew back she
voluntarily clasped both his hands, scrutinized him intently from head
to foot, and said calmly:
“Welcome to the old home, Sir Knight!” Then, laughing gaily, she added:
“Why, such a thing is unprecedented! Not a feature, not a look is unlike
what it used to be! And yet you’ve been roaming five years in foreign
lands! Changes take place--only look at me!--changes take place more
swiftly here in Ratisbon. How you stare at me! I thought so! Out with
it! Hasn’t the feather-head of those days become quite a charming young
lady?”
Now Wolf would gladly have made as many flattering speeches as she could
desire, but his tongue refused to obey him. The new meeting was too
unlike his expectation. The sight of the self-conscious woman who,
in her wonderful beauty, stood leaning with folded arms on the
ironing-table stirred his heart and senses too strongly.
Standing motionless, he strove for words, while his eyes revealed
plainly enough the passionate rapture which agitated his soul. Barbara
perceived what was passing in his thoughts, and also noticed how her
dress had become disarranged during her work.
Flushing slightly, she pursed up her lips as if to whistle, and with
her head thrust forward she blew into the air in his direction. Then,
shaking her finger at him, she hastily sat down on the chest beside the
fireplace, wound the kerchief which had fallen off closer around her
neck, and, without the least embarrassment, pulled up her stockings.
“What does it matter!” she cried with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
“How often we two have waded together in water above our knees, like the
storks! And yet such a thing turns the head of a youth who has returned
from foreign lands a made man, and closes his bearded lips! Have you
given me even a single honest word of welcome? That’s the way with all
of you! And you? If you stand there already like a dumb sign-post, how
will it be when I thoroughly turn your head like all the rest with my
singing?”
“I’ve heard you already!” he answered quickly; “magical, bewildering,
magnificent! Who in the world wrought this miracle with your voice?”
“There we have it!” she cried, laughing merrily and clapping her hands.
“To make you speak, one need only allude distantly to music. That, too,
has remained unchanged, and I am glad, for I have much to ask you in
relation to it. I can learn many things from you still. But what have
you there in your hand? Is it anything pretty from Brabant?” This
question flowed from her lips with coaxing tenderness, and she passed
her soft hand swiftly over his cheek.
How happy it made him!
Hitherto he had been the receiver--nay, an unfair taker--but now he was
to become the giver and she would be pleased with his present.
As if relieved from a nightmare, he now told her that he had gone from
Rome, through the Papal Legate Contarini, whom he had accompanied to
Italy as a secretary skilled in German and music--to the imperial
court, where he now enjoyed the special favour of the Regent of the
Netherlands, the widowed Queen of Hungary; that the royal lady, the
sister of the Emperor Charles, had chosen him to be director of her
lessons in singing, and also permitted him to write German letters for
her; and what assistance worthy of all gratitude he had enjoyed through
the director of the imperial musicians, Gombert, the composer and leader
of the royal orchestra, and his colleague Appenzelder, who directed the
Queen’s boy choir.
At the mention of these names, Barbara listened intently. She had
sung several of Gombert’s compositions, and was familiar with one of
Appenzelder’s works.
When she learned that both must have arrived in Ratisbon several
hours before, she anxiously asked Wolf if he would venture to make her
acquainted with these great masters.
Wolf assented with joyous eagerness, while Barbara’s cheeks crimsoned
with pleasure at so valuable a promise.
Yet this subject speedily came to a close, for while talking Wolf had
ripped the linen cover in which the roll of velvet was sewed, and, as
soon as he unfolded the rich wine-coloured material, Barbara forgot
everything else, and burst into loud exclamations of pleasure and
admiration. Then, when Wolf hastened out and with hurrying fingers
opened the little package he had brought and gave her the costly fur
which was to serve as trimming for the velvet jacket, she again laughed
gleefully, and, ere Wolf was aware of it, she had thrown her arms around
his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.
He submitted as if dazed, and did not even regain his senses
sufficiently to profit by what she had granted him with such unexpected
liberality. Nor did she allow him to speak as she loosed her arms from
his neck, for, with a bewitching light in her large, blue eyes, fairly
overflowing with grateful tenderness, she cried:
“You dear, dear, kind little Wolf! To think that you should have
remembered me so generously! And how rich you must be! If I had become
so before you, I should have given myself a dress exactly like this.
Now it’s mine, just as though it had dropped from the sky. Wine-coloured
Flanders velvet, with a border of dark-brown marten fur! I’ll parade in
it like the Duchess of Bavaria or rich Frau Fugger. Holy Virgin! if that
isn’t becoming to my golden hair! Doesn’t it just suit me, you little
Wolf and great spendthrift? And when I wear it at the dance in the New
Scale or sing in it at the Convivium musicum, my Woller cousins and the
Thun girl will turn yellow with envy.”
Wolf had only half listened to this outburst of delight, for he
had reserved until the last his best offering--a sky-blue turquoise
breastpin set with small diamonds. It brought him enthusiastic thanks,
and Barbara even allowed him to fasten the magnificent ornament with his
own fingers, which moved slowly and clumsily enough.
Then she hurried into her chamber to bring the hand-mirror, and when in
an instant she returned and, at her bidding, he held the shining glass
before her, she patted his cheeks with their thin, fair, pointed beard,
and called him her faithful little Wolf, her clear, stupid pedant and
Satan in person, who would fill her mind with vanity.
Finally, she laid the piece of velvet over the back of a chair, let it
fall down to the floor, and threw the bands of fur upon it. Every graver
word, every attempt to tell her what he expected from her, the girl
cut short with expressions of gratitude and pleasure until her father
returned from the suffering Ursel.
Then, radiant with joy, she showed the old man her new treasures, and
the father’s admiration and expressions of gratitude were not far behind
the daughter’s.
It seemed as though Fate had blessed the modest rooms in Red Cock Street
with its most precious treasures.
It might be either Wolf’s return, the hopes for his daughter which
were associated with it in the crippled old warrior’s heart, or the
unexpected costly gifts, to which Wolf had added for his old friend a
Netherland drinking vessel in the form of a silver ship, which had moved
the old gentleman so deeply, but at any rate he allowed himself to be
tempted into an act of extravagance, and, in an outburst of good spirits
which he had not felt for a long time, he promised Wolf to fetch
from the cellar one of the jugs of wine which he kept there for his
daughter’s wedding.
“Over this liquid we will open our hearts freely to each other, my boy,”
he said. “The night is still long, and even at the Emperor’s court there
is nothing better to be tasted. My dead mother used to say that there
are always more good things in a poor family which was once rich than in
a rich one which was formerly poor.”