When Barbara rose from her couch the next morning it was no longer early
in the day. She had slept soundly and dreamlessly for several hours,
then she had been kept awake by the same thoughts which had pressed upon
her so constantly of late.
She would defy Charles's cruel demand. The infuriating compulsion
inflicted upon her could only strengthen her resolve. If she was dragged
to a convent by force, she would refuse, at the ceremony of profession,
to become a nun.
She thought of a pilgrimage to induce Heaven to restore the lost melody
of her voice. But meanwhile the longing to see the Emperor Charles's
face once more again and again overpowered her. On the other hand, the
desire to speak to him and upbraid him to his face for the wrong he had
done her was soon silenced; it could only spoil his memory of her if he
should hear the discordant tones which inflicted pain on her own ear.
Another train of thoughts had also kept her awake. How was her father
faring? Had he learned what she feared to confess to him? What had
befallen him, and what had the recruiting officer to tell of his fate?
She was to know soon enough, for she had scarcely risen from breakfast
when a ducal servant announced Sir Pyramus.
Barbara with anxious heart awaited his entrance, and as she stood there,
her cheeks slightly flushed and her large, questioning eyes fixed upon
the door, she seemed to Frau Traut, in spite of her short hair and the
loss of the rounded oval of her face, so marvellously beautiful that she
perfectly understood how she had succeeded in kindling so fierce a flame
in the Emperor's heart, difficult as it was to fire.
Frau Traut did not venture to determine what made the blood mount into
Pyramus's cheeks when Barbara at his entrance held out her slender white
hand, for she had left the room immediately after his arrival. But she
did not need to remain absent long; the interview ended much sooner than
she expected.
This young officer was certainly a man of splendid physique, with
handsome, manly features, yet she thought she perceived in his manner an
air of constraint which repelled her and, in fact, this gigantic soldier
was conscious that if, for a single moment, he relinquished the control
he imposed upon himself his foolish heart would play him a trick.
Barbara had seemed more beautiful than ever as she greeted him with
almost humble friendliness, instead of her former defiance. The hoarse
tone of her voice, once so musical, caused him so much pain that he was
on the verge of losing his power to keep his resolve to conceal the
feelings which, in spite of the insults she had heaped upon him, he still
cherished for her. While he allowed himself to look into her face, he
realized for the first time how difficult a task he had undertaken, and
therefore tried to assume an expression of indifference as he began the
conversation with the remark that the ride to the citadel was detaining
him from his duties longer than he could answer for in such a stress of
military business and, moreover, under the eyes of his Majesty.
Therefore it would only be possible to talk a very short time.
He had hurled forth this statement rather than spoken it; but Barbara,
smiling mournfully, replied that she could easily understand his
reluctance to lose so much time merely on her account.
"For your sake, my dear lady," he replied with an acerbity which sounded
sufficiently genuine, "it might scarcely have seemed feasible to go so
far from the camp; but for the brave old comrade who was intrusted to my
care I would have made even more difficult things possible--and you are
his daughter."
The girl nodded silently to show that she understood the meaning of his
words, and then asked how the journey had passed and what was the cause
of her father's illness.
Everything had gone as well as possible, he replied, until they reached
Spain; but there the captain was tortured by homesickness. Nothing had
pleased him except the piety of the people. The fiery wine did not suit
him, the fare seemed unbearable, and the inability to talk with any one
except himself had irritated him to actual outbursts of rage. On the
neat Netherland ship which bore him homeward matters were better; nay,
while running into the harbour of Antwerp he had jested almost in his old
reckless manner. But when trying to descend the rope-ladder from the
high ship into the skiff in which sailors had rowed from the land, he
made a misstep with his stiff leg and fell into the boat.
A low cry of terror here escaped the lips of the deeply agitated
daughter, and Pyramus joined in her expressions of grief, declaring that
a chill still ran down his back whenever he thought of that fall. The
captain had been saved as if by a miracle. Yet the consequences were by
no means light, for when he, Pyramus, left him, he was barely able to
totter from one chair to another. A journey on horseback, the physician
said, would kill him, and a ride in a carriage over the rough roads would
also endanger his life. Several months must pass ere he could think of
returning home.
In reply to Barbara's anxious question how the impatient man bore the
inactivity imposed upon him, her visitor answered, "Rebelliously enough,
but he has already grown quieter, and my sister is fond of him and takes
the best care of him."
"Your sister?" asked Barbara abashed, holding out her hand again; but he
pretended not to notice it, and merely explained curtly that she had
come to the Netherlands with her husband. This enterprising man, like
himself, was a native of the principality of Grubenhagen in the Hartz
Mountains. At sixteen the wild fellow went out into the world to seek
his fortune, and had found it as a daring sailor. He returned a rich man
to seek a wife in his old home. Now he had gone on a voyage to the
Indies, and while his wife awaited his return she had gladly received her
brother's old comrade. Nursing him would afford her a welcome occupation
during her loneliness. Her house lacked nothing, and Barbara might
comfort herself with the knowledge that the captain would have the best
possible care.
With these words he seemed about to leave her; but she stopped him with
the question, "And when the service summoned you away from him, had he
heard what his daughter----"
Here, flushing deeply, she paused with downcast eyes. Pyramus feasted a
short time on the spectacle of her humbled pride, but soon he could no
longer bear to see her endure such bitter suffering, and therefore
answered hastily, "If you mean what is said about you and his Majesty the
Emperor, he was told of it by an old comrade from this neighbourhood."
"And he?" she asked anxiously.
"He wrathfully ordered him out of the door," replied the officer, and he
saw how her eyes filled with tears.
Then feeling how soft his own heart was also growing, he hurriedly said
farewell. Again she gratefully extended her hand, and he clasped it and
allowed himself the pleasure of holding it in his a short time. Then
bowing hastily, he left her.
She had been the Emperor's toy, her voice had lost its melting melody,
and yet he thought there was no woman more to be desired, far as his
profession of recruiting had led him through all lands. This iron no
longer needed bending; but how fiercely the flames of suffering which
melted her obstinate nature must have burned! Surely he had not seen her
for the last time, and perhaps Fate would now help him to perform the vow
that he had made before her door in the dark entry of the house in
Ratisbon.
While Sir Pyramus was leaving her Barbara had heard a man's voice in Frau
Traut's room, but she scarcely noticed it. What she had learned weighed
heavily upon her soul.
Her father would not believe what was, nevertheless, the full, undeniable
truth. How would he deal with the certainty that he had showed his old
comrade the door unjustly when he at last came home and she confessed
all, all that she had sinned and suffered? She was sure of one thing
only--he, too, would not permit her child to be taken from her; and she
cherished a single hope--the blow which Fate had dealt by destroying her
tuneful voice would force him to pity, and perhaps induce him to forgive
her. Oh, if she could only have conjured him here, opened her heart
fully, freely to him, and learned from his own lips that he approved of
her resistance!
During this period of quiet reflection many sounds and shouts which she
had not heard before reached her room.
As they grew louder and more frequent, Barbara rose to approach the open
window, but ere she reached it Frau Taut returned.
The visitor whom she had received was Adrian, her husband. He had come
up the Trausnitz to make all sorts of arrangements, for something unusual
was to happen which would bring even his Majesty the Emperor here.
These tidings startled Barbara.
Suppose that Charles was now coming to influence her by the heavy weight
of his personality; suppose he----
But Frau Traut gave her no time to yield to these and other fears and
hopes; she added, in a quiet tone, that his Majesty merely intended to
invest his son-in-law, Ottavio Farnese, Duke of Parma, with the Order of
the Golden Fleece in the Trausnitz courtyard. It would be a magnificent
spectacle, and Barbara could witness it if she desired. One of the rooms
in the second story of the ladies' wing where she lodged was still
untenanted, and her husband would be responsible if she occupied it, only
Barbara must promise not to attract attention to herself by any sound or
gesture.
She yielded to this demand with eager zeal, and when Frau Traut
perceived the girl's pale cheeks again flushed she wondered at the rapid
excitability of this singular creature, and willingly answered the
long series of questions with which she assailed her.
Barbara especially desired to hear particulars about the mother of
Margaret of Parma, the wife of Ottavio Farnese, that Johanna Van der
Gheynst who gave this daughter to the Emperor.
Then Barbara learned that she was a Netherland girl of respectable
family, but of scarcely higher rank than her own; only she had been
adopted by Count Bon Haagestraaten before the Emperor made her
acquaintance.
"Was Johanna beautiful?" Barbara eagerly interrupted.
"I think you are far handsomer," was the reply, "though she, too, was a
lovely creature."
Then Barbara wished to learn whether she was fair or dark, lively or
quiet, and, finally, whether she had consented to give up her child; and
Frau Traut answered that Johanna had done this without resistance, and
her daughter was afterward reared first by the Duchess of Savoy, and
later by Queen Mary, the regent of the Netherlands.
"How wisely the young lady acted," Frau Dubois concluded, "you yourself
know. A crown now adorns her child's head for the second time, and you
will soon see how the Emperor Charles bestows honours upon her husband.
His Majesty understood how to provide for his daughter, who is his first
child. Her former marriage, it is true, was short. Alessandro de'
Medici, to whom she was wedded at almost too early an age, was murdered
scarcely a year after their nuptials. Her present husband, the Duke of
Parma, whom you will see, is, on the contrary, younger than she, but
since the unfortunate campaign against Algiers, in which he participated,
and after his recovery from the severe illness he endured after his
return home, they enjoy a beautiful conjugal happiness. His Majesty is
warmly attached to his daughter, and the great distinction which he will
bestow upon her husband to-day is given by no means least to please his
own beloved child, though her mother was only a Jollanna van der
Gheynst."
Barbara had listened to these communications with dilated eyes, but the
speaker was now interrupted; the leech, Dr. Matthys, was announced, and
immediately entered the room.
Barbara's outburst of rage had not lessened his sympathy for her, and in
the interest of science he desired to learn what effect his remedies had
had. Unfortunately, in spite of their use, no improvement was visible.
The strange absence of mind with which the girl, who usually answered
questions so promptly and decidedly, now seemed scarcely to hear them, he
attributed to the painful remembrance of her unseemly behaviour at their
last meeting, and therefore soon left her, by no means satisfied with his
visit. On the way, however, he told himself that it was unfair to blame
the bird which had just been captured for fluttering.
When the leech had retired, Barbara regretted that she had answered him
so indifferently. But the anticipation of seeing her imperial lover
again dominated every thought and feeling. Besides, she again and again
saw before her the figure of the young duke, whom she had never beheld,
but whom Charles had married to the daughter of that Johanna who was said
to have been neither more beautiful nor more aristocratic than she
herself.
Frau Traut saw compassionately that she could not remain long quietly in
any place, and that when the noon meal was served she scarcely tasted
food.
As soon as the first blast of the horns rose from the gate of the citadel
she urged departure like an impatient child, and her indulgent companion
yielded, though she knew that the stately ceremonial would not begin for
a long time.
The window which Adrian had assigned to the two women in a room which was
to be occupied by them alone afforded a view of the entire courtyard, and
from the arm-chair which Frau Traut had had brought for her Barbara gazed
down into it with strained attention.
The first sound of the horns had saluted Ottavio Farnese.
Mounted on a spirited charger, he held aloft, as gonfaloniere of the
Church, the proud banner to be whose bearer was deemed by the Dukes of
Parma one of their loftiest titles of honour.
He was greeted by the nobles present with loud acclamations, but was
still booted and attired as beseemed a horseman. The cavaliers,
officers, and pages who attended him entered the citadel in no regular
order. But as Ottavio swung himself from his magnificently formed,
cream-coloured steed, and issued orders to his train, Barbara could look
him directly in the face and, though she thought him neither handsome nor
possessed of manly vigour, she could not help admitting that she had
rarely seen a young man of equally distinguished bearing. His every
movement bore the impress of royal self-confidence, yet at the same time
was unconstrained and graceful.
Now he disappeared in the wing of the building that united the ladies'
rooms with the main structure opposite.
The Emperor Charles could not be here yet. His arrival would not have
been passed by so quietly, and the imperial banner did not float either
from the many-sided turret at the left end of the main building nor from
the lofty roof of the ancient Wittelsbach tower. Great nobles, mounted
on splendid chargers, constantly rode into the citadel, sometimes in
groups, and were saluted by the blast of horns; nimble squires led the
horses away, while ducal councillors, nobles, chamberlains, and ushers
received the distinguished guests of the citadel and conducted them to
the Turnitz, the huge banquet hall in the lower story of the main
building, where the best of everything undoubtedly stood ready for them.
But every arrangement had already been made for the approaching ceremony
--a broad wooden estrade was erected in the centre of the courtyard, and
richly decorated with garlands of flowers, blossoming branches, flags,
and streamers. At the back stood the Emperor's throne, covered with
purple damask, and beside it numerous velvet cushions lay piled one upon
another, waiting to be used.
Barbara's vivid imagination already showed her the course of this rare
spectacle, and she gladly and confidently expected that the Emperor must
turn his face toward her during the principal portion of the ceremony.
Now the carpet on the stage was drawn tighter by lackeys in magnificent
liveries, and the final touches were given to its decorations; now
priests entered the smaller building at the left of the courtyard.
The balcony on one of these buildings was adorned with flowers, and the
singers of St. Martin's Church in Landshut gradually filled it. Now--
but here Barbara's quiet observation suddenly ended; the air was shaken
by the roar of cannon from the bastions of the citadel, and the signals
of the warders' horns blended with the thunder of the artillery. At the
same time the banners and streamers on every flagpole, stirred by a light
breeze from the east, began to wave in the sunny August air. Then the
blare of trumpets echoed, and a few minutes later from the Turnitz and
the covered staircase between the main building and the right win; of the
citadel the most brilliant body of men that Barbara had ever seen poured
into the courtyard. They were the Knights of the Golden Fleece and the
princes, counts, barons and knights, generals and colonels whom the
Emperor Charles had invited to the Trausnitz citadel to attend the
approaching solemn ceremonial.
What did she care for these dignitaries in gold, silver, and steel,
velvet and silk, gems and plumes, when the enthusiastic cheers of this
illustrious assemblage, the blare of trumpets, the thunder of cannon, and
the ringing of bells loudly proclaimed the approach of him who, as their
lord and master, stood far above them all? Would he appear on horseback,
or had he dismounted at the gate and was advancing on foot? Neither.
He was borne in a sedan chair. It was covered with gilding, and the top
of the arched roof and each of the four corners were adorned with bunches
of red and gold plumes, the colours of Philip of Burgundy, who more than
a hundred years before had founded the order of the Golden Fleece.
Instead of lackeys, strong sergeants, chosen from the different
regiments, bore the sedan chair. The gentlemen of the court--Prince
Henry of Nassau, Baron Malfalconnet, and Don Luis Quijada, with Generals
Furstenberg and Mannsfeld, Count Hildebrand Madrucci, the Master of the
Teutonic Order, the Marchese Marignano, and others--were preceded by the
stiff, grave, soldierly figure of the Duke of Alba, and, by the side of
the platform, grandees and military commanders, Netherland lords,
Italian, German, and Austrian princes, counts, barons, and knights had
taken their places.
When the sedan chair was at last set on the ground in front of the lowest
step of the platform, Barbara thought that her heart would burst; for
while the singers in the balcony began the "Venite populi mundi," so
familiar to her, and the cheers redoubled, Charles descended, and in what
a guise she saw him again! He looked ten years older, and she felt with
him the keen suffering which every step must cause.
This time it was not Quijada, but the Duke of Alba, who offered him the
support of his mailed arm, and, leaning on it, he ascended the low stage.
While doing so he turned his back to Barbara, and as with bent figure
and outstretched head he wearily climbed the two stairs leading to the
platform, he presented a pitiable spectacle.
And have you loved this wreck of a man with all the fervour of your
heart? the girl asked herself; does it still throb faster for him?
could you even now expect from him a fairer happiness than from all these
handsome warriors and nobles in the pride of their manly vigour? To this
old man you have sacrificed happiness and honour, given up your father
and the noblest, best of friends!
Fierce indignation for her own folly suddenly seized upon her with such
overmastering power that she looked away from the sovereign toward the
singers, who were summoning the whole world to pay homage to yonder
broken-down man, as though he were a demigod.
A bitter smile hovered around her lips as she did so, but it vanished as
swiftly as it had come; for when she again fixed her eyes upon the
monarch, she would gladly have joined in the mighty hymn. As if by a
miracle, he had become an entirely different person. Now he stood before
the throne in the full loftiness and dignity of commanding majesty. A
purple mantle fell from his shoulders, and the Duke of Alba was placing
the crown on his head instead of the velvet cap.
Oh, no, she need not be ashamed of having loved this man, and she was
not; for she loved him still, and was fully and joyously aware that
whatever he suffered, whatever tortured and prematurely aged the man
still in his fourth decade, no one on earth equalled him in intellect
and grandeur.
And as pages then placed the velvet cushions on the carpet; as the Duke
of Parma, the gonfaloniere on whose head rested the blessing of the
representative of Christ, bent the knee before his imperial father-in-
law, and the proud Alba and the other Knights of the Golden Fleece who
were present did the same; as Charles, the grand master of the order,
took from the cushion the symbol of honour which Count Henry of Nassau
handed to him, and placed the golden sheepskin with the red ribbon around
Duke Ottavio's neck, while the plaudits, the ringing of bells, and the
thunder of the artillery echoed more loudly than ever from the stone
walls of the courtyard, tears filled Barbara's eyes and, as when the
Emperor passed at the head of the bridal procession in Prebrunn, her
voice again blended with the enthusiastic shouts of homage to the man
standing in majestic repose before the throne, the man who was the most
exalted of human beings.
She understood only a few words of the brief speech which the monarch
addressed to the new Knight of the Golden Fleece. She saw for the first
time the dignitaries of so many different nations upon whom she was
gazing down, and most of whom she did not even know by name. But what
did she care how they were called and who they were? Her eyes were fixed
only on Charles and the young man in the armour artistically inlaid with
gold, peach-coloured silver brocade, and white silk, who was kneeling
before him.
Suppose that a son of hers should be permitted to share such an honour;
suppose that Charles should some day bend down to her child and kiss
his brow with the paternal affection which he had just showed to the
young duke whom he had wedded to his daughter? And this daughter was the
child of a mother who was her sister in sorrow, and had been her superior
in nothing, neither in birth nor in beauty.
She said this to herself while she was intently watching the progress of
the solemn ceremonial. How lovingly and with what enthusiastic reverence
Ottavio was now gazing up into the face of his imperial father-in-law,
and with what grateful fervour, as the youngest Knight of the Fleece,
he kissed his hand! Not only outwardly but in heart--the warm light of
their eyes revealed it--these men, so unlike in age and gifts, were
united; yet Ottavio was not Charles's own son, as another would have been
whom she wished to withhold from such a father, and in her selfish
blindness to withdraw from the path to the summit of all earthly
splendour and honour.
Who gave her the right to commit so great, so execrable a robbery?
What could she, the poor, deserted, scorned toy of a king--give to her
child, and what the mightiest of the mighty yonder?
If he was ready to claim as his own the young life which she expected
with hopeful yearning, it would thereby receive a benefit so vast, a gift
so brilliant that all the wealth of love and care which she intended to
bestow upon it vanished in darkness by comparison. Charles's resolve,
which she had execrated as cruel, was harsh only against her who had
angered him, and who could give him so little more; for her child it
meant grandeur and splendour, and thereby, she thought in her vain folly,
the highest happiness attainable for human beings.
Still she gazed as though spellbound at the decorated stage, but the
ceremony was already rapidly approaching its close. The great nobles
surrounded the new Knight of the Fleece to congratulate him, the Duke of
Alba first; but vouchsafed a few brief, gracious words only to a few
dignitaries, and then, this time assisted by Quijada, descended to the
sedan chair.
Barbara had learned from Frau Traut that his Majesty knew that she was
here in the ladies' apartments. Would he now raise his eyes to her,
though but for a brief space?
He was already standing at the door of the sedan chair, and until now had
kept his gaze bent steadily upon the ground. Meanwhile he must be
experiencing severe pain; she saw it by the lines around the corners of
his mouth. Now he placed his sound right foot upon the little step; now,
before drawing the aching left one after it, he turned toward Quijada,
whose hand was supporting him under the arm; and now--no, she was not
mistaken--now he raised his eyes with the speed of lightning toward the
ladies' apartments, and for one short second his glance met hers. Then
his head vanished in the sedan chair.
Nevertheless, he had looked toward her, and this was a great boon. With
all her strength she made it her own, and soon she felt absolutely sure
that when he knew she was so near him he had been unable to resist the
desire to gaze once more into her face. Perhaps it was intended for a
precious farewell gift.
As soon as the sedan chair, amid cheers and the blare of trumpets,
had disappeared in the direction of the drawbridge and the great main
entrance, Barbara retired to her room. Frau Traut knew not whether she
ought to bless or bewail having obtained permission for her to witness
the bestowal of the Fleece.
At any rate, another great transformation had taken place in this
extremely impressionable young creature. Barbara's impetuous nature
seemed destroyed and crushed, and the bright gaiety which had pleased
Frau Dubois so much the first day of their meeting had greatly
diminished. Only on special occasions her former fiery vivacity burst
forth, but the sudden flame expired as quickly as it had blazed and,
dreamily absorbed in her own thoughts, she obeyed her with the docility
of a child.
This swift and marked change in the disposition of her charge, whom
Quijada and her own husband had described as so totally different,
awakened her anxiety; yet it was easy to perceive that the volcano had
not burned out, but was merely quiescent for the time.
During the night the dull indifference which she showed in the day
abandoned her, and her attentive companion often heard her sobbing aloud.
It did not escape Frau Tract's notice that since Barbara had seen the
Emperor again in the Trausnitz courtyard a mental conflict had begun
which absorbed her whole being, but the girl did not permit her any
insight into her deeply troubled soul.