Wolf’s first walk took him to the Golden Cross, the lodgings of the
Emperor Charles and his court. The sky had clouded again, and a keen
northwest wind was blowing across the Haidplatz and waving the banner
on the lofty square battlemented tower at the right of the stately old
edifice.
It had originally belonged to the Weltenburg family as a strong
offensive and defensive building, then frequently changed hands.
The double escutcheon on the bow-window was that of the Thun and Fugger
von Reh families, who had owned it in Wolf’s childhood.
Now he glanced up to see whether young Herr Crafft, to whom the building
now belonged, had not also added an ornament to it. But when Wolf’s
gaze wandered so intently from the tower to the bow-window, and from the
bow-window to the great entrance door, it was by no means from pleasure
or interest in the exterior of the Golden Cross, but because Barbara had
confessed that the nineteen-year-old owner of the edifice, who was still
a minor, was also wooing her.
What was the probable value of this stately structure, this aristocratic
imperial abode? How rich its owner was! yet she, the brilliant young
beauty who had grown up in poverty, disdained young Crafft because her
heart did not attract her to him.
So, in this case, faithful Ursel must deceive herself and misjudge the
girl, for the old woman’s strangely evasive words had revealed plainly
enough that she did not consider Barbara the right wife for him.
The good people of Ratisbon could not understand this rare creature! Her
artist nature gave her peculiar, unusual traits of character, which were
distasteful to the ways of German burghers. Whatever did not fit the
usual forms, whatever surpassed ordinary models, was regarded with
distrust. He himself had scarcely been able to understand how a girl so
free and independent in her feelings, and probably also in her actions,
such a mistress of the art of singing, whose performances fulfilled the
highest demands, could have bloomed and matured in this environment.
Old Ursel’s evasion had wounded and troubled him; the thoughts
associated with the double escutcheon on the bow-window, however,
revived the clouded feeling of happiness, and, with head erect, he
passed the guards at the entrance and went into the corridor, which was
again crowded with lords and ladies of the court, priests of all ranks,
knights, pages, and servants.
His position gave him access to the Queen of Hungary’s apartments
without delay--nay, he might hope to be received by her Majesty sooner
than many of the knights, lords and ladies, ecclesiastical and secular
dignitaries who were waiting there; the stewards, chamberlains and
heralds, the ladies of the court, pages, and lackeys knew that the royal
lady not only summoned Sir Wolf Hartschwert frequently, but welcomed his
presence.
Nearly all were Spaniards or natives of the Netherlands, and it was
fortunate for Wolf, on the one hand, that he had learned their language
quickly and well in Italy and Brussels, and, on the other, that his
birth entitled him to a place with nobles who had the rank of knights.
How formal and stiffly precise everything was here! How many backs bowed
low, how softly bombastic, high-sounding words were murmured! It seemed
as if every free, warm impulse would lapse into stiffness and coldness;
moreover, those assembled here were not the poor petitioners of other
antechambers, but lords and ladies who belonged to the most illustrious
and aristocratic families, while among the waiting ecclesiastics there
was many a prelate with the dignified bearing of a bishop.
Some of the Netherlanders alone frequently threw off the constraint
which fettered all, and one even turned with the gayest ease from one
person to another. This was Baron Malfalconnet, one of the Emperor’s
major-domos. He was permitted to do what no one else ventured, for his
cheerfulness and wit, his gift of story-telling, and sharp tongue often
succeeded in dispelling the clouds of melancholy from the brow of his
imperial master.
At Wolf’s entrance the baron greeted him with merry banter, and then
whispered to him that the regent was expecting him in her private room,
where the leaders of the newly arrived musicians had already gone. As
Wolf belonged to the “elect,” he would conduct him to her Majesty before
“the called” who were here in the waiting room.
As he spoke he delivered him to the Emperor’s confidential secretary,
Gastelu, whom Wolf had often aided in the translation of German letters,
and the latter ushered him into the Queen’s reception room.
It was the royal lady’s sleeping apartment, a moderately wide, unusually
deep chamber, looking out upon the Haidplatz. The walls were hung with
Flanders Gobelin tapestry, whose coloured pictures represented woodland
landscapes and hunters. The Queen’s bed stood halfway down the long wall
at the right.
Little could be seen of her person, for heavy gold-embroidered damask
curtains hung around the wide, lofty bedstead, falling from the canopy
projecting, rootlike, above the top, where gilded child genii bore a
royal crown. On the side toward the room the curtains were drawn back
far enough to allow those who were permitted to approach the regent to
see her head and the upper portion of her body, which was wrapped in an
ermine cape.
She leaned in a sitting posture against a pile of white satin pillows,
and her thick locks, interwoven with strings of pearls, bore witness to
the skill of the maid who had combed and curled them so artistically and
adorned them with a heron’s plume. Two beautiful English pointers and
a slender hound were moving about and sometimes disturbed the repose of
the two Wachtersbach badger dogs, who were trained to keep side by side
everywhere--in the room as well as in hunting. When the door opened they
only raised their sagacious little heads with a low growl.
The other living beings who had obtained admittance to the Queen’s
chamber at so early an hour were constrained by etiquette to formal,
silent quiescence. Only the ladies in waiting and the chamberlains moved
to and fro unasked, but they also stepped lightly and graduated the
depth of the bow with which they greeted each individual to suit his
or her rank, while the pages used their nimble feet, whose tread silken
shoes rendered noiseless, lightly and carelessly.
The features of most of the persons present expressed reverence and
expectation. But although, on account of the clouded sky and the small
window panes, the rear of the deep apartment especially was only dimly
lighted, the impression produced was neither gloomy nor depressing. This
was prevented by the swift movements of the pages, the shrill screams
of the gay parrots at the window, the paraphernalia of the chase hung on
the wall, and especially by the regent herself, whose clear voice broke
the silence with gay unconcern, and exerted a redeeming influence upon
the constraint of the listeners.
She had just received the Bishop of Hildesheim, the Prince of Savoy,
and the Countess Tassis, but gave each only a brief audience, for
the entrance of the conductor of the orchestra had not escaped her
attention.
Several other personages of the highest rank were still among the
waiting group, and her chamberlain, Count Hochstraaten, asked in a low
tone whether she would deign to receive the Count Palatine von Simmern;
but she was determined to close the audience, for Wolf Hartschwert had
entered the room, and the subjects which she desired to discuss with him
and the musicians would permit no witnesses.
So, without answering Hochstraaten’s question, she turned her face
toward the chamber, and said, loudly enough to be heard by all present:
“This reception must suffice for to-day! Whoever does not know that I
used last night in his Majesty’s service for a better purpose than sleep
will deem me a lazy sluggard. Would to Heaven I had no worse fault! The
rising sun sees me more frequently at my station in the hunting grounds
than it does many of you, my honoured friends, at the breakfast table.
So, Hochstraaten, be kind enough to tell the ladies and gentlemen who
have given me the pleasure of their visits, that their patience shall be
less severely tried this evening before vespers.”
While speaking, she beckoned to the Marquise de Leria, her oldest lady
in waiting, and, as the latter bent her aged back to adjust the pillows,
the Queen whispered to her to detain the conductor of the orchestra and
Sir Wolf Hartschwert.
The order was instantly obeyed, but some time elapsed ere the last of
those who had sought an audience left the room, for, although the regent
vouchsafed no one a glance, but turned the pages of a note-book which
had been lying on the little table at the head of her bed, each person,
before crossing the threshold, bowed toward the couch in the slow,
formal manner which etiquette dictated.
As soon as Queen Mary found herself alone with the musicians and the
marquise, she beckoned graciously to the former, but with familiar
kindness to Wolf, and asked for a brief account of his journey. Then she
confessed that the Emperor’s sufferings and melancholy mood had induced
her to subject them to the discomforts of the trip to Ratisbon. His
Majesty was ignorant of their presence, but she anticipated the most
favourable result upon her royal brother, who so warmly loved and keenly
appreciated music, if he could hear unexpectedly the finest melodies,
sometimes inspiring, sometimes cheering in tone.
Her inquiry whether his Majesty’s orchestra and her own boys would be
able to give a performance that evening was eagerly answered in the
affirmative by Maestro Gombert, the conductor of the orchestra, and
Benedictus Appenzelder, conductor of the boy choir, who was in her
personal service. She expressed her pleasure in the knowledge, and then
proposed to surprise the Emperor at the principal meal, about midnight,
with Jacob Hobrecht’s Missa Graecorum, whose magnificent profundity his
Majesty especially admired.
Gombert forced himself to keep silence, but the significant smile on his
delicate, beardless lips betrayed what he thought of this selection. The
conductor of the boy choir was franker. He slightly shook his ponderous
head, whose long, gray hair was parted in the middle, and then honestly
admitted, in his deep tones, that the Missa Graecorum seemed to him
too majestic and gloomy for this purpose. Wolf, too, disapproved of the
Queen’s suggestion for the same reason, and, though she pointed out
that she had chosen this composition precisely on account of its deep
religious earnestness, the former persisted in his opposition, and
modestly mentioned the melody which would probably be best suited for a
surprise at his imperial Majesty’s repast.
Maestro Gombert had recently composed a Benedictio Mensae for four
voices, and, as it was one of his most effective creations, had never
been executed, and therefore would be entirely new to the Emperor, it
was specially adapted to introduce the concert with which the monarch
was to be surprised at table.
The Queen would have preferred that a religious piece should commence
the musical performance, but assented to Wolf’s proposal. Gombert
himself dispelled her fear that his composition would be purely secular
in character, and Wolf upheld him by singing to the musical princess,
to the accompaniment of the lute, snatches of the principal theme of the
Benedictio, which had impressed itself upon his faithful memory.
Gombert assisted him, but Appenzelder stroked his long beard, signifying
his approval by nods and brief exclamations of satisfaction. The Queen
was now sincerely glad that this piece of music had been brought to her
notice; certainly nothing more suitable for the purpose could have been
found. Besides, her kindly nature and feminine tact made her grateful to
Wolf for his hint of distinguishing, by the first performance of one
of his works, the able conductor and fine composer upon whom she had
imposed so fatiguing a journey.
She would gladly have given Appenzelder also some token of her favour,
but she could not have used any of his compositions--the most famous of
which was a dirge--upon this occasion, and the blunt long-beard frankly
admitted this, and declared unasked that he desired nothing better
than to offer his Majesty, with the Benedictio, the first greeting of
Netherland music.
Gombert’s bearing was that of an aristocrat, his lofty brow that of a
thinker, and his mobile mouth rendered it easy to perceive what a wealth
of joyous mirth dwelt within the soul of this artist, who was equally
distinguished in grave and gay moods.
Queen Mary was by no means blind to these merits, and lamented the
impossibility of being on more familiar terms of intercourse with him
and his colleague of the boy choir. But both were of humble birth, and
from childhood custom had prohibited her, as well as the other female
members of her family, from associating with persons who did not belong
to the nobility. So there was no place for either in her household.
Rough Appenzelder regarded this as fortunate; Gombert thought it a
matter of course because custom so ordained.
The stimulus which the Queen could expect from Wolf Hartschwert was
certainly far less deep and varied; yet to him who, as a knight,
belonged to her train, she granted many favours which she denied the
famous Gombert. Besides, Wolf’s musical knowledge was as remarkable
as his usefulness as a secretary. Lastly, his equable disposition, his
unerring sense of propriety, and his well-proved fidelity had gained the
full confidence of the royal lady.
By the side of the two composers and leaders of the musicians he looked
almost boyish, yet, as the regent was overburdened with affairs of
state, she confided to him alone the care of the further success of the
surprise.
He was familiar with the rooms of the Golden Cross, and before midnight
would have posted the singers and musicians so that his Majesty would
first learn through his ears the pleasure which they intended to bestow
upon him.