Book: Barbara Blomberg, Complete

G >> Georg Ebers >> Barbara Blomberg, Complete




Drawing a long breath, she pushed her dank hair back into her hood and
pressed her hand upon her heart. Then she was calm a while, but a new
terror set it throbbing again. Close beside her--this time at her
right--the loud laughter of men's harsh voices echoed through the
darkness.

Barbara involuntarily stopped, and when she collected her thoughts and
looked around her, her features, distorted by anxiety and terror,
smoothed again, and she instantly knocked with her little clinched hand
upon the door of the hut from whose open windows the laughter had issued.

It stood close to the river bank, and the tiny dwelling belonged to the
Prior of Berchtesgaden's fisherman and boatman, who kept the
distinguished prelate's gondolas and boats in order, and acted as rower
to the occupants of the little Prebrunn castle. She had often met this
man when he brought fish for the kitchen, and he had gone with the boats
in the water excursions which she had sometimes taken with Gombert and
Appenzelder or with Malfalconnet and several pages. She had treated him
kindly, and made him generous gifts.

All was still in the house after her knock, but almost instantly the deep
voice of the fisherman Valentin, who had thrust his bearded face and red
head out of the window, asked who was there.

The answer received an astonished "Can it be!" But as soon as she
informed him that she needed a companion, he shouted something to the
others, put on his fisherman's cap, stepped to Barbara's side, and led
the way with a lantern which stood lighted on the table.

The road was so softened that, in spite of the light which fell on the
ground, it was impossible to avoid the pools and muddy places. But the
girl had become accustomed to the wet and the wading. Besides, the
presence of her companion relieved her from the terrors with which the
darkness and the solitude had tortured her. Instead of watching for new
dangers, she listened while Valentin explained how it happened that she
found him still awake. He had helped hang the banners and lamps tinder
the lindens, and when the storm arose he assisted in removing the best
pieces. In return a jug of wine, with some bread and sausages, had been
given to him, and he had just begun to enjoy them with two comrades.

The Hiltner house was soon reached. Nothing had troubled Barbara during
the nocturnal walk since the fisherman had accompanied her.

Her heart was lighter as she rapped with the knocker on the syndic's
door; but, although she repeated the summons several times, not a sound
was heard in the silent house.

Valentin had seen the Hiltners' two men-servants with the litters under
the lindens, and Barbara thought that perhaps the maids might have gone
to the scene of the festival to carry headkerchiefs and cloaks to the
ladies before the outbreak of the storm. That the deaf old grandmother
did not hear her was easily understood.

The Hiltners could not have returned, so she must wait.

First she paced impatiently to and fro in the rain, then sat upon a
curbstone which seemed to be protected from the shower by the roof. But
ever and anon a larger stream of water poured down upon her from the jaws
of a hideous monster in which the gutter ended than from the black
clouds, and, dripping wet, she at last leaned against the door, which was
better shielded by the projecting lintel, while the fisherman inquired
about the absent occupants of the house.

Thus minute after minute passed until the first and then the second
quarter of an hour ended. When the third commenced, Barbara thought she
had waited there half the night. The rain began to lessen, it is true,
but the sultry night grew cooler, and a slight chill increased her
discomfort.

Yet she did not move from the spot. Here, in front of the house in which
estimable women had taken her to their hearts with such maternal and
sisterly affection, Barbara had plainly perceived that she, who had never
ceased to respect herself, would forever rob herself of this right if she
did not make every effort in her power to save Erasmus from the grave
peril in which he had become involved on her account. During this
self-inspection she did not conceal from herself that, while singing his
own compositions to him, she had yielded to the unfortunate habit of
promising more with her eyes than she intended to perform. How could this
vain, foolish sport have pleased her after she had yielded herself, soul
and body, to the highest and greatest of men!

Anne Mirl Woller had often been reproved by her mother, in her presence,
for her freedom of manner. But who had ever addressed such a warning to
her? Now she must atone for her heedlessness, like many other things
which her impetuous will demanded and proved stronger than the reason
which forbade it. It was a wonder that Baron Malfalconnet and Maestro
Gombert had not sued more urgently for her favour. If she was honest, she
could not help admitting that her lover--and such a lover!--was justified
in wishing many things in her totally different. But she was warned now,
and henceforth these follies should be over--wholly and entirely over!

If only he would refrain from wounding her with that irritating
sharpness, which made her rebellious blood boil and clouded her clear
brain! He was indeed the Emperor, to whom reverence was due; but during
the happy hours which tenderly united them he himself desired to be
nothing but the man to whom the heart of the woman he loved belonged. She
must keep herself worthy of him, nothing more, and this toilsome errand
would prevent her from sullying herself with an ugly sin.

During these reflections the chill had become more and more unendurable,
yet she thought far less of the discomfort which it caused her than of
increased danger to Erasmus from the Hiltners' long absence.

The third quarter of an hour was already drawing to an end when Valentin
came hurrying up and told Barbara that they were on the way. He had
managed to speak to the syndic, and told him who was waiting for him.

A young maid-servant, running rapidly, came first to open the house and
light the lamps. She was followed, quite a distance in advance of the
others, by Dr. Hiltner.

The fisherman's communication had made him anxious. He, too, had heard
that Barbara was the Emperor's favourite. Besides, more than one
complaint of her offensive arrogance had reached him. But, for that very
reason, the wise man said to himself, it must be something of importance
that led her to him at this hour and in such weather.

At first he answered her greeting with cool reserve, but when she
explained that she had come, in spite of the storm, because the matter
concerned the weal or woe of a person dear to him, and he saw that she
was dripping wet, he honestly regretted his long delay, and in his manly,
resolute manner requested her to follow him into the house; but Barbara
could not be persuaded to do so.

To give the thunderstorm time to pass and take his wife and daughter home
dry, he had entered a tavern near the lindens and there engaged in
conversation with several friends over some wine. Whenever he urged
returning, the young people--she knew why--objected. But at last they had
started, and Bernhard Trainer had accompanied the Hiltners, in order to
woo Martina on the way. Her parents had seen this coming, and willingly
confided their child's happiness to him.

The betrothed couple now came up also, and saw with surprise the earnest
zeal with which Martina's father was discussing something, they knew not
what, with the singer on whose account they had had their first quarrel.
The lover had condemned Barbara's unprecedented arrogance during the
dance so severely that Martina found it unendurable to listen longer.

Frau Sabina, too, did not know how to interpret Barbara's presence; but
one thing was certain in her kindly heart--this was no place for such
conversation. How wet the poor girl must be! The wrong which Barbara had
done her child was not taken into consideration under these circumstances
and, with maternal solicitude, she followed her husband's example, and
earnestly entreated Barbara to change her clothes in her house and warm
herself with a glass of hot black currant wine. But Barbara could not be
induced to do so, and hurriedly explained to the syndic what he lacked
the clew to understand.

In a few minutes she had made him acquainted with everything that it was
necessary for him to know. Dr. Hiltner, turning to his wife, and mean
while looking his future son-in-law steadily in the eye, exclaimed, "We
are all, let me tell you, greatly indebted to this brave girl."

Frau Sabina's heart swelled with joy, and to Martina, too, the praise
which her father bestowed on Barbara was a precious gift. The mother and
daughter had always espoused her cause, and now it again proved that they
had done well.

"So I was right, after all," whispered the young girl to her lover.

"And will prove so often," he answered gaily. But when, a short time
after, he proposed to Barbara's warm advocate to accompany the singer
home, Martina preferred to detain him, and invited him to stay in the
house with her a little while longer.

These incidents had occupied only a brief period, and Dr. Hiltner
undertook to escort the young girl himself. To save time, he questioned
her about everything which he still desired to know, but left her before
she turned into the lane leading to the little castle, because he was
aware that she, who belonged to the Emperor's household, might he
misjudged if she were seen in his company.

Shortly after, he had freed Erasmus from imprisonment and sent him, in
charge of one of the Council's halberdiers, beyond the gate. He was to
remain concealed outside the city until the syndic recalled him.

The young theologian willingly submitted, after confessing to his
foster-father how strongly love for Barbara had taken possession of him.

This act might arouse strong hostility to the syndic, but he did not fear
it. Moreover, the Emperor had showed at the festival plainly enough his
withdrawal of the good opinion which he had formerly testified upon many
an occasion. This was on account of his religion, and where that was
concerned there was no yielding or dissimulation on either side.

Barbara returned home soothed.

Frau Lerch was waiting for her, and with many tokens of disapproval
undressed her. Yet she carefully dried her feet and rubbed them with her
hands, that she might escape the fever which she saw approaching.

Barbara accepted with quiet gratitude the attention bestowed upon her,
but, though she closed her eyes, the night brought no sleep, for
sometimes she shivered in a chill, sometimes a violent headache tortured
her.




CHAPTER II.

Sleep also deserted the Emperor's couch. After his return from the
festival he tried to examine several documents which the secretary
Gastelii had laid ready for him on the writing-table, but he could not
succeed. His thoughts constantly reverted to Barbara and her defiant
rebellion against the distinct announcement of his will. Had the Duke of
Saxony, so much his junior and, moreover, a far handsomer and perhaps
more generous prince, won her favour, and therefore did she perhaps
desire to break the bond with him?

Why not?

She was a woman, and a capricious one, too, and of what would not such a
nature be capable? Besides, there was something else. Jamnitzer, the
Nuremberg goldsmith, had intrusted a casket of jewels to Adrian to keep
during his absence. They were intended for the diadems which the Emperor
was to give his two nieces for bridal presents. The principal gems among
them were two rubies and a diamond. On the gold of the old-fashioned
setting were a P and an l, the initial letters of his motto "Plus ultra."
He had once had it engraved upon the back of the star which he bestowed
upon Barbara. His keen eye and faithful memory could not be
deceived--Jamnitzer's jewels had been broken from that costly ornament.

From time immemorial it had belonged to the treasures of his family, and
he had already doubted whether it was justifiable to give it away.

Was it conceivable that Barbara had parted with this, his first memento,
sold it, "turned it into money"?--the base words wounded his chivalrous
soul like the blow of a scourge.

She was a passionate, defiant, changeful creature, it is true, yet her
nature was noble, hostile to baseness, and what a wealth of the purest
and deepest feeling echoed in her execution of solemn songs! This induced
him to reject as impossible the suspicion that she could have stooped to
anything so unworthy.

Still, it was not easily banished. A long series of the sorest
disappointments had rendered him distrustful, and he remembered having
asked her several times for the star in vain.

Perhaps it had been stolen from her, and Jamnitzer had obtained it from
the thief himself or from the receiver. This thought partially soothed
him, especially as, if correct, it would be possible for him to recover
the ornament. But he was an economical manager, and to expend thousands
of ducats for such a thing just at this time, when immense sums were
needed for the approaching war, seemed to him more than vexatious.

Besides, the high price which he had paid for the Saxon's aid rendered
him uneasy. He had ceded two large bishoprics to his Protestant ally, and
this act of liberality, which, it is true, had been approved and
supported by Granvelle, could no longer be undone. Moreover, if he drew
the sword, he must maintain the pretence that it was not done for the
sake of religion, but solely to chastise the insubordinate Protestant
princes, headed by the Elector John Frederick of Saxony and Philip of
Hesse, who had seriously angered him.

In ten days the Reichstag would be opened in Ratisbon and, in spite of
his special invitation, these princes, who had refused to recognise the
Council of Trent, had excused their absence upon trivial pretexts--the
Hessian, who on other occasions, attended by his numberless servants in
green livery, had made three times as great a display as he, the Emperor,
on the pretext that the journey to Ratisbon would be too expensive.

Maurice now had his imperial word and he the duke's; but since that
evening Charles thought he had noticed something which lessened his
confidence in the Saxon. It was not only jealousy which showed him this
young, clever, brave, and extremely ambitious prince in a more
unfavourable light than before. He knew men, and thought that he had
perceived in him signs of the most utter selfishness. As Maurice, to gain
two bishoprics, and perhaps later the Elector's hat, abandoned his
coreligionists, his cousin and his father-in-law, he would also desert
him if his own advantage prompted him to do so. True, such an ally was
useful for many things, but he could not be trusted implicitly a single
hour.

Maurice certainly had not remained ignorant of Barbara's relation to him,
the Emperor, and yet, in the sovereign's very presence, he had courted
her favour with such defiant boldness that Charles struck the
writing-table with his fist as he thought of his manner to the singer.
Would Maurice impose greater moderation upon himself in political
affairs?

Yet perhaps he judged the Saxon too severely, and made him suffer for
another's sin. The man's conduct is governed by the woman's, and he had
seen how Barbara, as it were, gave Maurice the right to sue thus boldly
for her favour.

Was it conceivable that she loved him, after having wounded him, as if
intentionally, by acts which she knew were detestable to him? If her
heart was still his, how could she have so inconsiderately favoured in
his presence another, younger man?

Angrily excited by the question, he rose from the writing-table. But ere
he went to rest he thought of his hapless mother, whose birthday at this
hour, beyond midnight, was now over, and, kneeling before the priedieu in
his bedroom, he fervently commended her to the mercy of Heaven. This
woman had loved her husband so fondly that it was long ere she could
resolve to part from his corpse, yet she was the heiress of the mightiest
sovereigns; and what was this Ratisbon girl whom he honoured with his
affection?

And yet!

While her lips were still glowing from his kisses, she had carried on a
reckless game with another, and was now robbing him of the repose of mind
which he so urgently, needed.

And the mother of the woman whose birthday had just passed, the proud
Queen Isabella, the conqueror of the Moors--what would she have said had
she been condemned to see her grandson, the heir of so great an empire,
ensnared by such bonds?

He had proved, since he wielded the sceptre, that he did not lack
strength of will, and he must show it again.

He reminded himself indignantly that he was not only the ruler of many
nations, but the head of perhaps the most illustrious family on earth.

He thought of his royal brothers and sisters, his haughty son Philip, his
daughters, nephews, and nieces; and while pouring forth his soul in
fervent prayer for his unfortunate mother, with her disordered intellect,
he also besought the Redeemer to free him from the evil of this love.
Three words from his lips would have sufficed to rid him of Barbara
forever, but--he felt it--that would not end the matter. He must also
learn to forget her, and for that he needed the aid of the higher powers.
He had once more yielded to worldly pleasure. The kiss of her beautiful
soft lips had been sweet, the melody of her voice still more blissful. It
had given him hours of rapture; but were these joys worth the long
repentance which was already beginning? It was wise to sacrifice the
transitory pleasures of earth to loftier purposes. One thing alone
promised permanent duration even here--what he was achieving for the
future greatness of his own name and that of his race. For them he was
now going to war, and, by fighting against the heretics, the foes of God,
he entered the strife, in a sense, as the instrument of Heaven. Thus, not
only his duty as a sovereign, but care for his eternal salvation,
compelled him to cast aside everything which might jeopardize the triumph
of his good, nay, sacred cause; and what could imperil it more seriously
than this late passion, which to-day had rendered it impossible to do his
duty?

Firmly resolved to resign Barbara before his brother Ferdinand reached
Ratisbon with his family, he rose from the priedieu and sought his couch.
But sleep fled from the anxious ruler; besides, the pain of the gout
became more severe.

After rising early, he went limping to mass, breakfasted, and began his
work.

Many charts and plans had been placed on the writing-table for him, and
beside them he found a letter from Granvelle, in which he stated his
views concerning the alliance with Duke Maurice, and what advantage might
be derived from it. Both as a whole and in detail Charles approved them,
and gladly left to the minister the final negotiations with the duke, who
intended to leave Ratisbon at noon. If he briefly ratified the terms
which had been arranged with Granvelle, and gave Maurice his hand in
farewell, he thought he would have satisfied amply the claims of the
covetous man, of whose aid, however, he stood in need.

After the thunderstorm the weather had grown cloudy and cool. Perhaps the
change had caused his increased suffering and unhappy mood. But the true
reason was doubtless the resolution formed the night before, and which
now by day seemed more difficult to execute than he had thought at the
priedieu. He was still resolved to keep it, but earthly life appeared
less short, and he could not conceal from himself that, without Barbara's
sunny cheerfulness, bewitching tenderness, and, alas! without her
singing, his future existence would lack its greatest charm. His life
would be like this gloomy day. Put he would not relinquish what he had
once firmly determined and proved to himself by reasoning to be the
correct course.

He could not succeed in burying himself in charts and plans as usual and,
while imagining how life could be endured without the woman he loved, he
pushed the papers aside.

In days like these, when the old ache again attacked him, Barbara and her
singing had brightened the dreary gloom and lessened the pain, or she had
caressed and sung it entirely away. He seemed to himself like a surly
patient who throws aside the helpful medicine because it once tasted
badly to him and was an annoyance to others. Yet no. It contained poison
also, so it was wise to put it away. But had not Dr. Mathys told him
yesterday that the strongest remedial power was concealed in poisons, and
that they were the most effective medicines? Ought he not to examine once
more the reasons which had led him to this last resolution? He bowed his
head with an irresolution foreign to his nature, and when his greyhound
touched his aching foot he pushed the animal angrily away.

The confessor De Soto found him in this mood at his first visit.

Ere he crossed the threshold he saw that Charles was suffering and felt
troubled by some important matter, and soon learned what he desired to
know. But if Charles expected the Dominican to greet his decision with
grateful joy, he was mistaken, for De Soto had long since relinquished
the suspicion which had prejudiced him against Barbara and, on the
contrary, with the Bishop of Arras, had reached the certainty that the
love which united the monarch to the singer would benefit him.

Both knew the danger which threatened the sovereign from his tendency to
melancholy, and now that he saw his efforts to urge the Emperor to a war
with the Smalcalds crowned with success, he wished to keep alive in him
the joyousness which Barbara, and she alone, had aroused and maintained.

So he used the convincing eloquence characteristic of him to shake the
monarch's resolve, and lead him back to the woman he loved.

The Church made no objection to this bond of free love formed by a
sovereign whom grave political considerations withheld from a second
marriage. If his Majesty's affection diminished the success of his work,
the separation from so dear a being, who afforded him so much pleasure,
would do this to a far greater degree. That Barbara had allowed the bold
Saxon too much liberty on the dancing ground he did not deny, but took
advantage of the opportunity to point out the unscrupulousness which
characterized Maurice, like all heretics. As for Barbara, the warm blood
and fresh love of pleasure of youth, qualities which to many were her
special charm, had led her into the error of the luckless dance. But the
Emperor, who until then had listened to De Soto' here interrupted him to
confide the unfortunate suspicion which had been aroused in him the day
before.

The mention of this matter, however, was very opportune to the almoner,
for he could easily turn it to the advantage of the suspected girl. The
day before yesterday she had confessed to him the fate of the valuable
star, and begged him, if her imprudent deed of charity should be
discovered, to relieve her of the painful task of explaining to Charles
how she had been induced to sell a memento so dear to her. Thereupon the
confessor himself had ascertained from the marquise and the goldsmith
Jamnitzer that Barbara had told him the whole truth.

So in his eyes, and probably in those of a higher power, this apparently
ignoble act would redound no little to the credit of the girl's heart.

Charles listened to this explanation with a silent shrug of the
shoulders. Such a deed could scarcely be otherwise regarded by the
priest, but Barbara's disregard of his first gift offended him far more
than the excellent disposition evinced by the hasty act pleased him. She
had flung the first tangible token of his love into the insatiable jaws
of a worthless profligate, like a copper coin thrown as alms to a beggar.
It grieved the soul of the economical manager and lover of rare works of
art to have this ancient and also very valuable family heirloom broken to
pieces. Malfalconnet would not fail to utter some biting jest when he
heard that Charles must now, as it were, purchase this costly ornament of
himself. He would have forgiven Barbara everything else more easily than
this mad casting away of a really royal gift.

Expressing his indignation to the almoner without reserve, he closed the
interview with him. When Charles was again alone he tried to rise, in
order, while pacing up and down the room, to examine his resolution once
more. But his aching foot prevented this plan and, groaning aloud, he
sank back into his arm-chair.

His heart had not been so sore for a long time, and it was Barbara's
fault. Yet he longed for her. If she had laid her delicate white hand
upon his brow, he said to himself, or had he been permitted to listen to
even one of her deeply felt religious songs, it would have cheered his
soul and even alleviated his physical suffering. Several times he
stretched his hand toward the bell to send for her; but she had offended
him so deeply that he must at least let her feel how gravely she had
erred, and that the lion could not be irritated unpunished, so he
conquered himself and remained alone. The sense of offended majesty
strengthened his power of resisting the longing for her.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.