Majesty, whose nature demands that people should look up to it, shuns
the downward glance of compassion. Yet during this walk the Emperor
Charles, even at the risk of presenting a pitiable spectacle, would
gladly have availed himself of the litter.
He, who had cherished the proud feeling of uniting in himself, his own
imperial power, the temporal and ecclesiastical sovereignty over all
Christendom, would now willingly have changed places with the bronzed,
sinewy halberdiers who were presenting arms to him along the sides of
the staircase. Yet he waved back Luis Quijada with an angry glance and
the sharp query, “Who summoned you?” when, in an attitude of humble
entreaty, he ventured to offer him the support of his strong arm. Still,
pain compelled him to pause at every third step, and ever and anon to
lean upon the strong hip of his royal sister.
Queen Mary gladly rendered him the service, and, as she gazed into
his face, wan with anxiety and suffering, and thought of the beautiful
surprise which she had in store, she waved back, unnoticed by her royal
brother, the pages and courtiers who were following close behind. Then
looking up at him, she murmured:
“How you must suffer, Carlos! But happiness will surely follow the
martyrdom. Only a few steps, a few minutes more, and you will again look
life in the face with joyous courage. You will not believe it? Yet it is
true. I would even be inclined to wager my own salvation upon it.”
The Emperor shook his head dejectedly, and answered bitterly:
“Such things should not be trifled with; besides, you would lose your
wager. Joyous courage, Querida, was buried long ago, and too many cares
insure its having no resurrection. The good gifts which Heaven formerly
permitted me to enjoy have lost their zest; instead of bread, it now
gives me stones. The best enjoyment it still grants me--I am honest
and not ungrateful in saying so--is a well-prepared meal. Laugh, if you
choose! If moralists and philosophers heard me, they would frown. But
the consumption of good things affords them pleasure too. It’s a pity
that satiety so speedily ends it.”
While speaking, he again descended a few steps, but the Queen,
supporting him with the utmost solicitude, answered cheerily:
“The baser senses, with taste at their head, and the higher ones of
sight and hearing, I know, are all placed by your Majesty in the same
regiment, with equal rank; your obedient servant, on the contrary,
bestows the commissions of officers only on the higher ones. That seems
to me the correct way, and I don’t relinquish the hope of winning for
it the approval of the greatest general and most tasteful connoisseur of
life.”
“If the new cook keeps his promise, certainly not,” replied Charles,
entering into his sister’s tone. “De Rye asserts that he is peerless. We
shall see. As to the senses, they all have an equal share in enabling us
to receive our impressions and form an opinion from them. Why should
the tongue and the palate--But stay! Who the devil can philosophize with
such twinges in the foot?”
“Besides, that can be done much better,” replied the Queen, patting
the sufferer’s arm affectionately, “while the five unequal brothers are
performing the duties of their offices. The saints be praised! Here we
are at the bottom. No, Carlos, no! Not through the chapel! The stone
flags there are so hard and cold.”
As she spoke she guided him around it into the dining-room, where a
large table stood ready for the monarch’s personal suite and a smaller
one for his sister and himself.
The tortured sovereign, still under the influence of the suffering which
he had endured, crossed himself and sat down. Quijada and young Count
Tassis, the Emperor’s favourite page, placed the gouty foot in the most
comfortable position, and Count Buren, the chamberlain, presented the
menu. Charles instantly scanned the list of dishes, and his face
clouded still more as he missed the highly seasoned game pasty which the
culinary artist had proposed and he had approved. Queen Mary had ordered
that it should be omitted, because Dr. Mathys had pronounced it poison
for the gouty patient, and she confessed the offence.
This was done with the frank affection with which she treated her
brother, but Charles, after the first few words, interrupted her,
harshly forbidding any interference, even hers, in matters which
concerned himself alone, and in the same breath commanded Count Buren to
see that the dish should still be made. Then, as if to show his sister
how little he cared for her opposition, he seized the crystal jug with
his own hand, without waiting for the cup-bearer behind him, filled the
goblet with fiery Xeres wine, and hurriedly drained it, though the
leech had forbidden him, while suffering from the gout, to do more than
moisten his lips with the heating liquor.
The eyes of the royal huntress, though she was by no means unduly
soft-hearted, grew dim with tears. This was her brother’s gratitude for
the faithful care which she bestowed upon him! Who could tell whether
her surprise, instead of pleasing him, might not rouse his anger? He
was still frowning as though the greatest injury had been inflicted upon
him, and his sister’s tearful eyes led him to exclaim wrathfully, as if
he wished to palliate his unchivalrous indignation to a lady:
“I am deprived of one pleasure after another, and the little enjoyment
remaining is lessened wherever it can be. Who has heavier loads of
anxiety to endure?--yet you spoil my recreation during the brief hours
when I succeed in casting off the burden.”
Here he paused and obstinately grasped the golden handle of the pitcher
again. The Queen remained silent. Contradiction would have made the
obdurate sovereign empty another goblet also. Even a look of entreaty
would have been out of place on this occasion. So she fixed her eyes
mutely and sadly upon her silver plate; but even her silence irritated
the Emperor, and he was about to give fresh expression to his
ill-humour, when the doors of the chapel opposite to him opened, and the
surprise began.
The signal for the commencement of the singing had been the delivery
of the first dish from the steward to one of the great nobles, who
presented it to their Majesties.
The Queen’s face brightened, and tears of heartfelt joy, instead of
grief and disappointment, now moistened her eyes, for if ever a surprise
had accomplished the purpose desired it was this one.
Charles was gazing, as if the gates of Paradise had opened before him,
toward the chapel doors, whence Maestro Gombert’s Benedictio Mensae, a
melody entirely new to him, was pouring like a holy benediction, devout
yet cheering, sometimes solemn, anon full of joy.
The lines of anxiety vanished from his brow as if at the spell of a
magician. The dull eyes gained a brilliant, reverent light, the bent
figure straightened itself. He seemed to his sister ten years younger.
She saw in his every feature how deeply the music had affected him.
She knew her imperial brother. Had not his heart and soul been fully
absorbed by the flood of pure and noble tones which so unexpectedly
streamed toward him, his eyes would have been at least briefly attracted
by the dish which Count Krockow more than once presented, for it
contained an oyster ragout which a mounted messenger had brought that
noon from the Baltic Sea to the city on the Danube.
Yet many long minutes elapsed ere he noticed the dish, though it was one
of his favourite viands. Barbara’s song stirred the imperial lover
of music at the nocturnal banquet just as it had thrilled the great
musicians a few hours before. He thought that he had never heard
anything more exquisite, and when the Benedictio Mensa: died away he
clasped his sister’s hand, raised it two or three times to his lips,
and thanked her with such affectionate warmth that she blessed the
accomplishment of her happy idea, and willingly forgot the unpleasant
moments she had just undergone.
Now, as if completely transformed, he wished to be told who had had the
lucky thought of summoning his orchestra and her boy choir, and how the
plan had been executed; and when he had heard the story, he fervently
praised the delicacy of feeling and true sportsmanlike energy of her
strong and loving woman’s heart.
The court orchestra gave its best work, and so did the new head cook.
The pheasant stuffed with snails and the truffle sauce with it seemed
delicious to the sovereign, who called the dish a triumph of the
culinary art of the Netherlands. The burden of anxieties and the pangs
inflicted by the gout seemed to be forgotten, and when the orchestra
ceased he asked to hear the boy choir again.
This time it gave the most beautiful portion of Joscluin de Pres’s hymn
to the Virgin, “Ecce tu pulchra es”; and when Barbara’s “Quia amore
langueo” reached his ear and heart with its love-yearning melody, he
nodded to his sister with wondering delight, and then listened, as if
rapt from the world, until the last notes of the motet died away.
Where had Appenzelder discovered the marvellous boy who sang this “Quia
amore langueo”? He sent Don Luis Quijada to assure the leader and the
young singer of his warmest approbation, and then permitted the Queen
also to seek the choir and its leader to ask whom the latter had
succeeded in obtaining in the place of the lad from Cologne, whom he had
often heard sing the “tu pulchra es,” but with incomparably less depth
of feeling.
When she returned she informed the Emperor of the misfortune which had
befallen the two boys, and how successful Appenzelder had been in the
choice of a substitute. Yet she still concealed the fact that a girl was
now the leader of his choir, for, kindly as her brother nodded to her
when she took her place at the table again, no one could tell how he
would regard this anomaly.
Besides, the next day would be the 1st of May, the anniversary of the
death of his wife Isabella, who had passed away from earth seven years
before, and the more she herself had been surprised by the rare and
singular beauty of the fair-haired songstress, the less could she
venture on that day or the morrow to blend with the memories of the
departed Queen the image of another woman who possessed such unusual
charms. The Emperor had already asked her a few questions about the
young singers, and learned that the bell-like weaker voice, which
harmonized so exquisitely with that of the invalid Johannes’s
substitute, belonged to the little Maltese lad Hannibal, whose darling
wish, through Wolf’s intercession, had been fulfilled. His inquiries,
however, were interrupted by a fresh performance of the boy choir.
This again extorted enthusiastic applause from the sovereign, and when,
while he was still shouting “Brava!” the highly seasoned game pasty
which meanwhile, despite the regent’s former prohibition, had been
prepared, and now, beautifully browned, rose from a garland of the most
tempting accessories, was offered, he waved it away. As he did so his
eyes sought his sister’s, and his expressive features told her that he
was imposing this sacrifice upon himself for her sake.
It was long since he had bestowed a fairer gift. True, in this mood, it
seemed impossible for him to refrain from the wine. It enlivened him and
doubled the unexpected pleasure. Unfortunately, he was to atone only too
speedily for this offence against medical advice, for his heated blood
increased the twinges of the gout to such a degree that he was compelled
to relinquish his desire to listen to the exquisite singing longer.
Groaning, he suffered himself--this time in a litter--to be carried back
to his chamber, where, in spite of the pangs that tortured him, he
asked for the letter in which Granvelle informed his royal master every
evening what he thought of the political affairs to be settled the
next day. Master Adrian, the valet, had just brought it, but this time
Charles glanced over the important expressions of opinion given by the
young minister swiftly and without deeper examination. The saying that
the Emperor could not dispense with him, but he might do without the
Emperor, had originally applied to his father, whose position he filled
to the monarch’s satisfaction in every respect.
The confessor had reminded the sovereign of the anniversary which had
already dawned, and which he was accustomed to celebrate in his own way.
Very early in the morning, after a few hours spent in suffering, he
heard mass, and then remained for hours in the sable-draped room where
he communed with himself alone.
The regent knew that on this memorable day he would not be seen even by
her. The success of the surprise afforded a guarantee that music would
supply her place to him on the morrow also, and ere she left him she
requested a short leave of absence to enjoy the hunting for which she
longed, and permission to take his major-domo Quijada with her.
An almost unintelligible murmur from the sufferer told her that he had
granted the petition. It was done reluctantly, but the Queen departed
at dawn with Don Luis and a small train of attendants, while the Emperor
retired into the black-draped chamber.
The gout would really have prohibited him from kneeling before the
altar, whence the agonized face of the crucified Redeemer, carved in
ivory by a great Florentine master, gazed at him, but he took this
torture upon himself.
Even in the period of health and happiness when, at the age of
twenty-three, besides the great boon of health, besides fame, power,
and woman’s love, he had enjoyed in rich abundance all the gifts which
Heaven bestows on mortals, his devout nature had led him to retreat into
a gloomy, solitary apartment.
The feeling that constantly drew him thither again was akin to the
dread which the ancients had of the envy of the gods, and, moreover, the
admonition of his pious teacher who afterward became Pope Adrian, that
the less man spares himself the more confidently he can rely upon the
forbearance of God.
And, in truth, this mighty sovereign, racked by almost unendurable pain,
dealt cruelly enough with himself when he compelled his aching knee to
bend until consciousness threatened to fail under the excess of agony.
Nowhere did he find more complete calmness than here, in no spot could
he pray more fervently, and the boon which he most ardently besought
from Heaven was that it would spare him the fate of his insane mother,
hold aloof the fiend which in many a gloomy hour he saw stretching a
hand toward him.
Here, too, he sought to penetrate the nature of death. In this room,
clothed with the sable hue of mourning, he felt that alreadv, while on
earth, he had fallen into its all-levelling power. Here his mind, like
that of a dying man’s, grasped for brief intervals what life had
offered and what awaited him beyond the confines of this short earthly
existence, in eternity.
While thus occupied, the sovereign, accustomed to speculation,
encountered many a dangerous doubt, but he only needed to gaze at the
crucified Saviour to find the way again to the promises of his Church.
The last years had deprived him of so large a portion of the most
valuable possessions and the best ornaments of his life, and inflicted,
both in wardly and outwardly, such keen suffering, that it was easy for
him to perceive what a gain death would bring.
What it could take from him was easily lost; the relief it promised
to afford no power, science, or art here on earth could procure for
him--release from cruel suffering and oppressive cares.
While he was learning the German language the name “Friend Hein,”
which he heard applied to death, perplexed him; now he thought that he
understood it, for the man with the scythe wore to him also the face of
a friend, who when the time had come would not keep him waiting long. As
he thought of his wife, of whose death this day was the anniversary, he
felt inclined to envy her. What he had lost by her decease seemed very
little to others who were aware of the long periods of time during
which, separated from each other, they had gone their own ways; but he
knew that it was more than they supposed, for with Isabella he had lost
the certainty that the sincere, nay, perhaps affectionate interest of a
being united to him by the sacrament of marriage accompanied his every
step.
His pleasure in life had withered with the growth of the harsh
conviction that he was no longer loved by any one for his own sake.
In this chamber, draped with sable hangings, his own heart seemed dead,
like dry wood from which only a miracle could lure green leafage again.
With the only real pity which was at his command, compassion on himself,
he rose from the kneeling posture which had become unbearable.
With difficulty he sank into the arm-chair which stood ready for him,
and, panting for breath, asked himself whether every joy had indeed
vanished. No!
Music still stirred his benumbed heart to swifter throbbing. He thought
of the pleasure which the previous evening had afforded, and suddenly
it seemed as if he again heard the “Quia amore langueo”--“Because I long
for love”--that had touched his soul the day before.
Yes, he, too, still longed for love, for a different, a warmer feeling
than the lukewarm blood of his royal mother had bestowed upon her
children, or the devotion of the sister to whom the chase was dearer
than aught else, certainly than his society.
But such thoughts did not befit this room, which was consecrated to
serious reflections. The anniversary summoned him to far different
feelings. Yet, powerfully as he resisted them, his awakened senses
continued to demand their rights, and, while he closed his eyes and
pressed his brow against the base of the altar covered with black cloth,
changeful images of happier days rose before him. He, too, had rejoiced
in a vigorous, strong, and pliant body. In the jousts he had been
sure of victory over even dreaded opponents; as a bull-fighter he had
excelled the matador; as a skilful participant in riding at the ring, as
well as a tireless hunter, he had scarcely found his equal. In the prime
of his youth the hearts of many fair women had throbbed warmly for him,
but he had been fastidious. Yet where he had aimed at victory, he had
rarely failed.
The sensuous, fair-haired Duchess of Aerschot, the dark-eyed Cornelia
Annoni of Milan, the devout Dolores Gonzaga, with her large, calm,
enthusiastic eyes, and again and again, crowding all the others into the
background, the timid Johanna van der Gheynst, who under her delicate
frame concealed a volcano of ardent passion. She had given him a
daughter whose head was now adorned by a crown. In spite of the brief
duration of their love bond, she had been clearer to him than all the
rest--clearer even than the woman to whom the sacrament of marriage
afterward united him. And she of whom seven years ago death had bereft
him?
At this question a bitter smile hovered around his full lips. How much
better love than hers he had known! And how easy Isabella had rendered
it not to weary of her, for during his long journeys and frequent
dangerous campaigns, instead of accompanying him, she had led in some
carefully guarded castle a life that suited her quiet tastes.
A sorrowful smile curled his lips as he recalled the agreement which
they had made just before a separation. At that time both were
young, yet how willingly she had accepted his proposal that, when age
approached, they should separate forever, that she in one cloister and
he in another might prepare for the end of life!
What reply would a woman with true love in her heart have made to such a
demand?
No, no, Isabella had felt as little genuine love for him as he for her!
Her death had been a sorrow to him, but he had shed no tears over it.
He could not weep. He no longer knew whether he was able to do so when
a child. Since his beard had grown, at any rate, his eyes had remained
dry. The words of the Roman satirist, that tears were the best portion
of all human life, returned to his memory. Would he himself ever
experience the relief which they were said to afford the human heart?
But who among the living would he have deemed worthy of them? When
his insane mother died, he could not help considering the poor Queen
fortunate because Heaven had at last released her from such a condition.
Of the children whom his wife Isabella and Johanna van der Gheynst had
given him, he did not even think. An icy atmosphere emanated from
his son Philip which froze every warm feeling that encountered it. He
remembered his daughter with pleasure, but how rarely he was permitted
to enjoy her society! Besides, he had done enough for his posterity,
more than enough. To increase the grandeur of his family and render it
the most powerful reigning house in the world, he had become prematurely
old; had undertaken superhuman tasks of toil and care; even now he would
permit himself no repose. The consciousness of having fulfilled his duty
to his family and the Church might have comforted him in this hour,
but the plus ultra--more, farther--which had so often led him into the
conflict for the dream of a world sovereignty, the grandeur of his own
race, and against the foes of his holy faith, now met the barrier of
a more powerful fate. Instead of advancing, he had seemed, since the
defeat at Algiers, to go backward.
Besides, how often the leech threatened him with a speedy death if he
indulged himself at table with the viands which suited his taste! Yet
the other things that remained for him to enjoy scarcely seemed worth
mentioning. To restore unity to the Church, to make the crowns which he
wore the hereditary possessions of his house, were two aims worthy of
the hardest struggles, but, unless he deceived himself, he could
not hope to attain them. Thus life, until its end--perhaps wholly
unexpectedly--arrived within a brief season, offered him nothing save
suffering and sacrifice, disappointment, toil, and anxieties.
With little cheer or elevation of soul, he looked up and rang the
bell. Two chamberlains and Master Adrian appeared, and while Baron
Malfalconnet, who did not venture to jest in this spot, offered him his
arm and the valet the crutch, his confessor, Pedro de Soto, also entered
the black-draped room.
A single glance showed him that this time the quiet sojourn in the
gloomy apartment, instead of exerting an elevating and brightening
influence, had had a depressing and saddening effect upon the already
clouded spirit of his imperial penitent. In spite of the most zealous
effort, he had not succeeded in finding his way into the soul-life of
this sovereign, equally great in intellect and energy, but neither frank
nor truthful, yet, on the other hand, his penetration often succeeded in
fathoming the causes of the Emperor’s moods.
With the quiet firmness which harmonized so perfectly with a personal
appearance that inspired confidence, the priest now frankly but
respectfully expressed what he thought he had observed.
True, he attributed the Emperor’s deep despondency to totally different
causes, but he openly deplored the sorrowful agitation which the
memories of the beloved dead had awakened in his Majesty.
In natural, simple words, the learned man, skilled in the art of
language, represented to the imperial widower how little reason he had
to mourn his devout wife. He was rather justified in regarding her death
hour as the first of a happy birthday. For the sleeper whose dream here
on earth he, Charles, had beautified in so many ways, a happy waking had
long since followed in the land for which she had never ceased to yearn.
For him, the Emperor, Heaven still had great tasks in this world, and
many a victory awaited him. If his prayer was heard, and his Majesty
should decide to battle for the holiest cause, sorrowful anxieties would
vanish from his pathway as the mists of dawn scatter before the rising
sun. He well knew the gravity of the demands which every day imposed
upon his Majesty, but he could give him the assurance that nothing could
be more pleasing to Heaven than that he, who was chosen as its champion,
should, by mastering them, enjoy the gifts with which Eternal Love set
its board as abundantly for the poorest carter as for the mightiest
ruler.
Then he spoke of the surprise of the night before, and how gratefully he
had heard that music had once more exerted its former magic power. Its
effect would be permanent, even though physical suffering and sorrowful
memories might interrupt it for a few brief hours.
“That,” he concluded, “Nature herself just at this season teaches us to
hope. This day of fasting and sadness will be followed by a series of
the brightest weeks--the time of leafage, blossom, and bird songs, which
is so dear to the merciful mother of God. May the month of May, called
by the Germans the joy month, and which dawns to-day with bright
sunshine and a clear, blue sky, be indeed a season of joy to your
Majesty!”
“God grant it!” replied the Emperor dully, and then, with a shrug of
the shoulders, added: “Besides, I can not imagine whence such joy should
come to me. A boy’s bell-like voice sang to me yesterday, ‘Quia amore
langueo.’ This heart, too, longs for love, but it will never find it on
earth.”
“Why not, if your Majesty sends forth to seek it?” replied the confessor
eagerly. “The Gospel itself gives a guarantee of success. ‘Seek, and
ye shall find,’ it promises. To the heart which longs for love the
all-bountiful Father sends that for which it longs to meet it halfway.”
“When it is young,” added the Emperor, shrugging his shoulders
impatiently. “But when the soul’s power of flight has failed, who will
bestow the ability to traverse the half of the way allotted to it?”
“The omnipotence which works greater miracles,” replied the priest in a
tone of the most ardent conviction, pointing upward.
Charles nodded a mournful assent, and, after a sign which indicated to
the confessor that he desired the interview to end, he continued his
painful walk.
He had waved aside the litter which the lord chamberlain, Count Heinrich
of Nassau, had placed ready for him, and limped, amid severe suffering,
to his room.
There the Bishop of Arras awaited him with arduous work, and the Emperor
did not allow himself a moment’s rest while his sister was using the
beautiful first of May to ride and hunt. Charles missed her, and still
more the faithful man who had served him as a page, and whom he had been
accustomed since to have in close attendance upon him.
To gratify his sister’s passion for the chase he had given Quijada leave
of absence, and now he regretted it. True, he told no one that he missed
Don Luis, but those who surrounded him were made to feel his ill-humour
plainly enough. Only he admitted to the Bishop of Arras that the radiant
light which was shining into his window was disagreeable. It made too
strong a contrast to his gloomy soul, and it even seemed as though the
course of the sun, in its beaming, unattainably lofty path, mocked the
hapless, painful obstruction to his own motion.
At noon he enjoyed very little of the meal, prepared for a fast day,
which the new cook had made tempting enough.
In reply to the Count of Nassau’s inquiry whether he wished to hear any
music, he had answered rudely that the musicians and the boy choir could
play and sing in the chapel for aught he cared. Whether he would listen
to the performance was doubtful.
Single tones had reached his ears, but he did not feel in the mood to
descend the stairs.
He went to rest earlier than usual. The next morning, after mass, he
himself asked for Josquin’s “Ecce tu pulchra es.” It was to be sung
during the noonday meal. But when, instead of the Queen and Quijada,
a little note came from his sister, requesting, in a jesting tone, an
extension of the leave of absence because she trusted to the healing
power of the sun and the medicine “music” upon her distinguished
brother, and the chase bound her by a really magic spell to the green
May woods, he flung the sheet indignantly away, and, just before the
beginning of the meal, ordered the singing to be omitted.
Either in consequence of the fasting or the warm sunshine, the pangs of
the gout began to lessen; but, nevertheless, his mood grew still more
melancholy, for he had believed in the sincere affection of two human
beings, and Queen Mary left him alone in his misery, while his faithful
Luis, to please the female Nimrod, did the same.