As soon as the captain’s limping steps died away on the stairs, Wolf
summoned all his courage and moved nearer to Barbara.
His heart throbbed anxiously as he told himself that the next few
minutes would decide his future destiny.
As he saw her before him, fairer than ever, with downcast eyes, silent
and timid, without a trace of the triumphant self-assurance which she
had gained during his absence, he firmly believed that he had made the
right choice, and that her consent would render him the most enviable
of happy mortals. If she refused him her hand--he felt this no less
plainly--his life would be forever robbed of light and joy.
True, he was no longer as blithe and full of hope as when he entered her
plain lodgings a short time before.
The doubt of the worthy man, behind whom the house door had just closed,
had awakened his doubts also. Yet what he now had it in his power to
offer, since his conversation with the syndic, was by no means trivial.
He must hold fast to it, and as he raised his eyes more freely to her
his courage increased, for she was still gazing at the floor in silent
submission, as if ready to commit her fate into his hands; nay, in the
brief seconds during which his eyes rested upon her, he perceived an
expression which seemed wholly alien to her features, and bestowed upon
this usually alert, self-assured, vivacious creature an air of weary
helplessness.
While he was generally obliged to maintain an attitude of defence toward
her, she now seemed to need friendly consolation. So, obeying a hasty
impulse, he warmly extended both hands, and in a gentle, sympathizing
tone exclaimed, “Wawerl, my dear girl, what troubles you?”
Then her glance met his, and her blue eyes flashed upon him with an
expression of defiant resistance; but he could not help thinking of the
young witch who was said to have resembled her, and a presentiment told
him that she was lost to him.
The confirmation of this foreboding was not delayed, for in a tone whose
repellent sternness startled him, she angrily burst forth: “What should
trouble me? It as ill becomes you to question me with such looks and
queries as it pleases me.” Wolf, in bewilderment, assured her that she
had seemed to him especially charming in her gracious gentleness. If
anything had happened to cloud her fearless joyousness, let her forget
it, for the matter now to be considered concerned the happiness of two
human lives.
That was what she was saying to herself, Barbara replied in a more
friendly tone, and, with newly awakened hope, the young knight informed
her that the time had now come when, without offending against modesty,
he might call himself a “made man.”
With increasing eagerness and confidence he then told her what the
councillor had offered. Without concealing her father’s scruples,
he added the assurance that he felt perfectly secure against the
temptations of which there would certainly be no lack while he was in
the service of a Protestant magistracy.
“And when you, devout, pure, true girl, stand by my side,” he concluded
with an ardour which surprised Barbara in this quiet, reserved man,
“when you are once mine, my one love, then I shall conquer the hardest
obstacle as if it were mere pastime, then I would not change places with
the Emperor, for then my happiness would be----”
Hitherto she had silently permitted him to speak, but now her cheeks
suddenly flamed with a deep flush, and she warmly interrupted: “You
deserve to be happy, Wolf, and I could desire nothing more ardently than
to see you glad and content; but you would never become so through me.
How pale you grow! For my sake, do not take it so much to heart; it
grieves me to see you suffer. Only believe that. It cuts me to the heart
to inflict such great sorrow upon one so loyal, good, and dear, who
values me so much more than I deserve.”
Here Wolf, deeply agitated, wildly called her name, and besought her
not to cast aside so harshly the wealth of love and fidelity which he
offered.
His own anguish of soul, and the pain inflicted by the cruel blow which
crushed his dearest hopes, robbed him of fortitude and calmness. With
tears in his eyes, he threw himself on his knees before her and gazed
into her face with anxious entreaty, exclaiming brokenly: “Do not--do
not inflict this suffering upon me, Wawerl! Rob me of everything except
hope. Defer your acceptance until I can offer you a still fairer future,
only be merciful and leave me hope!”
Tears now began to glitter in Barbara’s eyes also, and Wolf, noticing
it, hastened with reviving courage to assure her how little it would
cost him to reject, once for all, to please her, the tempting position
offered to him here. He could soon obtain a good office elsewhere, since
their Majesties were not only favourably disposed toward him, but now
toward her also. True, to him even the most brilliant external gifts of
life would be valueless and charmless without her love.
But here Barbara imperatively commanded him to rise, and not make his
own heart and hers still heavier without avail.
Wolf pressed his hands upon his temples as violently as if he feared
losing his senses; but the young girl voluntarily put her arm around
his shoulders, and said with sincere emotion: “Poor Wolf! I know how
thoroughly in earnest you are, but I dare not even leave you hope--I
neither can nor ought. Yet you may hear this: From my childhood you have
been dearer to me than any one else, and never shall I forget how firmly
you cling to me, how hard it is for you to give me up.”
Then Sir Wolf vehemently asked to know what stood between them; and
Barbara, after a brief pause for reflection, answered, “Love for
another.”
The confession pierced him like a dagger thrust, and he passionately
entreated her to tell him the name of the man who had defrauded him of
the happiness to which he possessed an older and better right than any
one else.
He paced the room with long strides as he spoke, gazing around him as if
he imagined that she had his rival concealed somewhere.
In doing so his glance fell upon Herr Schlumperger’s bouquet, and he
wildly cried: “He? So, after all, wealth----”
But this was too much for Barbara, and she stopped him with the
exclamation: “Fool that you are! As if You did not know that I am not to
be bought for the paltry florins of a Ratisbon moneybag!”
But the next instant she had repented her outbreak, and in words so
loving and gentle, so tender and considerate that his heart melted and
he would fain have flung himself again at her feet, she explained to
him more particularly why she was obliged to inflict this suffering upon
him.
Her heart was no longer free, and precisely because he was worthy of the
whole affection of a loyal heart she would not repay him in worthless
metal for the pure gold of his love. She was no prophetess, yet she knew
full well that some day he would bless this hour. What she concealed
from every one, even her father, as an inviolable secret, she had
confessed to him because he deserved her confidence.
Then she began to speak of Dr. Hiltner’s offer, and discussed its pros
and cons with interest as warm as if her own fate was to be associated
with his.
The result was that she dissuaded him from settling in Ratisbon. She
expected higher achievements from him than he could attain here among
the Protestants, who, on account of his faith, would place many a
stumbling-block in his way.
Then, changing her businesslike tone, she went on with greater warmth to
urge him, for her sake, and that he might be the same to her as ever, to
remain loyal to the religion they both professed. She could not fulfil
his hopes, it is true, but her thoughts would often dwell with him and
her wishes would follow him everywhere. His place was at court, where
some day he would win a distinguished position, and nothing could render
her happier than the news that he had attained the highest honour,
esteem, and fame.
How gentle and kind all this sounded! Wolf had not imagined that she
could be so thoughtful, so forgetful of self, and so affectionate in
her sympathy. He hung upon her lips in silent admiration, yet it was
impossible for him to determine whether this sisterly affection from
Barbara was pouring balm or acrid lye upon his wounds.
Positively as she had refused to answer his question concerning the
happy mortal whom she preferred to him, Wolf could not help secretly
searching for him.
Agitated and tortured to the verge of despair, even the friendliness
with which she was trying to sweeten his cruel fate became unbearable,
and while she was entreating him to continue to care for her and to
remain on the same terms of intimacy with her father and herself, he
suddenly seized her hand, covered it with ardent kisses, and then,
without a farewell word, hastily left the room.
When Barbara was alone she retired into the bow-window and fell into a
silent reverie, during which she often shook her head, as if amazed at
herself, and often curled her full lips in a haughty smile.
The maid-servant brought in the modest meal.
Her father had forgotten it, but he would undoubtedly find more
substantial viands at the Black Bear. Barbara was speedily satisfied.
How poorly the food was cooked, how unappetizing was the serving! When
the maid had removed the dishes, Barbara continued her reverie, and even
her father had never gazed into vacancy with such gloomy earnestness.
What would she now have given for a mother, a reliable, faithful
confidante! But she had none; and Wolf, on whose unselfish love she
could depend, was the last person whom she could initiate into her
secret.
Her father!
If she had confided to him the matter which so deeply troubled her and
yet filled her with the greatest pride, the poor old warrior, who valued
honour far more than life, would have turned her out of the house.
Early that morning she had averted her lips from his because she felt
as if the Emperor’s kiss had consecrated them. She was still under the
mastery of the feeling that some disagreeable dream had borne her back
to these miserable rooms, while her true place was in the magnificent
apartments of royalty.
She had slept too late to attend mass, and therefore went to the private
chapel, the abode of the only confidante to whom she could open her
whole heart without reserve or timidity--the Mother of God.
She had done this with entire devotion, and endeavoured to reflect upon
what had happened and what obligations she must meet. But she had had
little success, for as soon as she began to think, her august lover rose
before her eyes, she imagined that she heard his tender words, and her
mind wandered to the future.
Only she had clearly perceived that she had lost something infinitely
great, and obtained in its place something that was far more exquisite,
that she had been deemed worthy of a loftier honour, a richer happiness
than any one else.
Ah, yes, she was happy, more than happy, and yet not entirely so, for
happiness must be bright, and a dark, harassing shadow fell again and
again over the sunny enthusiasm which irradiated her nature and lent her
a haughtier bearing.
She ascribed it to the novelty of her elevation to a height of which she
had never dreamed. Eyes accustomed to twilight must also endure pain,
she told herself, ere they became used to the brilliance of the sun.
Perhaps Heaven, in return for such superabundant gifts, demanded a
sacrifice, and denied complete enjoyment. She would gladly do all in her
power to satisfy the claim, and so she formed the resolve--which seemed
to her to possess an atoning power--no longer to deceive the worthy man
who loved her so loyally, and for whom she felt an affection. At the
very next opportunity Wolf should learn that she could never become his,
and when she had just confessed it so gently and lovingly, she had only
fulfilled the vow made in the chapel before the Virgin’s image. There,
too, she had determined, if the Emperor ever gave her any power over his
decisions, to reward Wolf’s loyal love by interceding for him wherever
it could be done.
Now he had left her; but she could wait for her father no longer. She
must go to Fran Lerch.
The idea of confiding to her the secret which filled her with happy
dread was far from her thoughts; but love had both increased her vanity
tenfold, and confined it within narrower limits. She could not be
beautiful enough for the lover who awaited her, yet she wished to be
beautiful for him alone. But her stock of gowns and finery was so very
scanty, and no one understood how to set off her charms so well as
the obliging, experienced old woman, who had an expedient for every
emergency.
Retiring to her little bow-windowed room, she examined her store of
clothes.
There, too, lay her royal lover’s gift, the glittering star.
She involuntarily seized it to take the jewel to the Grieb and show
it to the old woman; but the next instant, with a strange feeling of
dissatisfaction, she flung it back again among the other contents of the
chest.
Thus, in her impetuous fashion, she thrust it out of her sight. Maestro
Gombert had pronounced the star extremely valuable, and she desired
nothing from the Emperor Charles, nothing from her beloved lord save his
love.
She had already reached the outer door, when her two Woller cousins from
the Ark greeted her. They were merry girls, by no means plain, and very
fond of her. The younger, Anne Mirl, was even considered pretty, and had
many suitors. They had learned from their house steward, who had been
told by a fellow-countryman in the royal service, that his Majesty had
rewarded Barbara for her exquisite singing with a magnificent ornament,
and they wanted to see it.
So Barbara was obliged to open the chest again, and when the star
flashed upon them the rich girls clapped their hands in admiration, and
Anne Mirl did not understand how any one could toss such an exquisite
memento into a chest as if it were a worn-out glove. If the Emperor
Charles had honoured her with such a gift, she would never remove it
from her neck, but even wear it to bed.
“Everybody to her taste,” replied Barbara curtly, shrugging her
shoulders.
Never had her cousins seemed to her so insignificant and commonplace;
and, besides, their visit was extremely inopportune.
But the Woller sisters were accustomed to see her in all sorts of moods,
and Nandl, the elder, a quiet, thoughtful girl, asked her how she felt.
To possess such heavenly gifts as her voice and her beauty must be the
most glorious of all glorious things.
“And the honour, the honour!” cried Anne Mirl. “Do you know, Wawerl,
one might almost want to poison you from sheer envy and jealousy. Holy
Virgin! To be in your place when you sing to the Emperor Charles again!
And to talk with him as you would to anybody else!”
Barbara assured them that she would tell the whole story at their next
meeting, but she had no time to spare now, for she was expected at the
rehearsal.
The sisters then bade her good-bye, but asked to see the star again, and
Anne Mirl counted the jewels, to be able to describe it to her mother
exactly.
At last Barbara was free, but before, still vexed by the detention, she
could set out for Fran Lerch’s, she heard loud voices upon the stairs.
It startled her, for if the Emperor sent Don Luis Quijada, or even
Baron Malfalconnet, to her wretched lodgings, it would now be even more
unpleasant than before.
Barbara was obliged to wait some time in vain. Her cousins had been
stopped below, and were talking there with her father and another man.
At last the captain came stumping up the stairs with his limping steps.
Barbara noticed that he was hurrying, and he reached the top more
quickly than usual and opened the door.
He looked merry, and his massive but well-formed and manly features were
flushed. He came from Erbach in the Black Bear, it is true, but in so
short a time--his daughter knew that--the spirits of the wine could have
done him no harm. Besides, his voice sounded as deep and firm as
usual as he called to her from the threshold: “A guest, Wawerl, a
distinguished guest! A splendid fellow! You’ve already spoken of him,
and I made his acquaintance in the Bear. I learned many and many a piece
of news from him about how things are going in the world-news, I tell
you, girl! My heart is fairly dancing in my body. And, besides, a little
puss like you is always glad to hear of an admirer, and only a short
time ago you praised him loudly enough as a splendid dancer. A downright
good fellow, child, just as I was myself at his age. An uncle of his, a
captain of arquebusiers, Pyramus Kogel.”
Hitherto Barbara, with increasing displeasure, had only suspected whom
her father meant; but when he now mentioned his new friend’s name, the
indignant blood crimsoned her cheeks.
She had liked the handsome officer, for it was true that few men so well
understood the art of guiding a partner through the dance; she, fool
that she was, had made eyes at him in order not to let pretty Elspet
Zohrer have the precedence. But he had himself confessed how much
farther he had entered the snare than she intended when, on her way home
from Fran Lerch’s after her meeting with Wolf, the young officer had met
her outside of the Grieb and sued for her hand.
Now the amorous swain had probably tried his luck with her father, and
how the latter, in spite of poor Wolf and Herr Schlumperger, had treated
him was evident from the fact that he, who usually closed his home
against old friends, opened it wide to this stranger.
This was not only unpleasant to Barbara, but anger crimsoned her cheeks.
How dared the man whom she had so positively and sternly refused venture
to continue his suit? Since the Emperor had loved her, she felt
raised infinitely above the poor nobleman. Nay, she considered it a
reprehensible impropriety that he still sought her. And, besides what
consequences the visit of so stately a ladykiller, whose unusual height
rendered him easily recognised, might now entail upon her! Suppose that
he should meet a messenger from the Emperor on the stairs, or it should
be rumoured at court that she received such visitors. How quickly
whatever happened in Ratisbon was noised abroad among the people she had
just learned through the Woller girls.
The happiness which filled her was so great that everything which
threatened to affect it, even remotely, alarmed her, and thus anxiety
blended with indignation as, deeply agitated, she interrupted her
father, and in the most unfilial manner reproached him for allowing the
flattery of a boastful coxcomb to make him forget what he owned to her
and her good name.
The brave champion of the faith dejectedly, almost humbly, strove
to soothe her, and at least induce her not to offend his guest by
unfriendly words; but she ignored his warnings with defiant passion,
and when the recruiting officer, who had been detained some time on
the staircase by the Wollers, knocked at the door, she shot the bolt
noisily, calling to her father in a tone so loud that it could not fail
to be heard outside: “I repeat it, I will neither see nor speak to this
importunate gentleman. When he attacked me in the street at night, I
thought I showed him plainly enough how I felt. If he forces his way
into our house now, receive him, for aught I care; you have a right to
command here. But if he undertakes to speak to me, he can wait for an
answer till the day of judgment!”
Then she hastily slipped the bolt back again, darted past Pyramus Kogel,
who did not know what had befallen him, without vouchsafing him a single
glance, and then, with haughty composure, descended the stairs.
The officer, incapable of uttering a word, gazed after her.
The feeling that attracted him to Barbara was something entirely new,
which since the last dance at the New Scales had robbed him of sleep by
night and rest by day. He had fallen under her spell, body and soul, and
he, whose business took him from city to city, from country to country,
had resolved, ere he accosted Barbara in the street, to give up the
free, gay life which he enjoyed with the eager zest of youth, and seek
her hand in marriage.
Her first rebuff had by no means discouraged him; nay, the handsome,
spoiled soldier was firmly convinced that her ungracious treatment was
not due to his proposal, but to its certainly ill-chosen place. A wife
of such rigid austerity would suit him, for he would often be compelled
to leave her a long time alone.
When he heard the day before that he would find her among Peter
Schlumperger’s guests in Prufening, he had joined them, as if by
accident, toward evening, and Barbara had danced with him twice.
In the schwabeln she had trusted herself to his guidance even longer
than usual, and with what perfect time, with what passionate enjoyment
she had whirled around with him under the sway of the intense excitement
which had mastered her! He imagined that he felt her heart throb against
his own breast, and had surrendered himself to the hope that it was
newly awakened love for him which had deprived her of her calm bearing.
True, she had refused his company on the way home, but this was probably
because she was afraid of being gossipped about in connection with him.
Well satisfied with his success, he had gone to Red Cock Street the
next morning to renew his suit. On the way he met her father, and in the
Black Bear had tried on the old warrior, with excellent success, the art
of winning other men, in which, as a recruiting officer, he had become
an adept.
Joyously confident of victory, he had accepted Blomberg’s invitation,
and now had experienced an unprecedentedly mortifying rebuff.
With a face blanched to the pallor of death, he stood before the old
man. The wound which he had received burned so fiercely, and paralyzed
his will so completely, that the clumsy graybeard found fitting words
sooner than the ready, voluble trapper of men.
“You see,” the captain began, “what is to be expected from one’s own
child in these days of insubordination and rebellion, though my Wawerl
is as firm in her faith as the tower at Tunis of which I was telling
you. But trust experience, Sir Pyramus! It is easier, far easier for you
to exact obedience from a refractory squad of recruits than for a father
to guide his little daughter according to his own will. For look! If it
gets beyond endurance, you can seize the lash, or, if that won’t do, a
weapon; but where a fragile girl like that is concerned, we can’t give
vent to our rage, and, though she spoils the flavour of our food and
drink by her pouting and fretting, we must say kind words to her into
the bargain. Mine at least spares me the weeping and wailing in which
many indulge, but it is easier to break iron than her obstinacy when
her will differs from that of the person whom, on account of the fourth
commandment, she----”
Pyramus Kogel, with both hands resting on the large basket handle of
his long rapier, had listened to him in silence; now he interrupted the
captain with the exclamation: “Iron against iron, comrade! Throw it into
the fire, and swing the hammer. It will bend then. All that is needed is
the right man, and I know him. If I did not feel very sorry for such a
charming creature, I would laugh at the insult and go my way. But, as it
is, I have a good memory, and it will be a pleasure, methinks, to keep
so unruly a beauty and artistic nightingale in mind. It shall be done
until my turn comes. In my pursuit I do not always succeed at the first
attempt, but whoever I once fix my eyes upon comes on the roll at last,
and I will keep the foremost place open for your lovely, refractory
daughter. We shall meet again, Captain, and I haven’t said my last word
to your ungracious daughter either.”
He held out his hand to Blomberg as he spoke, and after a brief delay
the latter clasped it.
The fearless foe of the Turks was troubled by the recruiting officer’s
mysterious menaces, but his kind heart forbade him to add a new offence
to the bitter mortification inflicted upon this man by his daughter.
Besides, he had taken a special fancy to the stately, vigorous soldier,
whose height and breadth of shoulder were little inferior to his own,
and while descending the stairs he thought, “It would serve Wawerl right
if yonder fellow put a stop to her obstinacy, pranks, and caprices.”
But he quickly silenced the wish, for Barbara did not often give
the rein to her self-will so freely, and her objectionable traits of
character had been inherited from her mother. She was a good girl at
heart, and how much pleasure and favour her beautiful gift brought, how
much honour came to him and his ancient name through this rare child!
Yet at that time he was not aware of the new benefit he was to owe to
her within the next hour.
Before Barbara had returned home the treasurer of the imperial and royal
musicians came to his house and, in the regent’s name, handed him the
gold of which Barbara had spoken for services rendered in the boy choir
of her Majesty Queen Mary. He was obliged to sign the receipt in his
daughter’s name, and when the portly Netherlander, who could also make
himself understood in German, asked where a sup of good wine or beer
could be had in Ratisbon, he was ready to act as his guide.
Thanks to his daughter’s rich gifts, he need not wield the graver any
longer that day, and for the second time could grant himself a special
treat.
When he returned home he learned from the one-eyed maid that Barbara had
been summoned by the Queen of Hungary to sing for her.
Weary as he was, he went to rest, and soon after the young girl entered
his room to bid him “good night.”
The Queen had been very gracious, and after the singing was over had
inquired about hundreds of things--who had been her singing master, what
her religion was, whether her mother was still living, what calling her
father followed, whether he, too, had drawn the sword against the Turks,
her husband’s murderers, whether she was accustomed to riding, and,
lastly, whether she was obliged to endure the narrow city streets in the
summer.
Barbara had then been able to answer that the Wollers sometimes invited
her to their country seat at Abbach, and intentionally added that they
were her nearest relatives, and owned the Ark, the large, handsome
family mansion which stood exactly opposite to the Golden Cross and
her Majesty’s windows. She had also often been the guest of her uncle
Wolfgang Lorberer, who stood at the head of the community at Landshut.
It had gratified her to boast of these distinguished blood relations.
She had then been asked whether she could consent to leave her father
for a time to go into the country with the old Marquise de Leria, whom
she knew, and who was charmed with the beauty of her singing.
The leech desired to remove the invalid lady in waiting from the city
air, and she had chosen Barbara for a companion.
Here the young girl hesitated, and then carelessly asked her father what
he thought of the plan.
As Blomberg knew the name of Leria to be one of the most aristocratic in
the empire, and many things were beckoning to him in the future in
which Barbara’s presence would only have been a hindrance, he left the
decision to her.
He had made the acquaintance at the Black Bear, through Pyramus Kogel,
of various soldiers who had fought in the same ranks--good Catholics,
eager for a fray, who were waiting here for the outbreak of the war
against the Smalkalds. What delightful hours their companionship would
bestow if Barbara was provided for at present, now that he himself was
no longer obliged to save every shilling so carefully!
But he had also thought of something else which was far more important,
for the warlike conversation had affected him as the blast of a trumpet
stirs the battle charger drawing a plough.
He had found complete enjoyment of life only in war, in the presence of
death, in cutting and slashing, and he felt by no means too old to keep
his seat in the saddle and lead his company of horsemen to the assault.
He was not mistaken there, and, besides not only the recruiting officer,
but also the scarred old captain whom they called little Gorgl, asserted
that the Emperor would welcome every brave, tried soldier, even though
older than he, as soon as war was declared.
Meanwhile Pyramus Kogel was constantly in his mind, and at last he
thought it his duty to speak to Barbara about her unseemly treatment of
this estimable man.
He had intended ever since she entered to call her to account for it,
but, though he did not admit it even to himself, the old soldier dreaded
his daughter’s firm power of resistance.
Yet he could not keep silence this time; her behaviour had transgressed
the bounds of propriety too far.
So he summoned up his courage, and, with a “What I was going to say,”
began to speak of the admirable officer whom he had brought into his
house.
Then, clearing his throat, he drew himself up, and, raising his
voice, asked how she dared to assail this gallant nobleman with such
abominable, arrogant, and insulting words.
But he was to wait an answer in vain, for, with the brief declaration
that she had not come to be lectured like a schoolgirl, Barbara banged
the door behind her. Directly after, however, she opened it again, and
with a pleasant, “No offence, father,” wished the old gentleman a no
less pleasant goodnight.
Then she went to her room, but in old Ursel’s chamber, at the same hour
as on the preceding night, a similar conversation took place.
The one-eyed maid spoke of the rats which had forced their way into the
house, and the sick woman repeated impatiently, “The rats!” and, with
prudent reserve, silently kept her thoughts to herself.