gagliarde himself to such excellent music, and at a sign from the master
of ceremonies the dance stopped.
Several members of the Council requested the couples to make way, and
Maurice took his partner's hand and led her on the stage.
The sudden cessation of the music attracted the Emperor's attention also.
In an instant he perceived what was about to take place, and looked at
Barbara. Her eyes met his, and such a glow of indignation, nay, wrath,
so imperious a prohibition flashed from his glance that her flushed
cheeks paled, and she strove to withdraw her hand from the duke's.
But Maurice held it firmly, and at the same moment the city pipers began
to play again, and the music streamed forth in full, joyous tones.
The wooing notes fell into her defiant soul like sparks on dry brushwood.
She could not help dancing, though it should be her death. Already she
had begun, and with mischievous joy the thought darted through her mind
that now Charles, too, would perceive what anguish lay in the fear of
losing those whom we love.
If this grief brought him back to her, she thought, while eagerly
following the figures of the dance, she would tend him all her life like
a maidservant; if his pride severed the bond between them--that could not
be done, because he loved her--she must bear it. Doubtless the
conviction forced itself upon her superstitious mind that Fate would be
ready to ruin her by the dance, yet she executed what must bring
misfortune upon her; to retreat was no longer possible.
These thoughts darted in wild confusion in a few moments through her
burning brain, and while Maurice swung her around it seemed as if the
music reached her through the roar and thunder of breakers. The words
"Chi la gagliarda vuol imparare" constantly echoed in her ears, mocking,
reckless, urging her to retaliation.
The dancing-master, Bernandelli, whom the Council had summoned from Milan
to the Danube, had taught her and the other young people of Ratisbon the
gagliarde. The sensible teacher, to suit the taste of the German
burghers, had divested the gay dance of its recklessness. But he had
showed his best pupils with how much more freedom the Italians performed
the gagliarde, and Barbara had not forgotten the lesson. Duke Maurice
moved and guided her with the same unfettered ease that the little
maestro had displayed in former days. Willing or not, she was obliged to
follow his lead, and she did so, carried away by the demands of her
excited blood and the pleasure of dancing, so long denied, yet with the
grace and perfect ear for time which were her special characteristics.
Neither the Ratisbon citizens nor Charles, who had been a good dancer
himself, had ever seen the gagliarde danced in this way by either the
gentleman or the lady. A better-matched couple could scarcely be
imagined than the tall, powerful, chivalrous young prince and the
beautiful, superbly formed, golden-haired girl who seemed, as it were,
carried away by the music.
But Charles did not appear to share the pleasure which the sight of this
rare couple and their dancing awakened even in the most envious and
austere of the Ratisbon spectators, for when, in a pause, Barbara, with
sparkling eyes, glanced first into the duke's face and then, with a merry
look of inquiry, at her lover, she found his features no longer distorted
by anger, but disgusted, as though he were witnessing an unpleasant
spectacle.
Nevertheless she danced a short time longer without looking at him, until
suddenly the remembrance of his reproving glance spoiled her pleasure in
this rare enjoyment.
She whispered to the duke that she was satisfied.
A wave of his hand stopped the music but, ere returning the bow of her
distinguished partner, Barbara looked for the Emperor.
Her eyes sought him in vain-he had left the turf under the lindens before
the close of the dance. The Bishop of Arras, Malfalconnet, and several
of the ladies and gentlemen who had left the tent in no small number and
gone to the scene of the dancing after learning what was taking place
there, had remained after the monarch's departure. Most of them joined
in the applause which the younger Granvelle eagerly commenced when the
city pipers lowered their instruments.
Barbara heard it, and saw that Bernhard Trainer and other young citizens
of Ratisbon were following the courtiers' example, but she seemed
scarcely to notice the demonstration.
The doubt whether Charles had merely not waited till the end of the
dance, or had already left the festival, made her forget everything else.
Through the Bishop of Arras she learned that his Majesty had gone home.
No one, not even the baron and Quijada, had received a message for her.
This fresh humiliation pierced her heart like a knife.
On every similar occasion hitherto he had sent her a few kind words, or,
if Don Luis was the messenger, tender ones.
Yet she was obliged to force herself to smile, in order not to betray
what was passing in her mind. Besides, she could not shake off the Duke
of Saxony like the poor, handsome recruiting officer, Pyramus Kogel.
Fortunately, some of the most prominent Ratisbon citizens now crowded
around Maurice to thank him for the honour which he had done the city.
She availed herself of the favourable opportunity to beg Granvelle, in a
low tone, to keep the duke away from her the next morning until his
departure at noon, and, if possible, now."
"One service for another," replied the statesman. "I will rid you of the
most desirable admirer in Germany. But, on the day after to-morrow, you
will adorn my modest banquet with the singing of the most gifted artist
in the world."
"Gladly, unless his Majesty forbids me to do so," replied Barbara.
A few minutes later she informed her passionate young ducal lover, who
wished to call upon her in her own home that very evening, that it would
be utterly impossible. With an air of the greatest regret, she said that
her little castle was guarded like an endangered citadel; and when the
duke proposed a meeting, he was interrupted by the Bishop of Arras, who
desired to speak to him about "important business."
In spite of the late hour, the minister, even without the girl's request,
would have sought an audience with the duke, and to the ambitious Maurice
politics and the important plans being prepared for immediate execution
were of infinitely greater value than a love adventure, no matter what
hours of pleasure it promised to afford.
So Barbara succeeded in taking leave of the duke without giving him
offence.
The marquise was waiting for her with ill-repressed indignation. The
weary old woman had wanted to return home long before, but the command of
the grand chamberlain compelled her to wait for Barbara and accompany her
the short distance to the house.
With an angry glance and a few bitter-sweet words of greeting, the old
dame entered the litter. Barbara preferred to walk beside hers, for
clouds had darkened the sky; it had become oppressively sultry, and she
felt as if she would stifle in the close, swaying box.
Four torch-bearers accompanied the litters. She ordered the knight and
the two lackeys whom Quijada had commissioned to attend her to remain
behind, and also refused the service of the little Maltese, who--oh, how
gladly!--would have acted as a page and carried her train.
As the shipwrecked man on a plank amid the endless surges longs for land,
Barbara longed to get away, far away from the noise of the festival. Yet
she dreaded the solitude which she was approaching, for she now perceived
how foolishly she had acted, and with what sinful recklessness she had
perhaps forfeited the happiness of her life on this luckless evening.
But need she idly wait for the doom to which she was condemned? He whose
bright eyes could beam on her so radiantly had just wounded her with
angry glances, like a foe or a stern judge, and his indignation had not
been groundless.
What had life to offer her without his love? The wantonly bold venture
had been baffled. Yet no! All was not yet lost!
Suppose she should summon courage to steal back to him and on her knees
repentantly beseech him to forgive her?
But she cherished this desire only a few moments. Then the angry,
wronged heart rebelled against such humiliation. She had not so shame
fully offended the Emperor, but the lover, and it was his place to
entreat her not to withdraw the love which made him happy.
The young girl raised her head with fresh courage. What had happened
more than she had expected?
Because he loved her, he had become jealous, and made her feel his anger.
But if she should now persistently withdraw from him, and let him realize
how deeply he had offended her, she could not fail to win the game. In
spite of all his crowns and kingdoms, he was only a man, and must not
she, who in a few brief hours had forced a Maurice of Saxony to sue
yearningly for her love, succeed by the might of her art and her beauty
in transforming the wrath of the far older man, Charles, into his former
passion?
If the Italian novels with which she was familiar did not lie, not only
jealousy, but apparent indifference on the part of the beloved object,
fanned the heart of man to burst into fresh flames.
It was only necessary to hold her impetuous temper in check, and profit
by the jealousy which had now been aroused in Charles's mind. Hitherto
she had always obeyed hasty impulses. Why should not she, too, succeed
in accomplishing a well-considered plan? With the torturing emotions of
failure, mortification, desertion, remorse, and yearning for forgiveness,
now blended the hope of yet bringing to a successful conclusion the
hazardous enterprise which she had already given up as hopeless, and,
while walking on, her brain toiled diligently over plans for the campaign
which would compel the great general to return with twofold devotion the
love of which he had deprived her.
So, in the intense darkness, she followed the light which the torches
cast upon the uneven path. At first she had taken up the train of her
dress; now it was sweeping the dusty road.
What did she care for the magnificent robe if she regained Charles's
love? Of what use would it be if she had lost it, lost it forever?
Before the litters reached the little castle a gust of wind rose, driving
large drops of rain, straw, and withered leaves-Barbara could not imagine
whence they came in the month of May--into her face. She was obliged to
struggle against these harbingers of the coming tempest, and her heart
grew lighter during the conflict. She was not born to endure, but to
contend.
The scene of the festivities emptied rapidly. The duke and Granvelle
drove back to the city in the minister's carriage. Malfalconnet and
Quijada, in spite of the gathering storm, went home on foot.
"What a festival!" said Don Luis scornfully.
"In former days such things presented a more superb spectacle even here.
But now! No procession, no scarlet save on the cardinals, no golden
cross, no venerable priest's head on the whole pleasure ground, and,
moreover, neither consecration nor the pious exhortation to remember
Heaven, whence comes the joy in which the crowd is rejoicing."
"I, too, missed something here," cried the baron eagerly, "and now I
learn through you what it is."
"Will not the heretics themselves gradually feel that they are robbing
the pasty of faith of its truffles--what am I saying?--of its salt? May
their dry black bread choke them! The only thing that gave the
unseasoned meal a certain charm was the capitally performed gagliarde.
"Which angered his Majesty more deeply than you imagine," replied Don
Luis. "The singer's days are probably numbered. It is a pity! She was
wonderfully successful in subduing the spirits of melancholy."
"The war, on which we can now depend, will do that equally well, if not
better," interrupted the baron. "Within a short time I, too, have lost
all admiration for this fair one. Cold-hearted and arrogant. Capable of
the utmost extremes when her hot blood urges her on. Unpopular with the
people to whom she belongs, and, in spite of her bold courage,
surprisingly afraid of the Holy Inquisition. Here, among the heretics,
that gives cause for thought."
"Enough!" replied Don Luis. "We will let matters take their course. If
the worst comes, I, at least, will not move a finger in her behalf."
"Nor will I," said Malfalconnet, and both walked quietly on.
[The End of: Volume One of the Print Edition, Volume 6 of the PG Edition]
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Attain a lofty height from which to look down upon others