A WORD, ONLY A WORD By Georg Ebers Volume 5. CHAPTER XXVI. The Spanish nature is contagious, thought Hans Eitelfritz, tossing on hiscouch in Ulrich's tent. What a queer fellow the gay young lad hasbecome! Sighs are cheap with him, and every word costs a ducat. He isworthy all honor as a soldier. If they make him Eletto, it will be worthwhile to join the free army. Ulrich had briefly told the lansquenet, how he had obtained the name ofNavarrete and how he had come from Madrid and Lepanto to the Netherlands. Then he went to rest, but he could not sleep. He had found his mother again. He now possessed the best gift Ruth hadasked him to beseech of the "word. " The soldier's sweetheart, thefaithless wife, the companion of his rival, whom only yesterday he hadavoided, the fortune-teller, the camp-sibyl, was the woman who had givenhim birth. He, who thought he had preserved his honor stainless, whosehand grasped the sword if another looked askance at him, was the child ofone, at whom every respectable woman had the right to point her finger. All these thoughts darted through his brain; but strangely enough, theymelted like morning mists when the sun rises, before the feeling of joythat he had his mother again. Her image did not rise before his memory in Zorrillo's tent, but framedby balsams and wall-flowers. His vivid imagination made her twenty yearsyounger, and how beautiful she still was, how winningly she could glanceand smile. Every appreciative word, all the praises of the sibyl'sbeauty, good sense and kindness, which he had heard in the camp, cameback freshly to his mind, and he would fain have started up to throwhimself on her bosom, call her his mother, hear her give him all thesweet, pet names, which sounded so tender from her lips, and feel thecaress of her soft hands. How rich the solitary man felt, howsurpassingly rich! He had been entirely alone, deserted even by hismother! Now he was so no longer, and pleasant dreams blended with hisambitious plans, like golden threads in dark cloth. When power was once his, he would build her a beautiful, cosy nest withhis share of the booty. She must leave Zorrillo, leave him to-morrow. The little nest should belong to her and him alone, entirely alone, andwhen his soul longed for peace, love, and quiet, he would rest there withher, recall with her the days of his childhood, cherish and care for her, make her forget all her sins and sufferings, and enjoy to the full thehappiness of having her again, calling a loving mother's heart his own. At every breath he drew he felt freer and gayer. Suddenly there was arustling at the tent-door. He seized his two-handed sword, but did notraise it, for a beloved voice he recognized, called softly: "Ulrich, Ulrich, it is I!" He started up, hastily threw on his doublet, rushed towards her, claspedher in his arms, and let her stroke his curls, kiss his cheeks and eyes, as in the old happy days. Then he drew her into the tent, whispering"Softly, softly, the snorer yonder is the German. " She followed him, leaned against him, and raised his hand to her lips; hefelt them grow wet with tears. They had not yet said anything to eachother, except how happy, how glad, how thankful they were to have eachother again; then a sentinel passed, and she started up, exclaiminganxiously: "So late, so late; Zorrillo will be waiting!" "Zorrillo!" cried Ulrich scornfully, "you have been a long time withhim. If they give me the power. . . . " "They will choose you, child, they shall choose you, " she hastilyinterrupted. "Oh, God! oh, God! perhaps this will bring you misfortuneinstead of blessing; but you desire it! Count Mannsfeld is comingtomorrow; Zorrillo knows it. He will bring a pardon for all; promotionstoo, but no money yet. " "Oh, ho!" cried Ulrich, "that may decide the matter. " "Perhaps so, you deserve to command them. You were born for some specialpurpose, and your card always turns up so strangely. Eletto! It soundsproud and grand, but many have been ruined by it. . . . " "Because power was too hard for them. " "It must serve you. You are strong. A child of good fortune. Folly!I will not fear. You have probably fared well in life. Ah, my lamb, Ihave done little for you, but one thing I did unceasingly: I prayed foryou, poor boy, morning and night; have you noticed, have you felt it?" He drew her to his heart again, but she released herself from hisembrace, saying: "To-morrow, Ulrich; Zorrillo. . . . " "Zorrillo, always Zorrillo, " he repeated, his blood boiling angrily. "You are mine and, if you love me, you will leave him. " "I cannot, Ulrich, it will not do. He is kind, you will yet be friends. " "We, we? On the day of judgment, nay, not even then! Are you morefirmly bound to yon smooth fellow, than to my honest father? Therestands something in the darkness, it is good steel, and if needful willcut the tie asunder. " "Ulrich, Ulrich !" wailed Flora, raising her hands beseechingly. "Notthat, not that; it must not be. He is kind and sensible, and loves mefondly. Oh, Heaven! Oh, Ulrich! The mother has glided to her son atnight, as if she were following forbidden paths. Oh, this is indeed apunishment. I know how heavily I have sinned, I deserve whatever maybefall me; but you, you must not make me more wretched, than I alreadyam. Your father, he . . . . If he were still alive, for your sake I wouldcrawl to him on my knees, and say: "Here I am, forgive me--but he isdead. Pasquale, Zorrillo lives; do not think me a vain, deluded woman;Zorrillo cannot bear to have me leave him. . . . " "And my father? He bore it. But do you know how? Shall I describe hislife to you?" "No, no! Oh, child, how you torture me! I know how I sinned againstyour father, the thought does not cease to torture me, for he truly lovedme, and I loved him, too, loved him tenderly. But I cannot keep quiet along time, and cast down my eyes, like the women there, it is not in myblood; and Adam shut me up in a cage and for many years let me seenothing except himself, and the cold, stupid city in the ravine by theforest. One day a fierce longing came upon me, I could not help goingforth--forth into the wide world, no matter with whom or whither. Thesoldier only needed to hint and I fell. --I did not stay with him long, he was a windy braggart; but I was faithful to Captain Grandgagnage andaccompanied the wild fellow with the Walloons through every land, untilhe was shot. Then ten years ago, I joined Zorrillo; he is my friend, he shares my feelings, I am necessary to his existence. Do not laugh, Ulrich; I well know that youth lies behind me, that I am old, yetPasquale loves me; since I have had him, I have been more content and, Holy Virgin! now--I love him in return. Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven! Whyis it so? This heart, this miserable heart, still throbs as fast as itdid twenty years ago. " "You will not leave him?" "No, no, I love him, and I know why. Every one calls him a brave man, yet they only half know him; no one knows him wholly as I do. No oneelse is so good, so generous. You must let me speak! Do you suppose Iever forgot you? Never, never! But you have always been to me the dearlittle boy; I never thought of you as a man, and since I could not haveyou and longed so greatly for you, for a child, I opened my heart to thesoldiers' orphans, the little creature you saw in the tent is one ofthese poor things, I have often had two or three such babies at the sametime. It would have been an abomination to Grandgagnage, but Zorrillorejoices in my love for children, and I have given what the Walloonbequeathed me and his own booty to the soldiers' widows and the littlenaked babies in the camp. He was satisfied, for whatever I do pleaseshim. I will not, cannot leave him!" She paused, hiding her face in her hands, but Ulrich paced to and fro, violently agitated. At last he said firmly: "Yet you must part from him. He or I! I will have nothing to do with the lover of my father's wife. I am Adam's son, and will be constant to him. Ah, mother, I have beendeprived of you so long. You can tend strangers' orphaned children, yetyou make your own son an orphan. Will you do this? No, a thousandtimes, no, you cannot! Do not weep so, you must not weep! Hear me, hearme! For my sake, leave this Spaniard! You will not repent it. I havejust been dreaming of the nest I will build for you. There I willcherish and care for you, and you shall keep as many orphan children asyou choose. Leave him, mother, you must leave him for the sake of yourchild, your Ulrich!" "Oh, God! oh, God!" she sobbed. "I will try, yes, I will try. . . . My child, my dear child!" Ulrich clasped her closely in his arms, kissed her hair, and said, softly: "I know, I know, you need love, and you shall find it with me. " "With you!" she repeated, sobbing. Then releasing herself from hisembrace she hurried to the feverish woman, at whose summons she had lefther tent. As morning dawned, she returned home and found Zorrillo still awake. Heenquired about her patient, and told her he had given the child somethingto drink while she was away. Flora could not help weeping bitterly again, and Zorrillo, noticing it, exclaimed chidingly: "Each has his own griefs to bear, it is not wise totake strangers' troubles so deeply to heart. " "Strangers' troubles, " she repeated, mournfully, and went to rest. White-haired woman, why have you remained so young? All the cares andsorrows of youth and age are torturing you at the same time! One loveis fighting a mortal battle with another in your breast. Which willconquer? She knows, she knew it ere she entered the tent. The mother fled fromthe child, but she cannot abandon her new-found son. Oh, maternal love, thou dost hover in radiant bliss far above the clouds, and amid choirs ofangels! Oh, maternal heart, thou dost bleed pierced with swords, morefull of sorrows than any other! Poor, poor Florette! On this July morning she was enduring superhumantortures, all the sins she had committed arrayed themselves against her, shrieking into her ear that she was a lost woman, and there could be nopardon for her either in this world or the next. Yet!--the clouds driftby, birds of passage migrate, the musician wanders singing from land toland, finds love, and remorselessly strips off light fetters to seekothers. His child imitates the father, who had followed the example ofhis, the same thing occurring back to their remotest ancestors! Buteternal justice? Will it measure the fluttering leaf by the samestandard as the firmly-rooted plant? When Zorrillo saw Flora by the daylight, he said, kindly: "You have beenweeping?" "Yes, " she answered, fixing her eyes on the ground. He thought she wasanxious, as on a former occasion, lest his election to the office ofEletto might prove his ruin, so he drew her towards him, exclaiming "Haveno fear, Bonita. If they choose me, and Mannsfeld comes, as he promised, the play will end this very day. I hope, even at the twelfth hour, theywill listen to reason, and allow themselves to be guided into the rightcourse. If they make the young madcap Eletto--his head will be at stake, not mine. Are you ill? How you look, child! Surely, surely you must besuffering; you shall not go out at night to nurse sick people again!" The words came from an anxious heart, and sounded warm and gentle. They penetrated Florette's inmost soul, and overwhelmed with passionateemotion she clasped his hands, kissed them, and exclaimed, softly"Thanks, thanks, Pasquale, for your love, for all. I will never, neverforget it, whatever happens! Go, go; the drum is beating again. " Zorrillo fancied she was uttering mere feverish ravings, and begged herto calm herself; then he left the tent, and went to the place where theelection was to be held. As soon as Flora was alone, she threw herself on her knees before theMadonna's picture, but knew not whether it would be right to pray thather son might obtain an office, which had proved the ruin of so many; andwhen she besought the Virgin to give her strength to leave her lover, itseemed to her like treason to Pasquale. Her thoughts grew confused, and she could not pray. Her mobile mindwandered swiftly from lofty to petty things; she seized the cards to seewhether fate would unite her to Zorrillo or to Ulrich, and the red ten, which represented herself, lay close beside the green knave, Pasquale. She angrily threw them down, determined, in spite of the oracle, tofollow her son. Meantime in the camp drums beat, fifes screamed shrilly, trumpets blared, and the shouts and voices of the assembled soldiers sounded like thedistant roar of the surf. A fresh burst of military music rang out, and now Florette started to herfeet and listened. It seemed as if she heard Ulrich's voice, and therapid throbbing of her heart almost stopped her breath. She must go out, she must see and hear what was passing. Hastily pushing the white hairback from her brow, she threw a veil over it, and hurried through thecamp to the spot where the election was taking place. The soldiers all knew her and made way for her. The leaders of themutineers were standing on the wall of earth between the field-pieces, and amid the foremost rank, nay, in front of them all, her son wasaddressing the crowd. The choice wavered between him and Zorrillo. Ulrich had already beenspeaking a long time. His cheeks were glowing and he looked so handsome, so noble, in his golden helmet, from beneath which floated his thick, fair locks, that her heart swelled with joy, and as the night growsbrighter when the black clouds are torn asunder and the moon victoriouslyappears, grief and pain were suddenly irradiated by maternal love andpride. Now he drew his tall figure up still higher, exclaiming: "Others arereadier and bolder with the tongue than I, but I can speak with the swordas well as any one. " Then raising the heavy two-handed sword, which others laboriously managedwith both hands, he swung it around his head, using only his right hand, in swift circles, until it fairly whistled through the air. The soldiers shouted exultingly as they beheld the feat, and when he hadlowered the weapon and silence was restored, he continued, defiantly, while his breath came quick and short: "And where do the talkers, theparleyers seek to lead us? To cringe like dogs, who lick their masters'feet, before the men who cheat us. Count Mannsfeld will come to-day;I know it, and I have also learned that he will bring everything exceptwhat is our due, what we need, what we intend to demand, what we requirefor our bare feet, our ragged bodies; money, money he has not to offer!This is so, I swear it; if not, stand forth, you parleyers, and give methe lie! Have you inclination or courage to give the lie to Navarrete?--You are silent!--But we will speak! We will not suffer ourselves to bemocked and put off! What we demand is fair pay for good work. Whoeverhas patience, can wait. Mine is exhausted. "We are His Majesty's obedient servants and wish to remain so. As soon ashe keeps his bargain, he can rely upon us; but when he breaks it, we arebound to no one but ourselves, and Santiago! we are not the weaker party. We need money, and if His Majesty lacks ducats, a city where we can findwhat we want. Money or a city, a city or money! The demand is just, andif you elect me, I will stand by it, and not shrink if it rousesmurmuring behind me or against me. Whoever has a brave heart under hisarmor, let him follow me; whoever wishes to creep after Zorrillo, can doso. Elect me, friends, and I will get you more than we need, with honorand fame to boot. Saint Jacob and the Madonna will aid us. Long livethe king!" "Long live the king! Long live Navarrete! Navarrete! Hurrah forNavarrete!" echoed loudly, impetuously from a thousand bearded lips. Zorrillo had no opportunity to speak again. The election was made. Ulrich was chosen Eletto. As if on wings, he went from man to man, shaking hands with his comrades. Power, power, the highest prize on earth, was attained, was his! Thewhole throng, soldiers, tyros, women, girls and children, crowded aroundhim, shouting his name; whoever wore a hat or cap, tossed it in the air, whoever had a kerchief, waved it. Drums beat, trumpets sounded, and thegunner ordered all the field-pieces to be discharged, for the choicepleased him. Ulrich stood, as if intoxicated, amid the shouts, shrieks of joy, military music, and thunder of the cannon. He raised his helmet, wavedsalutations to the crowd, and strove to speak, but the uproar drowned hiswords. After the election Florette slipped quietly away; first to the empty tentthen to the sick woman who needed her care. The Eletto had no time to think of his mother; for scarcely had he givena solemn oath of loyalty to his comrades and received theirs, when CountMannsfeld appeared. The general was received with every honor. He knew Navarrete, and thelatter entered into negotiations with the manly dignity natural to him;but the count really had nothing but promises to offer, and theinsurgents would not give up their demand: "Money or a city!" The nobleman reminded them of their oath of allegiance, made lavish useof kind words, threats and warnings, but the Eletto remained firm. Mannsfeld perceived that he had come in vain; the only concession hecould obtain from Navarrete was, that some prudent man among the leadersshould accompany him to Brussels, to explain the condition of theregiments to the council of state there, and receive fresh proposals. Then the count suggested that Zorrillo should be entrusted with themission, and the Eletto ordered the quartermaster to prepare fordeparture at once. An hour after the general left the camp with Flora'slover in his train. CHAPTER XXVII. The fifth night after the Eletto's election was closing in, a light rainwas falling, and no sound was heard in the deserted streets of theencampment except now and then the footsteps of a sentinel, or the criesof a child. In Zorrillo's tent, which was usually brightly lighted untila late hour of the night, only one miserable brand was burning, besidewhich sat the sleepy bar-maid, darning a hole in her frieze-jacket. Thegirl did not expect any one, and started when the door of the tent wasviolently torn open, and her master, followed by two newly-appointedcaptains, came straight up to her. Zorrillo held his hat in his hand, his hair, slightly tinged with grey, hung in a tangled mass over his forehead, but he carried himself as erectas ever. His body did not move, but his eyes wandered from one corner ofthe tent to another, and the girl crossed herself and held up two fingerstowards him, for his dark glance fell upon her, as he at last exclaimed, in a hollow tone: "Where is the mistress?" "Gone, I could not help it" replied the girl. "Where?" "To the Eletto, to Navarrete. " "When?" "He came and took her and the child, directly after you had left thecamp. " "And she has not returned?" "She has just sent a roast chicken, which I was to keep for you when youcame home. There it is. " Zorrillo laughed. Then he turned to hiscompanions, saying: "I thank you. You have now. . . . Is she still with the Eletto?" "Why, of course. " "And who--who saw her the night before the election--let me sit down--whosaw her with him then?" "My brother, " replied one of the captains. "She was just coming out ofthe tent, as he passed with the guard. " "Don't take the matter to heart, " said the other. "There are plenty ofwomen! We are growing old, and can no longer cope with a handsome fellowlike Navarrete. " "I thought the sibyl was more sensible, " added the younger captain. "I saw her in Naples sixteen years ago. Zounds, she was a beautifulwoman then! A pretty creature even now; but Navarrete might almost beher son. And you always treated her kindly, Pasquale. Well, whoeverexpects gratitude from women. . . . " Suddenly the quartermaster remembered the hour just before the election, when Florette had thrown herself upon his breast, and thanked him for hiskindness; clenching his teeth, he groaned aloud. The others were about to leave him, but he regained his self-control, andsaid: "Take him the count's letter, Renato. What I have to say to him, I willdetermine later. " Zorrillo was a long time unlacing his jerkin and taking out the paper. Both of his companions noticed how his fingers trembled, and looked ateach other compassionately; but the older one said, as he received theletter: "Man, man, this will do no good. Women are like good fortune. " "Take the thing as a thousand others have taken it, and don't come toblows. You wield a good blade, but to attack Navarrete is suicide. I'lltake him the letter. Be wise, Zorrillo, and look for another love atonce. " "Directly, directly, of course, " replied the quartermaster; but as soonas he had sent the maid-servant away, and was entirely alone, he bowedhis forehead upon the table and his shoulders heaved convulsively. Heremained in this attitude a long time, then paced to and fro with forcedcalmness. Morning dawned long ere he sought his couch. Early the next day he made his report to the Eletto before the assembledcouncil of war, and when it broke up, approached Navarrete, saying, in soloud a tone that no one could fail to hear: "I congratulate you on your new sweetheart. " "With good reason, " replied the Eletto. "Wait a little while, and I'llwager that you'll congratulate me more sincerely than you do to-day. " The offers from Brussels had again proved unacceptable. It was necessarynow to act, and the insurgent commander profited by the time at hisdisposal. It seemed as if "power" doubled his elasticity and energy. It was so delightful, after the march, the council of war, and the day'swork were over, to rest with his mother, listen to her, and open his ownheart. How had she preserved--yes, he might call it so--her aristocraticbearing, amid the turmoil, perils, and mire of camp-life, in spite ofall, all! How cleverly and entertainingly she could talk about men andthings, how comical the ideas, with which she understood how to spice theconversation, and how well versed he found her in everything that relatedto the situation of the regiments and his own position. She had not beenthe confidante of army leaders in vain. By her advice he relinquished his plan of capturing Mechlin, afterlearning from spies that it was prepared and expecting the attack of theinsurgents. He could not enter upon a long siege with the means at his command; hisfirst blow must not miss the mark. So he only showed himself nearBrussels, sent Captain Montesdocca, who tried to parley again, back withhis mission unaccomplished, marched in a new direction to mislead hisfoes, and then unexpectedly assailed wealthy Aalst in Flanders. The surprised inhabitants tried to defend their well-fortified city, butthe citizens' strength could not withstand the furious assault of thewell-drilled, booty-seeking army. The conquered city belonged to the king. It was the pledge of what therebels required, and they indemnified themselves in it for the pay thathad been with held. All who attempted to offer resistance fell by thesword, all the citizens' possessions were seized by the soldiers, as thewages that belonged to them. In the shops under the Belfry, the great tower from whence the bellsummoned the inhabitants when danger threatened, lay plenty of cloth fornew doublets. Nor was there any lack of gold or silver in the treasuryof the guild-hall, the strong boxes of the merchants, the chests of thecitizens. The silver table-utensils, the gold ornaments of the women, the children's gifts from godparents fell into the hands of theconquerors, while a hundred and seventy rich villages near Aalst werecompelled to furnish food for the mutineers. Navarrete did not forbid the plundering. According to his opinion, whatsoldiers took by assault was well-earned booty. To him the occupation ofAalst was an act of righteous self-defence, and the regiments shared hisbelief, and were pleased with their Eletto. The rebels sought and found quarters in the citizens' houses, slept intheir beds, eat from their dishes, and drank their wine-cellars empty. Pillage was permitted for three days. On the fifth discipline wasrestored, the quartermaster's department organized, and the citizens werepermitted to assemble at the guild-hall, pursue their trades andbusiness, follow the pursuits to which they had been accustomed. Theproperty they had saved was declared unassailable; besides, robbery hadceased to be very remunerative. The Eletto was at liberty to choose his own quarters, and there was nolack of stately dwellings in Aalst. Ulrich might have been tempted tooccupy the palace of Baron de Hierges, but passed it by, selecting as ahome for his mother and himself a pretty little house on the market-place, which reminded him of his father's smithy. The bow-windowed room, with the view of the belfry and the stately guildhall, was pleasantlyfitted up for his mother, and the city gardeners received orders to sendthe finest house-plants to his residence. Soon the sitting-room, adornedwith flowers and enlivened by singing-birds, looked far handsomer andmore cosy than the nest of which he had dreamed. A little white dog, exactly like the one Florette had possessed in the smithy, was alsoprocured, and when in the evening the warm summer air floated into theopen windows, and Ulrich sat alone with Florette, recalling memories ofthe past, or making plans for the future, it seemed as if a new springhad come to his soul. The citizens' distress did not trouble him. Theywere the losing party in the grim game of war, enemies--rebels. Amonghis own men he saw nothing but joyous faces; he exercised the power--theyobeyed. Zorrillo bore him ill-will, Ulrich read it in his eyes; but he made hima captain, and the man performed his duty as quartermaster in the mostexemplary manner. Florette wished to tell him that the Eletto was herson, but the latter begged her to wait till his power was more firmlyestablished, and how could she refuse her darling anything? She hadgrieved deeply, very deeply, but this mood soon passed away, and now shecould be happy in Ulrich's society, and forget sorrow and heartache. What joy it was to have him back, to be loved by him! Where was there amore affectionate son, a pleasanter home than hers? The velvet andbrocade dresses belonging to the Baroness de Hierges had fallen to theEletto. How young Florette looked in them! When she glanced into themirror, she was astonished at herself. Two beautiful riding-horses for ladies' use and elegant trappings hadbeen found in the baron's stable. Ulrich had told her of it, and thedesire to ride with him instantly arose in her mind. She had alwaysaccompanied Grandgagnage, and when she now went out, attired in a longvelvet riding-habit, with floating plumes in her dainty little hat, beside her son, she soon noticed how admiringly even the hostile citizensand their wives looked after them. It was a pretty sight to behold thehandsome soldier, full of pride and power, galloping on the most spiritedstallion, beside the beautiful, white-haired woman, whose eyes sparkledwith vivacious light. Zorrillo often met them, when they passed the guildhall, and Florettealways gave him a friendly greeting with her whip, but he intentionallyaverted his eyes or if he could not avoid it, coldly returned herrecognition. This wounded her deeply, and when alone, it often happened that she sunkinto gloomy reverie and, with an aged, weary face, gazed fixedly at thefloor. But Ulrich's approach quickly cheered and rejuvenated her. Florette now knew what her son had experienced in life, what had movedhis heart, his soul, and could not contradict him, when he told her thatpower was the highest prize of existence. The Eletto's ambitious mind could not be satisfied with little Aalst. The mutineers had been outlawed by an edict from Brussels, but the kinghad nothing to do with this measure; the shameful proclamation was onlyintended to stop the wailing of the Netherlanders. They would have topay dearly for it! There was a great scheme in view. The Antwerp of those days was called "as rich as the Indies;" the projectunder consideration was the possibility of manoeuvring this abode ofwealth into the hands of the mutineers; the whole Spanish army in theNetherlands being about to follow the example of the regiments in Aalst. The mother was the friend and counsellor of the son. At every step hetook he heard her opinion, and often yielded his own in its favor. Thisinterest in the direction of great events occupied the sibyl's versatilemind. When, on many occasions, pros and tons were equal in weight, shebrought out the cards, and this oracle generally turned the scale. No high aim, no desire to accomplish good and great things in widerspheres, influenced the thoughts and actions of this couple. What cared they, that the weal and woe of thousands depended on theirdecision? The deadly weapon in their bands was to them only a valuableutensil in which they delighted, and with which fruits were plucked fromthe trees. Ulrich now saw the fulfilment of Don Juan's words, that power was anarable field; for there were many full ears in Aalst for them both toharvest. Florette still nursed, with maternal care, the soldier's orphan which shehad taken to her son's house; the child, born on a bed of straw--was nowclothed in dainty linen, laces and other beautiful finery. It wasnecessary to her, for she occupied herself with the helpless littlecreature when, during the long morning hours of Ulrich's absence, sorrowful thought troubled her too deeply. Ulrich often remained absent a long time, far longer than the servicerequired. What was he doing? Visiting a sweetheart? Why not? She onlymarvelled that the fair women did not come from far and near to see thehandsome man. Yes, the Eletto had found an old love. Art, which he had sullenlyforsaken. News had reached his ears, that an artist had fallen in thedefence of the city. He went to the dead man's house to see his works, and how did he find the painter's dwelling! Windows, furniture wereshattered, the broken doors of the cupboards hung into the rooms on theirbent hinges. The widow and her children were lying in the studio on aheap of straw. This touched his heart, and he gave alms with an openhand to the sorrowing woman. A few pictures of the saints, which theSpaniards had spared, hung on the walls; the easel, paints and brusheshad been left untouched. A thought, which he instantly carried into execution, entered his mind. He would paint a new standard! How his heart beat, when he again stoodbefore the easel! He regarded the heretics as heathens. The Spaniards were shortly goingto fight against them and for the faith. So be painted the Saviour onone side of the standard, the Virgin on the other. The artist's widowsat to him for the Madonna, a young soldier for the Christ. No scruples, no consideration for the criticisms of teachers now checkedhis creating hand; the power was his, and whatever he did must be right. He placed upon the Saviour's bowed figure, Costa's head, as he hadpainted it in Titian's studio, and the Madonna, in defiance of the sternjudges in Madrid, received the sibyl's face, to please himself and dohonor to his mother. He made her younger, transformed her white hair togleaming golden tresses. One day he asked Flora to sit still and thinkof something very serious; he wanted to sketch her. She gaily placed herself in position, saying: "Be quick, for serious thoughts don't last long with me. " A few days later both pictures were finished, and possessed no meandegree of merit; he rejoiced that after the long interval he could stillaccomplish something. His mother was delighted with her son'smasterpieces, especially the Madonna, for she instantly recognizedherself, and was touched by this proof of his faithful remembrance. Shehad looked exactly like it when a young girl, she said; it was strangehow precisely he had hit the color of her hair; but she was afraid it wasblaspheming to paint a Madonna with her face; she was a poor sinner, nothing more. Florette was glad that the work was finished, for restlessness againbegan to torture her, and the mornings had been so lonely. Zorrillo--itcaused her bitter pain--had not cast even a single glance at her, and shebegan to miss the society of men, to which she had been accustomed. Butshe never complained, and always showed Ulrich the same cheerful face, until the latter told her one day that he must leave her for some time. He had already defeated in little skirmishes small bodies of peasantsand citizens, who had taken the field against the mutineers; now ColonelRomero called upon him to help oppose a large army of patriots, who hadassembled between Lowen and Tirlemont, under the command of the nobleSieur de Floyon. It was said to consist Of students and other rebelliousbrawlers, and so it proved; but the "rebels" were the flower of theyouth of the shamefully-oppressed nation, noble souls, who found itunbearable to see their native land enslaved by mutinous hordes. Ulrich's parting with his mother was not a hard one. He felt sure ofvictory and of returning home, but the excitable woman burst into tearsas she bade him farewell. The Eletto took the field with a large body of troops; the majority ofthe mutineers, with them. Captain and Quartermaster Zorrillo, remainedbehind to hold the citizens in check. CHAPTER XXVIII. A considerable, but hastily-collected army of patriots had been utterlyrouted at Tisnacq by a small force of disciplined Spaniards. Ulrich had assisted his countrymen to gain the speedy victory, and hadbeen greeted by his old colonel, the brave Romero, the bold cavalry-commander, Mendoza, and other distinguished officers as one ofthemselves. Since these aristocrats had become mutineers, the Elettowas a brother, and they did not disdain to secure his cooperation in theattack they were planning upon Antwerp. He had shown great courage under fire, and wherever he appeared, hiscountrymen held out their hands to him, vowing obedience and loyalty untodeath. Ulrich felt as if he were walking on air, mere existence was a joy tohim. No prince could revel in the blissful consciousness of increasingpower, more fully than he. The evening after the decision he hadattended a splendid banquet with Romero, Vargas, Mendoza, Tassis, and thenext morning the prisoners, who had fallen into the hands of his men, were brought before him. He had left the examination of the students, citizens' sons, and peasantsto his lieutenant; but there were also three noblemen, from whom largeransoms could be obtained. The two older ones had granted what he askedand been led away; the third, a tall man in knightly armor, was leftlast. Ulrich had personally encountered the latter. The prisoner, mounted upona tall steed, had pressed him very closely; nay, the Eletto's victory wasnot decided, until a musket-shot had stretched the other's horse on theground. The knight now carried his arm in a sling. In the centre of his coat ofmail and on the shoulder-pieces of his armor, the ensigns armorial of anoble family were embossed. "You were dragged out from under your horse, " said the Eletto to theknight. "You wield an excellent blade. " He had spoken in Spanish, but the other shrugged his shoulders, andanswered in the German language "I don't understand Spanish. " "Are you a German?" Ulrich now asked in his native tongue. "How do youhappen to be among the Netherland rebels?" The nobleman looked at the Eletto in surprise. But the latter, givinghim no time for reflection, continued "I understand German; your answer?" "I had business in Antwerp?" "What business?" "That is my affair. " "Very well. Then we will drop courtesy and adopt a different tone. " "Nay, I am the vanquished party, and will answer you. " "Well then?" "I had stuffs to buy. " "Are you a merchant?" The knight shook his head and answered, smiling: "We have rebuilt ourcastle since the fire. " "And now you need hangings and artistic stuff. Did you expect to capturethem from us?" "Scarcely, sir. " "Then what brought you among our enemies?" "Baron Floyon belongs to my mother's family. He marched against you, andas I approved his cause. . . . " "And pillage pleases you, you felt disposed to break a lance. " "Quite right. " "And you have done your cause no harm. Where do you live?" "Surely you know: in Germany. " "Germany is a very large country. " "In the Black Forest in Swabia. " "And your name?" The prisoner made no reply; but Ulrich fixed his eyes upon the coat ofarms on the knight's armor, looked at him more steadily, and a strangesmile hovered around his lips as he approached him, saying in an alteredtone: "You think the Navarrete will demand from Count von Frohlinger aransom as large as his fields and forests?" "You know me?" "Perhaps so, Count Lips. " "By Heavens!" "Ah, ha, you went from the monastery to the field. " "From the monastery? How do you know that, sir?" "We are old acquaintances, Count Lips. Look me in the eyes. " The other gazed keenly at the Eletto, shook his head, and said: "You havenot seemed a total stranger to me from the first; but I never was inSpain. " "But I have been in Swabia, and at that time you did me a kindness. Would your ransom be large enough to cover the cost of a broken churchwindow?" The count opened his eyes in amazement and a bright smile flashed overhis face as, clapping his hands, he exclaimed with sincere delight: "You, you--you are Ulrich! I'll be damned, if I'm mistaken! But who thedevil would discover a child of the Black Forest in the Spanish Eletto?" "That I am one, must remain a secret between us for the present, "exclaimed Ulrich, extending his hand to the count. "Keep silence, andyou will be free--the window will cover the ransom!" "Holy Virgin! If all the windows in the monastery were as dear, themonks might grow fat!" cried the count. "A Swabian heart remains halfSwabian, even when it beats under a Spanish doublet. Its luck, Turk'sluck, that I followed Floyon;--and your old father, Adam? And Ruth--whata pleasure!" "You ought to know. . . . My father is dead, died long, long ago!" saidUlrich, lowering his eyes. "Dead!" exclaimed the other. "And long ago? I saw him at the anvilthree weeks since. " "My father? At the anvil? And Ruth?. . . . " stammered Ulrich, gazing atthe other with a pallid, questioning face. "They are alive, certainly they are alive! I met him again in Antwerp. No one else can make you such armor. The devil is in it, if you hav'ntheard of the Swabian armorer. " "The Swabian--the Swabian--is he my father?" "Your own father. How long ago is it? Thirteen years, for I was thensixteen. That was the last time I saw him, and yet I recognized him atthe first glance. True, I shall never forget the hour, when the dumbwoman drew the arrow from the Jew's breast. The scene I witnessed thatday in the forest still rises before my eyes, as if it were happeningnow. " "He lives, they did not kill him!" exclaimed the Eletto, now firstbeginning to rejoice over the surprising news. "Lips, man--Philipp!I have found my mother again, and now my father too. Wait, wait! I'llspeak to the lieutenant, he must take my place, and you and I will rideto Lier; there you will tell me the whole story. Holy Virgin! thanks, athousand thanks! I shall see my father again, my father!" It was past midnight, but the schoolmates were still sitting over theirwine in a private room in the Lion at Lier. The Eletto had not grownweary of questioning, and Count Philipp willingly answered. Ulrich now knew what death the doctor had met, and that his father hadgone to Antwerp and lived there as an armorer for twelve years. TheJew's dumb wife had died of grief on the journey, but Ruth was livingwith the old man and kept house for him. Navarrete had often heard theSwabian and his work praised, and wore a corselet from his workshop. The count could tell him a great deal about Ruth. He acknowledged thathe had not sought Adam the Swabian for weapons, but on account of hisbeautiful daughter. The girl was slender as a fir-tree! And her face!once seen could never be forgotten. So might have looked the beautifulJudith, who slew Holophernes, or Queen Zenobia, or chaste Lucretia ofRome! She was now past twenty and in the bloom of her beauty, but coldas glass; and though she liked him on account of his old friendship forUlrich and the affair in the forest, he was only permitted to look at, not touch her. She would rejoice when she heard that Ulrich was stillalive, and what he had become. And the smith, the smith! Nay, he wouldnot go home now, but back to Antwerp to be Ulrich's messenger! But nowhe too would like to relate his own experiences. He did so, but in a rapid, superficial way, for the Eletto constantlyreverted to old days and his father. Every person whom they had bothknown was enquired for. Old Count Frohlinger was still alive, but suffered a great deal fromgout and the capricious young wife he had married in his old age. Hangemarx had grown melancholy and, after all, ended his life by therope, though by his own hand. Dark-skinned Xaver had entered thepriesthood and was living in Rome in high esteem, as a member of aSpanish order. The abbot still presided over the monastery and had agreat deal of time for his studies; for the school had been broken upand, as part of the property of the monastery had been confiscated, thenumber of monks had diminished. The magistrate had been falsely accusedof embezzling minors' money, remained in prison for a year and, after hisliberation, died of a liver complaint. Morning was dawning when the friends separated. Count Philipp undertookto tell Ruth that Ulrich had found his mother again. She was to persuadethe smith to forgive his wife, with whose praises her son's lips wereoverflowing. At his departure Philipp tried to induce the Eletto to change his coursebetimes, for he was following a dangerous path; but Ulrich laughed in hisface, exclaiming: "You know I have found the right word, and shall use itto the end. You were born to power in a small way; I have won minemyself, and shall not rest until I am permitted to exercise it on a greatscale, nay, the grandest. If aught on earth affords a taste of heavenlyjoy, it is power!" In the camp the Eletto found the troops from Aalst prepared fordeparture, and as he rode along the road saw in imagination, sometimeshis parents, his parents in a new and happy union, sometimes Ruth in thefull splendor of her majestic beauty. He remembered how proudly he hadwatched his father and mother, when they went to church together onSunday, how he had carried Ruth in his arms on their flight; and now hewas to see and experience all this again. He gave his men only a short rest, for he longed to reach his mother. It was a glorious return home, to bring such tidings! How beautiful andcharming he found life; how greatly he praised his destiny! The sun was setting behind pleasant Aalst as he approached, and the skylooked as if it was strewn with roses. "Beautiful, beautiful!" he murmured, pointing out to his lieutenant thebrilliant hues in the western horizon. A messenger hastened on in advance, the thunder of artillery and fanfareof music greeted the victors, as they marched through the gate. Ulrichsprang from his horse in front of the guildhall and was received by thecaptain, who had commanded during his absence. The Eletto hastily described the course of the brilliant, victoriousmarch, and then asked what had happened. The captain lowered his eyes in embarrassment, saying, in a low tone:"Nothing of great importance; but day before yesterday a wicked deed wascommitted, which will vex you. The woman you love, the camp sibyl. . . . " "Who? What? What do you mean?" "She went to Zorrillo, and he--you must not be startled--he stabbed her. " Ulrich staggered back, repeating, in a hollow tone "Stabbed!" Thenseizing the other by the shoulder, he shrieked: "Stabbed! That meansmurdered-killed!" "He thrust his dagger into her heart, she must have died as quickly as ifstruck by lightning. Then Zorrillo went away, God knows where. Whocould suspect, that the quiet man. . . . " "You let him escape, helped the murderer get off, you dogs!" raved thewretched man. "We will speak of this again. Where is she, where is herbody?" The captain shrugged his shoulders, saying, in a soothing tone: "Calmyourself, Navarrete! We too grieve for the sibyl; many in the camp willmiss her. As for Zorrillo, he had the password, and could go through thegate at any hour. The body is still lying in his quarters. " "Indeed!" faltered the Eletto. Then calming himself, he said, mournfully: "I wish to see her. " The captain walked silently by his side and opened the murderer'sdwelling. There, on a bed of pine-shavings, in a rude coffin made of rough planks, lay the woman who had given him birth, deserted him, and yet who sotenderly loved him. A poor soldier's wife, to whom she had been kind, was watching beside the corpse, at whose head a singly brand burned witha smoky, yellow light. The little white dog had found its way to her, and was snuffing the floor, still red with its mistress's blood. Ulrich snatched the brand from the bracket, and threw the light on thedead woman's face. His tear-dimmed eyes sought his mother's features, but only rested on them a moment--then he shuddered, turned away, andgiving the torch to his companion, said, softly: "Cover her head. " The soldier's wife spread her coarse apron over the face, which-hadsmiled so sweetly: but Ulrich threw himself on his knees beside thecoffin, buried his face, and remained in this attitude for many minutes. At last he slowly rose, rubbed his eyes as if waking from some confuseddream, drew himself up proudly, and scanned the place with searchingeyes. He was the Eletto, and thus men honored the woman who was dear to him! His mother lay in a wretched pauper's coffin, a ragged camp-followerwatched beside her--no candles burned at her head, no priest prayed forthe salvation of her soul! Grief was raging madly in his breast, now indignation joined this gloomyguest; giving vent to his passionate emotion, Ulrich wildly exclaimed: "Look here, captain! This corpse, this woman--proclaim it to every one--the sibyl was my mother yes, yes, my own mother! I demand respect forher, the same respect that is shown myself! Must I compel men to renderher fitting honor? Here, bring torches. Prepare the catafalque in St. Martin's church, and place it before the altar! Put candles around it, as many as can be found! It is still early! Lieutenant! I am glad youare there! Rouse the cathedral priests and go to the bishop. I commanda solemn requiem for my mother! Everything is to be arranged preciselyas it was at the funeral of the Duchess of Aerschot! Let trumpets givethe signal for assembling. Order the bells to be rung! In an hour allmust be ready at St. Martin's cathedral! Bring torches here, I say!Have I the right to command--yes or no? A large oak coffin was standingat the joiner's close by. Bring it here, here; I need a better death-couch for my mother. You poor, dear woman, how you loved flowers, and noone has brought you even one! Captain Ortis, I have issued my commands!Everything must be done, when I return;--Lieutenant, you have yourorders!" He rushed from the death-chamber to the sitting-room in his own house, and hastily tore stalks and blossoms from the plants. The maid-servantswatched him timidly, and he harshly ordered them to collect what he hadgathered and take them to the house of death. His orders were obeyed, and when he next appeared at Zorrillo's quarters, the soldiers, who had assembled there in throngs, parted to make way forhim. He beckoned to them, and while he went from one to another, saying: "Thesibyl was my mother--Zorrillo has murdered my mother, " the coffin wasborne into the house. In the vestibule, he leaned his head against the wall, moaning andsighing, until Florette was laid in her last bed, and a soldier put hishand on his shoulder. Then Ulrich strewed flowers over the corpse, andthe joiner came to nail up the coffin. The blows of the hammer actuallyhurt him, it seemed as if each one fell upon his own heart. The funeral procession passed through the ranks of soldiers, who filledthe street. Several officers came to meet it, and Captain Ortis, approaching close to the Eletto, said: "The bishop refuses the catafalqueand the solemn requiem you requested. Your mother died in sin, withoutthe sacrament. He will grant as many masses for the repose of her soulas you desire, but such high honors. . . . " "He refuses them to us?" "Not to us, to the sibyl. " "She was my mother, your Eletto's mother. To the cathedral, forward!" "It is closed, and will remain so to-day, for the bishop. . . . " "Then burst the doors! We'll show them who has the power here. " "Are you out of your senses? The Holy Church!" "Forward, I say! Let him who is no cowardly wight, follow me!" Ulrich drew the commander's baton from his belt and rushed forward, as if he were leading a storming-party; but Ortis cried: "We will notfight against St. Martin!" and a murmur of applause greeted him. Ulrich checked his pace, and gnashing his teeth, exclaimed: "Will not?Will not?" Then gazing around the circle of comrades, who surrounded himon all sides, he asked: "Has no one courage to help me to my rights?Ortis, de Vego, Diego, will you follow me, yes or no?" "No, not against the Church!" "Then I command you, " shouted the Eletto, furiously. "Obey, Lieutenantde Vega, forward with your company, and burst the cathedral doors. " But no one obeyed, and Ortis ordered: "Back, every man of you! SaintMartin is my patron saint; let all who value their souls refuse to attackthe church and defend it with me. " The blood rushed to Ulrich's brain, and incapable of longer self-control, he threw his baton into the ranks of the mutineers, shrieking: "I hurl itat your feet; whoever picks it up can keep it!" The soldiers hesitated; but Ortis repeated his "Back!" Otherofficers gave the same order, and their men obeyed. The street grewempty, and the Eletto's mother was only followed by a few of her son'sfriends; no priest led the procession. In the cemetery Ulrich threwthree handfuls of earth into the open grave, then with drooping headreturned home. How dreary, how desolate the bright, flower-decked room seemed now, forthe first time the Eletto felt really deserted. No tears came to relievehis grief, for the insult offered him that day aroused his wrath, and hecherished it as if it were a consolation. He had thrown power aside with the staff of command. Power! It too waspotter's trash, which a stone might shatter, a flower in full bloom, whose leaves drop apart if touched by the finger! It was no noble metal, only yellow mica! The knocker on the door never stopped rapping. One officer after anothercame to soothe him, but he would not even admit his lieutenant. He rejoiced over his hasty deed. Fortune, he thought, cannot be escaped, art cannot be thrown aside; fame may be trampled under foot, yet stillpursue us. Power has this advantage over all three, it can be flung off like a worn-out doublet. Let it fly! Had he owed it the happiness of the last fewweeks? No, no! He would have been happy with his mother in a poor, plain house, without the office of Eletto, without flowers, horses orservants. It was to her, not to power, that he was indebted for everyblissful hour, and now that she had gone, how desolate was the void inhis heart! Suddenly the recollection of his father and Ruth illumined his miserylike a sunbeam. The game of Eletto was now over, he would go to Antwerpthe next day. Why had fate snatched his mother from him just now, why did it deny himthe happiness of seeing his parents united? His father--she had sorelywronged him, but for what will not death atone? He must take him someremembrance of her, and went to her room to look through her chest. Butit no longer stood in the old place--the owner of the house, a richmatron, who had been compelled to occupy an attic-room, while strangerswere quartered in her residence, had taken charge of the pale orphan andthe boxes after Florette's death. The good Netherland dame provided for the adopted child and the propertyof her enemy, the man whose soldiers had pillaged her brothers andcousins. The death of the woman below had moved her deeply, for thewonderful charm of Florette's manner had won her also. Towards midnight Ulrich took the lamp and went upstairs. He had longsince forgotten to spare others, by denying himself a wish. The knocking at the door and the passing to and fro in the entry had keptFrau Geel awake. When she heard the Eletto's heavy step, she sprang upfrom her spinning-wheel in alarm, and the maid-servant, half roused fromsleep, threw herself on her knees. "Frau Geel!" called a voice outside. She recognized Navarrete's tones, opened the door, and asked what hedesired. "It was his mother, " thought the old lady as he threw clothes, linen andmany a trifle on the floor. "It was his mother. Perhaps he wants herrosary or prayer book. He is her son! They looked like a happy couplewhen they were together. A wild soldier, but he isn't a wicked man yet. " While he searched she held the light for him, shaking her head over thedisorder among the articles where he rummaged. Ulrich had now reached the bottom of the chest. Here he found a valuablenecklace, booty which Zorrillo had given his companion for use in case ofneed. This should be Ruth's. Close beside it lay a small package, tiedwith rose-pink ribbon, containing a tiny infant's shirt, a gay doll, anda slender gold circlet; her wedding-ring! The date showed that it hadbeen given to her by his father, and the shirt and doll were mementos ofhim, her darling--of himself. He gazed at them, changing them from one hand to the other, till suddenlyhis heart overflowed, and without heeding Frau Geel, who was watchinghim, he wept softly, exclaiming: "Mother, dear mother!" A light hand touched his shoulder, and a woman's kind voice said: "Poorfellow, poor fellow! Yes, she was a dear little thing, and a mother, amother--that is enough!" The Eletto nodded assent with tearful eyes, and when she again gentlyrepeated in a tone of sincere sympathy, her "poor fellow!" it soundedsweeter, than the loudest homage that had ever been offered to his fameand power. CHAPTER XXIX. The next morning while Ulrich was packing his luggage, assisted by hisservant, the sound of drums and fifes, bursts of military music and loudcheers were heard in the street, and going to the window, he saw thewhole body of mutineers drawn up in the best order. The companies stood in close ranks before his house, impetuous shouts andbursts of music made the windows rattle, and now the officers pressedinto his room, holding out their swords, vowing fealty unto death, andentreating him to remain their commander. He now perceived, that power cannot be thrown aside like a worthlessthing. His tortured heart was stirred with deep emotion, and thedrooping wings of ambition unfolded with fresh energy. He reproached, raged, but yielded; and when Ortis on his knees, offered him thecommander's baton, he accepted it. Ulrich was again Eletto, but this need not prevent his seeing his fatherand Ruth once more, so he declared that he would retain his office, butshould be obliged to ride to Antwerp that day, secretly inform theofficers of the conspiracy against the city, and the necessity ofnegotiating with the commandant, that their share of the rich prize mightnot be lost. What many had suspected and hoped was now to become reality. TheirEletto was no idle man! When Navarrete appeared at noon in front of thetroops with his own work, the standard, in his hand, he was received withshouts of joy, and no one murmured, though many recognized in theMadonna's countenance the features of the murdered sibyl. Two days later Ulrich, full of eager expectation, rode into Antwerp, carrying in his portmanteau the mementos he had taken from his mother'schest, while in imagination he beheld his father's face, the smithy atRichtberg, the green forest, the mountains of his home, the Costas'house, and his little playfellow. Would he really be permitted to leanon his father's broad breast once more? And Ruth, Ruth! Did she still care for him, had Philipp described hercorrectly? He went to the count without delay, and found him at home. Philippreceived him cordially, yet with evident timidity and embarrassment. Ulrich too was grave, for he had to inform his companion of his mother'sdeath. "So that is settled, " said the count. "Your father is a gnarled oldtree, a real obstinate Swabian. It's not his way to forgive and forget. " "And did he know that my mother was so near to him, that she was inAalst. " "All, all!" "He will forgive the dead. Surely, surely he will, if I beseech him, when we are united, if I tell him. . . . " "Poor fellow! You think all this is so easy. --It is long since I havehad so hard a task, yet I must speak plainly. He will have nothing todo with you, either. " "Nothing to do with me?" cried Ulrich. "Is he out of his senses? What sin have I committed, what does he. . . . " "He knows that you are Navarrete, the Eletto of Herenthals, the conquerorof Aalst, and therefore. . . . " "Therefore?" "Why of course. You see, Ulrich, when a man becomes famous like you, heis known for a long distance, everything he does makes a great hue andcry, and echo repeats it in every alley. " "To my honor before God and man. " "Before God? Perhaps so; certainly before the Spaniards. As for me--I was with the squadron myself, I call you a brave soldier; but--nooffence--you have behaved ill in this country. The Netherlanders arehuman beings too. " "They are rebels, recreant heretics. " "Take care, or you will revile your own father. His faith has beenshaken. A preacher, whom he met on his flight here, in some tavern, ledhim astray by inducing him to read the bible. Many things the Churchcondemns are sacred to him. He thinks the Netherlanders a free, noblenation. Your King Philip he considers a tyrant, oppressor, and ruthlessdestroyer. You who have served him and Alba--are in his eyes; but I willnot wound you. . . . " "What are we, I will hear. " "No, no, it would do no good. In short, to Adam the Spanish army is abloody pest, nothing more. " "There never were braver soldiers. " "Very true; but every defeat, all the blood you have shed, has angeredhim and this nation, and wrath, which daily receives fresh food and towhich men become accustomed, at last turns to hate. All great crimescommitted in this war are associated with Alba's name, many smaller oneswith yours, and so your father. . . . " "Then we will teach him a better opinion! I return to him an honestsoldier, the commander of thousands of men! To see him once more, onlyto see him! A son remains a son! I learned that from my mother. Wewere rivals and enemies, when I met her! And then, then--alas, that isall over! Now I wish to find in my father what I have lost; will you goto the smithy with me?" "No, Ulrich, no. I have said everything to your father that can be urgedin your defence, but he is so devoured with rage. . . . " "Santiago!" exclaimed the Eletto, bursting into sudden fury, "I need noadvocate! If the old man knows what share I have taken in this war, somuch the better. I'll fill up the gaps myself. I have been whereverthe fight raged hottest! 'Sdeath! that is my pride! I am no longer aboy and have fought my way through life without father or mother. What Iam, I have made myself, and can defend with honor, even to the old man. He carries heavy guns, I know; but I am not accustomed to shoot withfeather balls!" "Ulrich, Ulrich! He is an old man, and your father!" "I will remember that, as soon as he calls me his son. " One of the count's servants showed Ulrich the way to the smith's house. Adam had entirely given up the business of horseshoeing, for nothing wasto be seen in the ground floor of the high, narrow house, except thelarge door, and a window on each side. Behind the closed one at theright were several pieces of armor, beautifully embossed, and someartistically-wrought iron articles. The left-hand one was partly open, granting entrance to the autumn sunshine. Ulrich dismissed the servant, took the mementos of his mother in his hand, and listened to the hammer-strokes, that echoed from within. The familiar sound recalled pleasant memories of his childhood and cooledhis hot blood. Count Philipp was right. His father was an old man, andentitled to demand respect from his son. He must endure from him what hewould tolerate from no one else. Nay, he again felt that it was a greathappiness to be near the beloved one, from whom he had so long beenparted; whatever separated him from his old father, must surely vanishinto nothing, as soon as they looked into each other's eyes. What a master in his trade, his father still was! No one else would havefound it so easy to forge the steel coat of mail with the Medusa head inthe centre. He was not working alone here as he did at Richtberg; forUlrich heard more than one hammer striking iron in the workshop. Before touching the knocker, he looked into the open window. A woman's tall figure was standing at the desk. Her back was turned, and he saw only the round outline of the head, the long black braids, the plain dress, bordered with velvet, and the lace in the neck. Anelderly man in the costume of a merchant was just holding out his handin farewell, and he heard him say: "You've bought too cheap again, fartoo cheap, Jungfer Ruth. " "Just a fair price, " she answered quietly. "You will have a goodprofit, and we can afford to pay it. I shall expect the iron day afterto-morrow. " "It will be delivered before noon. Master Adam has a treasure in you, dear Jungfer. If my son were alive, I know where he would seek a wife. Wilhelm Ykens has told me of his troubles; he is a skilful goldsmith. Why do you give the poor fellow no hope? Consider! You are past twenty, and every year it grows harder to say yes to a lover. " "Nothing suits me better, than to stay with father, " she answered gaily. "He can't do without me, you know, nor I without him. I have no disliketo Wilhelm, but it seems very easy to live without him. Farewell, FatherKeulitz. " Ulrich withdrew from the window, until the merchant had vanished down aside street; then he again glanced into the narrow room. Ruth was nowseated at the desk, but instead of looking over the open account book, her eyes were gazing dreamily into vacancy, and the Eletto now saw herbeautiful, calm, noble face. He did not disturb her, for it seemed as ifhe could never weary of comparing her features with the fadeless imagehis memory had treasured during all the vicissitudes of life. Never, not even in Italy, had he beheld a nobler countenance. Philippwas right. There was something royal in her bearing. This was the wifeof his dreams, the proud woman, with whom the Eletto desired to sharepower and grandeur. And he had already held her once in his arms! Itseemed as if it were only yesterday. His heart throbbed higher andhigher. As she now rose and thoughtfully approached the window, he couldno longer contain himself, and exclaimed in a low tone: "Ruth, Ruth! Doyou know me, girl? It is I--Ulrich!" She shrank back, putting out he1 hands with a repellent gesture; but onlyfor a moment. Then, struggling to maintain her composure, she joyouslyuttered his name, and as he rushed into the room, cried "Ulrich!""Ulrich!" and no longer able to control her feelings, suffered him toclasp her to his heart. She had daily expected him with ardent longing, yet secret dread: forhe was the fierce Eletto, the commander of the insurgents, the bloody foeof the brave nation she loved. But at sight of his face all, all wasforgotten, and she felt nothing but the bliss of being reunited to himwhom she had never, never forgotten, the joy of seeing, feeling that heloved her. His heart too was overflowing with passionate delight. Faltering tenderwords, he drew her head to his breast, then raised it to press his mouthto her pure lips. But her intoxication of joy passed away--and before hecould prevent it, she had escaped from his arms, saying sternly: "Notthat, not that. . . . Many a crime lies between us and you. " "No, no!" he eagerly exclaimed. "Are you not near me? Your heart andmine have belonged to each other since that day in the snow. If myfather is angry because I serve other masters than his, you, yes you, must reconcile us again. I could stay in Aalst no longer. " "With the mutineers?" she asked sadly. "Ulrich, Ulrich, that you shouldreturn to us thus!" He again seized her hand, and when she tried to withdraw it, only smiled, saying with the confidence of a man, who is sure of his cause: "Cast aside this foolish reserve. To-morrow you will freely give me, notonly one hand, but both. I am not so bad as you think. The fortune ofwar flung me under the Spanish flag, and 'whose bread I eat, his song Ising, ' says the soldier. What would you have? I served with honor, andhave done some doughty deeds; let that content you. " This angered Ruth, who resolutely exclaimed: "No, a thousand times no! You are the Eletto of Aalst, the pillager ofcities, and this cannot be swept aside as easily as the dust from thefloor. I. . . . I am only a feeble girl;--but father, he will never givehis hand to the blood-stained man in Spanish garb! I know him, I knowit. " Ulrich's breath came quicker; but he repressed the angry emotion andreplied, first reproachfully, then beseechingly: "You are the old man's echo. What does he know of military honor andwarlike fame; but you, Ruth, must understand me. Do you still rememberour sport with the "word, " the great word that accomplished everything?I have found it; and you shall enjoy with me what it procures. Firsthelp me appease my father; I shall succeed, if you aid me. It willdoubtless be a hard task. He could not bring himself to forgive his poorwife--Count Philipp says so;--but now! You see, Ruth, my mother died afew days ago; she was a dear, loving woman and might have deserved abetter fate. "I am alone again now, and long for love--so ardently, so sincerely, morethan I can tell you. Where shall I find it, if not with you and my ownfather? You have always cared for me; you betray it, and after all youknow I am not a bad man, do you not? Be content with my love and take meto my father, yourself. Help me persuade him to listen to me. I havesomething here which you can give him from me; you will see that it willsoften his heart!" "Then give it to me, " replied Ruth, "but whatever it may be--believe me, Ulrich, so long as you command the Spanish mutineers, he will remainhard, hard as his own iron!" "Spaniards! Mutineers! Nonsense! Whoever wishes to love, can love; therest may be settled afterwards. You don't know how high my heart throbs, now that I am near you, now that I see and hear you. You are my goodangel and must remain so, now look here. This is my mother's legacy. This little shirt I once wore, when I was a tiny thing, the gay doll wasmy plaything, and this gold hoop is the wedding-ring my father gave hisbride at the altar--she kept all these things to the last, and carriedthem like holy relics from land to land, from camp to camp. Will youtake these mementos to him?" She nodded silently. "Now comes the best thing. Have you ever seen more beautifulworkmanship? You must wear this necklace, Ruth, as my first gift. " He held up the costly ornament, but she shrank back, asking bitterly "Captured booty?" "In honorable war, " he answered, proudly, approaching to fasten thejewels round her neck with his own hands; but she pushed him back, snatched the ornament, and hurled it on the floor, exclaiming angrily: "I loathe the stolen thing. Pick it up. It may suit the camp-followers. " This destroyed his self-control, and seizing both her arms in an irongrasp, he muttered through his clenched teeth: "That is an insult to my mother; take it back. " But Ruth heard and sawnothing; full of indignation she only felt that violence was being doneher, and vainly struggled against the irresistible strength, which heldher fast. Meantime the door had opened wide, but neither noticed it until a man'sdeep voice loudly and wrathfully exclaimed: "Back, you scoundrel! Come here, Ruth. This is the way the assassingreets his family; begone, begone! you disgrace of my house!" Adam had uttered the words, and now drew the hammer from the belt of hisleather apron. Ulrich gazed mutely into his face. There stood his father, strong, gigantic, as he had looked thirteen years before. His head was a littlebowed, his beard longer and whiter, his eyebrows were more bushy and hisexpression had grown more gloomy; otherwise he was wholly unchanged inevery feature. The son's eyes rested on the smith as if spellbound. It seemed as ifsome malicious fate had drawn him into a snare. He could say nothing except, "father, father, " and the smith found noother answer than the harsh "begone!" Ruth approached the armorer, clung to his side, and pleaded: "Hear him, don't send him away so; he is your child, and if anger justnow overpowered him. . . . " "Spanish custom--to abuse women!" cried Adam. "I have no son Navarrete, or whatever the murderous monster calls himself. I am a burgher, andhave no son, who struts about in the stolen clothes of noblemen; as tothis man and his assassins, I hate them, hate them all. Your footdefiles my house. Out with you, knave, or I will use my hammer. " Ulrich again exclaimed, "father, father!" Then, regaining his self-control by a violent effort, he gasped: "Father, I came to you in good will, in love. I am an honest soldier andif any one but you--'Sdeath--if any other had dared to offer me this. . . . " "Murder the dog, you would have said, " interrupted the smith. "We knowthe Spanish blessing: a sandre, a carne!--[Blood, murder. ]--Thanks foryour forbearance. There is the door. Another word, and I can restrainmyself no longer. " Ruth had clung firmly to the smith, and motioned Ulrich to go. TheEletto groaned aloud, struck his forehead with his clenched fist, andrushed into the open air. As soon as Adam was alone with Ruth she caught his hand, exclaimingbeseechingly: "Father, father, he is your own son! Love your enemies, the Saviourcommanded; and you. . . . " "And I hate him, " said the smith, curtly and resolutely. "Did he hurtyou?" "Your hate hurts me ten times as much! You judge without examining; yes, father, you do! When he assaulted me, he was in the right. He thought Ihad insulted his mother. " Adam shrugged his shoulders, and she continued "The poor woman is dead. Ulrich brought you yonder ring; she never parted with it. " The armorer started, seized the golden hoop, looked for the date inside, and when he had found it, clasped the ring in his hands and pressed themsilently to his temples. He stood in this attitude a short time, thenlet his arms fall, and said softly: "The dead must be forgiven. . . . " "And the living, father? You have punished him terribly, and he is nota wicked man, no, indeed he is not! If he comes back again, father?" "My apprentices shall show the Spanish mutineer the door, " cried the oldman in a harsh, stern tone; "to the burgher's repentant son my house willbe always open. " Meantime the Eletto wandered from one street to another. He feltbewildered, disgraced. It was not grief--no quiet heartache that disturbed--but a confusedblending of wrath and sorrow. He did not wish to appear before thefriend of his youth, and even avoided Hans Eitelfritz, who came towardshim. He was blind to the gay, joyous bustle of the capital; life seemedgrey and hollow. His intention of communicating with the commandant ofthe citadel remained unexecuted; for he thought of nothing but hisfather's anger, of Ruth, his own shame and misery. He could not leave so. His father must, yes, he must hear him, and when it grew dusk, he againsought the house to which he belonged, and from which he had been socruelly expelled. The door was locked. In reply to his knock, a man's unfamiliar voiceasked who he was, and what he wanted. He asked to speak with Adam, and called himself Ulrich. After waiting a long time he heard a door torn open, and the smithangrily exclaim: "To your spinning-wheel! Whoever clings to him so long as he wears theSpanish dress, means evil to him as well as to me. " "But hear him! You must hear him, father!" cried Ruth. The door closed, heavy steps approached the door of the house; it opened, and again Adam confronted his son. "What do you want?" he asked harshly. "To speak to you, to tell you that you did wrong to insult me unheard. " "Are you still the Eletto? Answer!" "I am!" "And intend to remain so?" "Que como--puede ser--" faltered Ulrich, who confused by the question, had strayed into the language in which he had been long accustomed tothink. But scarcely had the smith distinguished the foreign words, whenfresh anger seized him. "Then go to perdition with your Spaniards!" was the furious answer. The door slammed so that the house shook, and by degrees the smith'sheavy tread died away in the vestibule. "All over, all over!" murmured the rejected son. Then calming himself, he clenched his fist and muttered through his set teeth: "There shall beno lack of ruin; whoever it befalls, can bear it. " While walking through the streets and across the squares, he devised planafter plan, imagining what must come. Sword in hand he would burst theold man's door, and the only booty he asked for himself should be Ruth, for whom he longed, who in spite of everything loved him, who hadbelonged to him from her childhood. The next morning he negotiated cleverly and boldly with the commandantof the Spanish forces in the citadel. The fate of the city was sealed!and when he again crossed the great square and saw the city-hall with itsproud, gable-crowned central building, and the shops in the lower floorcrammed with wares, he laughed savagely. Hans Eitelfritz had seen him in the distance, and shouted: "A pretty little house, three stories high. And how the broad windows, between the pillars in the side wings, glitter!" Then he lowered his voice, for the square was swarming with men, cartsand horses, and continued: "Look closer and choose your quarters. Come with me! I'll show youwhere the best things we need can be found. Haven't we bled often enoughfor the pepper-sacks? Now it will be our turn to fleece them. Thecastles here, with the gingerbread work on the gables, are theguildhalls. There is gold enough in each one, to make the company rich. Now this way! Directly behind the city-hall lies the Zucker Canal. There live stiff-necked people, who dine off of silver every day. Noticethe street!" Then he led him back to the square, and continued "The streets here alllead to the quay. Do you know it? Have you seen the warehouses? Filledto the very roof! The malmsey, dry canary and Indian allspice, mighttransform the Scheldt and Baltic Sea into a huge vat of hippocras. " Ulrich followed his guide from street to street. Wherever he looked, hesaw vast wealth in barns and magazines; in houses, palaces and churches. Hans Eitelfritz stopped before a jeweller's shop, saying: "Look here! I particularly admire these things, these toys: the littledog, the sled, the lady with the hoopskirt, all these things are puresilver. When the pillage begins, I shall grasp these and take them to mysister's little children in Colln; they will be delighted, and if itshould ever be necessary, their mother can sell them. " What a throng crowded the most aristocratic streets! English, Spanish, Italian and Hanseatic merchants tried to outdo the Netherland traders inmagnificent clothes and golden ornaments. Ulrich saw them all assembledin the Gothic exchange on the Mere, the handsomest square in the city. There they stood in the vast open hall, on the checkered marble floor, not by hundreds, but by thousands, dealing in goods which came from allquarters of the globe--from the most distant lands. Their offers andbids mingled in a noise audible at a long distance, which was borneacross the square like the echo of ocean surges. Sums were discussed, which even the winged imagination of the lansquenetcould scarcely grasp. This city was a remarkable treasure, a thousand-fold richer booty than had been garnered from the Ottoman treasure-ship onthe sea at Lepanto. Here was the fortune the Eletto needed, to build the palace in which heintended to place Ruth. To whom else would fall the lion's share of theenormous prize! His future happiness was to arise from the destruction of this proudcity, stifling in its gold. These were ambitious brilliant plans, but he devised them with gloomyeyes, in a darkened mind. He intended to win by force what was deniedhim, so long as the power belonged to him. There could be no lack of flames and carnage; but that was part of histrade, as shavings belong to flames, hammer-strokes to smiths. Count Philipp had no suspicion of the assault, was not permitted tosuspect anything. He attributed Ulrich's agitated manner to therejection he had encountered in his father's house, and when he tookleave of him on his departure to Swabia, talked kindly with his formerschoolmate and advised him to leave the Spanish flag and try once moreto be reconciled to the old man. Before the Eletto quitted the city, he gave Hans Eitelfritz, whoseregiment had secretly joined the mutiny, letters of safeguard for hisfamily and the artist, Moor. He had not forgotten the latter, but well-founded timidity withheld himfrom appearing before the honored man, while cherishing the gloomythoughts that now filled his soul. In Aalst the mutineers received him with eager joy, harsh and repellentas he appeared, they cheerfully obeyed him; for he could hold out to thema prospect, which lured a bright smile to the bearded lips of thegrimmest warrior. If power was the word, he scarcely understood how to use it aright, forwholly absorbed in himself, he led a joyless life of dissatisfied longingand gloomy reverie. It seemed to him as if he had lost one half of himself, and needed Ruthto become the whole man. Hours grew to days, days to weeks, and notuntil Roda's messenger appeared from the citadel in Antwerp to summon himto action, did he revive and regain his old vivacity. CHAPTER XXX. On the twentieth of October Mastricht fell into the Spaniards' hands, and was cruelly pillaged. The garrison of Antwerp rose and began tomake common cause with the friends of the mutineers in the citadel. Foreign merchants fled from the imperilled city. Governor Champagny sawhis own person and the cause of order seriously threatened by the despotsin the fortress, which dominated the town. A Netherland army, composedprincipally of Walloons, under the command of the incapable MarquisHavre, the reckless de Heze and other nobles appeared before the capital, to prevent the worst. Champagny feared that the German regiments would feel insulted and scenttreason, if he admitted the government troops--but the majority of thelansquenets were already in league with the insurgents, the danger hourlyincreased, everywhere loyalty wavered, the citizens urgently pressed thematter, and the gates were opened to the Netherlanders. Count Oberstein, the German commander of the lansquenets, who whileintoxicated had pledged himself to make common cause with the mutineersin the citadel, remembered his duty and remained faithful to the end. The regiment in which Hans Eitelfritz served, and the other companies oflansquenets, had succumbed to the temptation, and only waited the signalfor revolt. The inhabitants felt just like a man, who keeps powder andfirebrands in the cellar, or a traveller, who recognizes robbers andmurderers in his own escort. Champagny called upon the citizens to help themselves, and used theirlabor in throwing up a wall of defence in the open part of the city, which was most dangerously threatened by the citadel. Among the men andwomen who voluntarily flocked to the work by thousands, were Adam, thesmith, his apprentices, and Ruth. The former, with his journeymen, wielded the spade under the direction of a skilful engineer, the girl, with other women, braided gabions from willow-rods. She had lived through sorrowful days. Self-reproach, for having by herhasty fit of temper caused the father's outburst of anger to his son, constantly tortured her. She had learned to hate the Spaniards as bitterly as Adam; she knew thatUlrich was following a wicked, criminal course, yet she loved him, hisimage had been treasured from childhood, unassailed and unsullied, in themost sacred depths of her heart. He was all in all to her, the oneperson destined for her, the man to whom she belonged as the eye does tothe face, the heart to the breast. She believed in his love, and when she strove to condemn and forget him, it seemed as if she were alienating, rejecting the best part of-herself. A thousand voices told her that she lived in his soul, as much as he didin hers, that his existence without her must be barren and imperfect. She did not ask when and how, she only prayed that she might become his, expecting it as confidently as light in the morning, spring after winter. Nothing appeared so irrefutable as this faith; it was the belief of herloving soul. Then, when the inevitable had happened they would be one intheir aspirations for virtue, and the son could no longer close his heartagainst the father, nor the father shut his against the son. The child's vivid imagination was still alive in the maiden. Everyleisure hour she had thought of her lost playfellow, every day she hadtalked to his father about him, asking whether he would rather see himreturn as a famous artist, a skilful smith, or commander of a splendidship. Handsome, strong, superior to other men, he had always appeared. Now shefound him following evil courses, on the path to ruin; yet even here hewas peerless among his comrades; whatever stain rested upon him, hecertainly was not base and mean. As a child, she always had transformed him into a splendid fairy-prince, but she now divested him of all magnificence, seeing him attired in plainburgher dress, appear humbly before his father and stand beside him atthe forge. She dreamed that she was by his side, and before her stoodthe table she covered with food for him, and the water she gave him afterhis work. She heard the house shake under the mighty blows of hishammer, and in imagination beheld him lay his curly head in her lap, and say he had found love and peace with her. The cannonade from the citadel stopped the citizens' work. Openhostilities had begun. On the morning of November 4th, under the cover of a thick fog, thetreacherous Spaniards, commanded by Romero, Vargas and Valdez entered thefortress. The citizens, among them Adam, learned this fact with rage andterror, but the mutineers of Aalst had not yet collie. "He is keeping them back, " Ruth had said the day before. "Antwerp, ourhome, is sacred to him!" The cannon roared, culverins crashed, muskets and arquebuses rattled; theboding notes of the alarm-bells and the fierce shouts of soldiers andcitizens hurrying to battle mingled with the deafening thunder of theartillery. Every hand seized a weapon, every shop was closed; hearts stood stillwith fear, or throbbed wildly with rage and emotion. Ruth remained calm. She detained the smith in the house, repeating her former words: "Themen from Aalst are not coming; he is keeping diem back. " Just at thatmoment the young apprentice, whose parents lived on the Scheldt, rushedwith dishevelled hair into the workshop, gasping: "The men from Aalst are here. They crossed in peatboats and a galley. They wear green twigs in their helmets, and the Eletto is marching in thevan, bearing the standard. I saw them; terrible--horrible--sheathed iniron from top to toe. " He said no more, for Adam, with a savage imprecation, interrupted him, seized his huge hammer, and rushed out of the house. Ruth staggered back into the workshop. Adam hurried straight to the rampart. Here stood six thousand Walloons, to defend the half-finished wall, and behind them large bodies of armedcitizens. "The men from Aalst have come!" echoed from lip to lip. Curses, wails of grief, yells of savage fury, blended with the thunder ofthe artillery and the ringing of the alarm bells. A fugitive now dashed from the counterscarp towards the Walloons, shouting: "They are here, they are here! The blood-hound, Navarrete, is leadingthem. They will neither eat nor drink, they say, till they dine inParadise or Antwerp. Hark, hark! there they are!" And they were there, coming nearer and nearer; foremost of all marchedthe Eletto, holding the standard in his upraised hand. Behind him, from a thousand bearded lips, echoed furious, greedy, terrible cries; "Santiago, Espana, a sangre, a carne, a fuego, a saco!"--[St. Jago; Spain, blood, murder, fire, pillage]--but Navarrete wassilent, striding onward, erect and haughty, as if he were proof againstthe bullets, that whistled around him on all sides. Consciousness ofpower and the fierce joy of battle sparkled in his eyes. Woe betide him, who received a blow from the two-handed sword the Eletto still held overhis shoulder, now with his left hand. Adam stood with upraised hammer beside the front ranks of the Walloons!his eyes rested as if spellbound on his approaching son and the standardin his hand. The face of the guilty woman, who had defrauded him of thehappiness of his life, gazed at him from the banner. He knew not whetherhe was awake, or the sport of some bewildering dream. Now, now his glance met the Eletto's, and unable to restrain himselflonger, he raised his hammer and tried to rush forward, but the Walloonsforced him back. Yes, yes, he hated his own child, and trembling with rage, burning torush upon him, he saw the Eletto spring on the lowest projection of thewall, to climb up. For a short time he was concealed from his eyes, thenhe saw the top of the standard, then the banner itself, and now his sonstood on the highest part of the rampart, shouting: "Espana, Espana!" At this moment, with a deafening din, a hundred arquebuses weredischarged close beside the smith, a dense cloud of smoke darkened theair, and when the wind dispersed it, Adam no longer beheld the standard. It lay on the ground; beside it the Eletto, with his face turned upward, mute and motionless. The father groaned aloud and closed his eyes; when he opened them, hundreds of iron-mailed mutineers had scaled the rampart. Beneath theirfeet lay his bleeding child. Corpse after corpse sank on the stone wall beside the fallen man, but theiron wedge of the Spaniards pressed farther and farther forward. "Espana, a sangre, a carne!" Now they had reached the Walloons, steel clashed against steel, but onlyfor a moment, then the defenders of the city wavered, the furious wedgeentered their ranks, they parted, yielded, and with loud shrieks took toflight. The Spanish swords raged among them, and overpowered by thegeneral terror, the officers followed the example of the soldiers, theflying army, like a resistless torrent, carrying everything with it, eventhe smith. An unparalleled massacre began. Adam seeing a frantic horde rush intothe houses, remembered Ruth, and half mad with terror hastened back tothe smithy, where he told those left behind what he had witnessed. Then, arming himself and his journeymen with weapons forged by his own hand, hehurried out with them to renew the fight. Hours elapsed; the noise, the firing, the ringing of the alarm bellsstill continued; smoke and the smell of fire penetrated through the doorsand windows. Evening came, and the richest, most flourishing commercial capital in theworld was here a heap of ashes, there a ruin, everywhere a plunderedtreasury. Once the occupants of the smith's shop heard a band of murderers ragingand shouting outside of the smithy; but they passed by, and all day longno others entered the quiet street, which was inhabited only by workersin metal. Ruth and old Rahel had remained behind, under the protection of the braveforeman. Adam had told them to fly to the cellar, if any uproar aroseoutside the door. Ruth wore a dagger, determined in the worst extremityto turn it against her own breast. What did she care for life, sinceUlrich had perished! Old Rahel, an aged dame of eighty, paced restlessly, with bowed figure, through the large room, saying compassionately, whenever her eyes met thegirl's: "Ulrich, our Ulrich !" then, straightening herself and lookingupward. She no longer knew what had happened a few hours before, yet hermemory faithfully retained the incidents that occurred many yearsprevious. The maidservant, a native of Antwerp, had rushed home to herparents when the tumult began. As the day drew towards a close, the panes were less frequently shaken bythe thunder of the artillery, the noise in the streets diminished, butthe house became more and more filled with suffocating smoke. Night came, the lamp was lighted, the women started at every new sound, but anxiety for Adam now overpowered every other feeling in Ruth's mind. Just then the door opened, and the smith's deep voice called in thevestibule: "It is I! Don't be frightened, it is I!" He had gone out with five journeymen: he returned with two. The otherslay slain in the streets, and with them Count Oberstein's soldiers, theonly ones who had stoutly resisted the Spanish mutineers and their alliesto the last man. Adam had swung his hammer on the Mere and by the Zucker Canal among thecitizens, who fought desperately for the property and lives of theirfamilies;--but all was vain. Vargas's troopers had stifled even the lastbreath of resistance. The streets ran blood, corpses lay in heaps before the doors and on thepavement--among them the bodies of the Margrave of Antwerp, Verreyck, Burgomaster van der Mere, and many senators and nobles. Conflagrationafter conflagration crimsoned the heavens, the superb city-hall wasblazing, and from a thousand windows echoed the screams of the assailed, plundered, bleeding citizens, women and children. The smith hastily ate a few mouthfuls to restore his strength, thenraised his head, saying: "No one has touched our house. The door andshutters of neighbor Ykens' are shattered. " "A miracle!" cried old Rahel, raising her staff. "The generation ofvipers scent richer booty than iron at the silversmith's. " Just at that moment the knocker sounded. Adam started up, put on hiscoat of mail again, motioned to his journeymen and went to the door. Rahel shrieked loudly: "To the cellar, Ruth. Oh, God, oh, God, havemercy upon us! Quick--where's my shawl?--They are attacking us!--Come, come! Oh, I am caught, I can go no farther!" Mortal terror had seized the old woman; she did not want to die. To thegirl death was welcome, and she did not stir. Voices were now audible in the vestibule, but they sounded neither noisynor threatening; yet Rahel shrieked in despair as a lansquenet, fullyarmed, entered the workshop with the armorer. Hans Eitelfritz had come to look for Ulrich's father. In his arms laythe dog Lelaps, which, bleeding from the wound made by a bullet, thatgrazed its neck, nestled trembling against its master. Bowing courteously to Ruth, the soldier said: "Take pity on this poor creature, fair maiden, and wash its wound with alittle wine. It deserves it. I could tell you such tales of itscleverness! It came from distant India, where a pirate. . . . But youshall hear the story some other time. Thanks, thanks! As to your son, Meister, it's a thousand pities about him. He was a splendid fellow, andwe were like two brothers. He himself gave me the safeguard for you andthe artist, Moor. I fastened them on the doors with my own hands, assoon as the fray began. My swordbearer got the paste, and now may thewriting stick there as an honorable memento till the end of the world. Navarrete was a faithful fellow, who never forgot his friends! How muchgood that does Lelaps! See, see! He is licking your hands, that means, 'I thank you. '" While Ruth had been washing the dog's wound, and the lansquenet talked ofUlrich, her tearful eyes met the father's. "They say he cut down twenty-one Walloons before he fell, " continuedHans. "No, sir, " interrupted Adam. "I saw him. He was shot before he raisedhis guilty sword. " "Ah, ah!--but it happened on the rampart. " "They rushed over him to the assault. " "And there he still lies; not a soul has cared for the dead and wounded. " The girl started, and laid the dog in the old man's lap, exclaiming:"Suppose Ulrich should be alive! Perhaps he was not mortally wounded, perhaps. . . . " "Yes, everything is possible, " interrupted the lansquenet. "I could tellyou things. . . . For instance, there was a countryman of mine whom, whenwe were in Africa, a Moorish Pacha struck. . . . No lies now. . . . Perhaps! Inearnest; it might happen that Ulrich. . . . Wait. . . . At midnight I shallkeep guard on the rampart with my company, then I'll look. . . . " "We, we will seek him!" cried Ruth, seizing the smith's arm. "I will, " replied the smith; "you must stay here. " "No, father, I will go with you. " The lansquenet also shook his head, saying "Jungfer, Jungfer, you don'tknow what a day this is. Thank Our Heavenly Father that you havehitherto escaped so well. The fierce lion has tasted blood. You are apretty child, and if they should see you to-day. . . . " "No matter, " interrupted the girl. "I know what I am asking. You willtake me with you, father! Do so, if you love me! I will find him, ifany one can! "Oh, sir, sir, you look kind and friendly! You have the guard. Escortus; let me seek Ulrich. I shall find him, I know; I must seek him--Imust. " The girl's cheeks were glowing; for before her she saw her playfellow, her lover, gasping for breath, with staring eyes, her name upon his dyinglips. Adam sadly shook his head, but Hans Eitelfritz was touched by the girl'seager longing to help the man who was dear to him, so he hastily taxedhis inventive brain, saying: "Perhaps it might be risked. . . . Listen to me, Meister! You won't beparticularly safe in the streets, yourself, and could hardly reach therampart without me. I shall lose precious time; but you are his father, and this girl--is she his sister?--No?--So much the better for him, if helives! It isn't an easy matter, but it can be done. Yonder good damewill take care of Lelaps for me. Poor dog! That feels good, doesn't it?Well then. . . . I can be here again at midnight. Have you a handcart in thehouse?" For coal and iron. " "That will answer. Let the woman make a kettle of soup, and if you havea few hams. . . . " "There are four in the store-room, " cried Ruth. "Take some bread, a few jugs of wine, and a keg of beer, too, and thenfollow me quietly. I have the password, my servant will accompany me, and I'll make the Spaniards believe you belong to us, and are bringing mymen their supper. Blacken your pretty face a little, my dear girl, wrapyourself up well, and if we find Ulrich we will put him in the emptycart, and I will accompany you home again. Take yonder spicesack, and ifwe find the poor fellow, dead or alive, hide him with it. The sack wasintended for other things, but I shall be well content with this booty. Take care of these silver toys. What pretty things they are! How thelittle horse rears, and see the bird in the cage! Don't look so fierce, Meister! In catching fish we must be content even with smelts; if Ihadn't taken these, others would have done so; they are for my sister'schildren, and there is something else hidden here in my doublet; it shallhelp me to pass my leisure hours. One man's meat is another man'spoison. " When Hans Eitelfritz returned at midnight, the cart with the food andliquor was ready. Adam's warnings were unavailing. Ruth resolutelyinsisted upon accompanying him, and he well knew what urged her to risksafety and life as freely as he did himself. Old Rahel had done her best to conceal Ruth's beauty. The dangerous nocturnal pilgrimage began. The smith pulled the cart, and Ruth pushed, Hans Eitelfritz, with hissword-bearer, walking by her side. From time to time Spanish soldiersmet and accosted them; but Hans skilfully satisfied their curiosity anddispelled their suspicions. Pillage and murder had not yet ceased, and Ruth saw, heard, andmistrusted scenes of horror, that congealed her blood. But she bore upuntil they reached the rampart. Here Eitelfritz was among his own men. He delivered the meat and drink to them, told them to take it out of thecart, and invited them to fall to boldly. Then, seizing a lantern, heguided Ruth and the smith, who drew the light cart after them, throughthe intense darkness of the November night to the rampart. Hans Eitelfritz lighted the way, and all three searched. Corpse laybeside corpse. Wherever Ruth set her foot, it touched some fallensoldier. Dread, horror and loathing threatened to deprive her ofconsciousness; but the ardent longing, the one last hope of her soulsustained her, steeled her energy, sharpened her sight. They had reached the centre of the rampart, when she saw in the distancea tall figure stretched at full length. That, yes, that was he! Snatching the lantern from the lansquenet's hand, she rushed to theprostrate form, threw herself on her knees beside it, and cast the lightupon the face. What had she seen? Why did the shriek she uttered sound so agonized? The men wereapproaching, but Ruth knew that there was something else to be done, besides weeping and wailing. She pressed her ear close to the mailed breast to listen, and when sheheard no breath, hurriedly unfastened the clasps and buckles thatconfined the armor. The cuirass fell rattling on the ground, and now--no, there was nodeception, the wounded man's chest rose under her ear, she heard thefaint throbbing of his heart, the feeble flutter of a gasping breach. Bursting into loud, convulsive weeping, she raised his head and pressedit to her bosom. "He is dead; I thought so!" said the lansquenet, and Adam sank on hisknees before his wounded son. But Ruth's sobs now changed to low, joyous, musical laughter, which echoed in her voice as she exclaimed:"Ulrich breathes, he lives! Oh, God! oh, God! how we thank Thee!" Then--was she deceived, could it be? She heard the inflexible man besideher sob, saw him bend over Ulrich, listen to the beating of his heart, and press his bearded lips first to his temples, then on the hand he hadso harshly rejected. Hans Eitelfritz warned them to hasten, carried the senseless man, withAdam's assistance, to the cart, and half an hour later the dangerouslywounded, outcast son was lying in the most comfortable bed in the bestroom in his father's house. His couch was in the upper story; down inthe kitchen old Rahel was moving about the hearth, preparing her "goodsalve" herself. While thus engaged she often chuckled aloud, murmuring"Ulrich, " and while mixing and stirring the mixture could not keep herold feet still; it almost seemed as if she wanted to dance. Hans Eitelfritz promised Adam to tell no one what had become of his son, and then returned to his men. The next morning the mutineers from Aalstsought their fallen leader; but he had disappeared, and the legend nowbecame wide-spread among them, that the Prince of Evil had carriedNavarrete to his own abode. The dog Lelaps died of his wound, andscarcely a week after the pillage of flourishing Antwerp by the "SpanishFuries, " Hans Eitelfritz's regiment was ordered to Ghent. He came withdrooping head to the smithy, to take his leave. He had sold his costlybooty, and, like so many other pillagers, gambled away the stolenproperty at the exchange. Nothing was left him of the great day inAntwerp, except the silver toys for his sister's children in Colln on theSpree. CHAPTER XXXI. The fire in the smithy was extinguished, no hammer fell on the anvil;for the wounded man lay in a burning fever; every loud noise disturbedhim. Adam had noticed this himself, and gave no time to his work, forhe had to assist in nursing his son, when it was necessary to raise hisheavy body, and to relieve Ruth, when, after long night-watches, hervigorous strength was exhausted. The old man saw that the girl's bands were more deft than his own toil-hardened ones, and let her take the principal charge-but the hours whenshe was resting in her room were the dearest to him, for then he wasalone with Ulrich, could read his countenance undisturbed and rejoice ingazing at every feature, which reminded him of his child's boyhood and ofFlora. He often pressed his bearded lips to the invalid's burning forehead orlimp hand, and when the physician with an anxious face had left thehouse, he knelt beside Ulrich's couch, buried his forehead among thepillows, and fervently prayed the Heavenly Father, to spare his child andtake in exchange his own life and all that he possessed. He often thought the end had come, and gave himself up without resistanceto his grief; Ruth, on the contrary, never lost hope, not even in thedarkest hours. God had not let her find Ulrich, merely to take him fromher again. The end of danger was to her the beginning of deliverance. When he recognized her the first time, she already saw him, leaning onher shoulder, walk through the room; when he could raise himself, shethought him cured. Her heart was overflowing with joy, yet her mind remained watchful andthoughtful during the long, toilsome nursing. She did not forget thesmallest trifle, for before she undertook anything she saw in her mindevery detail involved, as if it were already completed. Ulrich took nofood which she had not prepared with her own hand, no drink which she hadnot herself brought from the cellar or the well. She perceived inadvance what disturbed him, what pleased him, what he needed. If sheopened or closed the curtain, she gave or withheld no more light than wasagreeable to him; if she arranged the pillows behind him, she placed themneither too high nor too low, and bound up his wounds with a gentle yetfirm hand, like an experienced physician. Whatever he felt--pain orcomfort--she experienced with him. By degrees the fever vanished; consciousness returned, his pain lessened, he could move himself again, and began to feel stronger. At first he didnot know where he was; then he recognized Ruth, and then his father. How still, how dusky, how clean everything that surrounded him was!Delightful repose stole over him, pleasant weariness soothed every stormyemotion of his heart. Whenever he opened his eyes, tender, anxiousglances met him. Even when the pain returned he enjoyed peaceful, consoling mental happiness. Ruth felt this also, and regarded it as apeerless reward. When she entered the sick-room with fresh linen, and the odor of lavenderher dead mother had liked floated softly to him from the clean sheets, hethought his boyhood had returned, and with it the wise, friendly doctor'shouse. Elizabeth, the shady pine-woods of his home, its murmuring brooksand luxuriant meadows, again rose before his mind; he saw Ruth andhimself listening to the birds, picking berries, gathering flowers, andbeseeching beautiful gifts from the "word. " His father appeared evenmore kind, affectionate, and careful than in those days. The man becamethe boy again, and all his former good traits of character now sprang upfreshly under the bright light and vivifying dew of love. He received Ruth's unwearied attentions with ardent gratitude, and whenhe gazed into her faithful eyes, when her hand touched him, her soft, deep voice penetrated the depths of his soul, an unexampled sense ofhappiness filled his breast. Everything, from the least to the greatest, embraced his soul with thearms of love. It seemed as if the ardent yearning of his heart extendedfar beyond the earth, and rose to God, who fills the universe with Hisinfinite paternal love. His every breath, Ulrich thought, musthenceforth be a prayer, a prayer of gratitude to Him, who is love itself, the Love, through and in which he lived. He had sought love, to enjoy its gifts; now he was glad to makesacrifices for its sake. He saw how Ruth's beautiful face saddened whenhe was suffering, and with manly strength of will concealed inexpressibleagony under a grateful smile. He feigned sleep, to permit her and hisfather to rest, and when tortured by feverish restlessness, lay stillto give his beloved nurses pleasure and repay their solicitude. Love urged him to goodness, gave him strength for all that is good. His convalescence advanced and, when he was permitted to leave his bed, his father was the first one to support him through the room and down thesteps into the court-yard. He often felt with quiet emotion the old manstroke the hand that rested on his arm, and when, exhausted, he returnedto the sick-room, he sank with a grateful heart into his comfortableseat, casting a look of pleasure at the flowers, which Ruth had takenfrom her chamber window and placed on the table beside him. His family now knew what he had endured and experienced, and the smithfound a kind, soothing word for all that, a few months before, he hadconsidered criminal and unpardonable. During such a conversation, Ulrich once exclaimed "War! You know not howit bears one along with it; it is a game whose stake is life. That ofothers is of as little value as your own; to do your worst to every one, is the watchword; but now--every thing has grown so calm in my soul, andI have a horror of the turmoil in the field. I was talking with Ruthyesterday about her father, and she reminded me of his favorite saying, which I had forgotten long ago. Do you know what it is? 'Do untoothers, as ye would that others should do unto you. ' I have not beencruel, and never drew the sword out of pleasure in slaying; but now Igrieve for having brought woe to so many! "What things were done in Haarlem! If you had moved there instead of toAntwerp, and you and Ruth. . . . I dare not think of it! Memories of thosedays torture me in many a sleepless hour, and there is much that fills mewith bitter remorse. But I am permitted to live, and it seems as if Iwere new-born, and henceforth existence and doing good must be synonymousto me. You were right to be angry. . . . " "That is all forgiven and forgotten, " interrupted the smith in a resonantvoice, pressing his son's fingers with his hard right hand. These words affected the convalescent like a strengthening potion, andwhen the hammers again moved in the smithy, Ulrich was no longersatisfied with his idle life, and began with Ruth to look forward to anddiscuss the future. The words: 'fortune, ' 'fame, ' 'power, "' he said once, "have deceived me;but art! You don't know, Ruth, what art is! It does not bestoweverything, but a great deal, a great deal. Meister Moor was indeeda teacher! I am too old to begin at the beginning once more. If it werenot for that. . . . " "Well, Ulrich?" "I should like to try painting again. " The girl exhorted him to take courage, and told his father of theirconversation. The smith put on his Sunday clothes and went to theartist's house. The latter was in Brussels, but was expected home soon. From this time, every third day, Adam donned his best clothes, whichhe disliked to wear, and went to the artist's; but always in vain. In the month of February the invalid was playing chess with Ruth, --she had learned the game from the smith and Ulrich from her, --when Adamentered the room, saying: "when the game is over, I wish to speak to you, my son. " The young girl had the advantage, but instantly pushed the piecestogether and left the two alone. She well knew what was passing in the father's mind, for the day beforehe had brought all sorts of artist's materials, and told her to arrangethe little gable-room, with the large window facing towards the north, and put the easel and colors there. They had only smiled at each other, but they had long since learned to understand each other, even withoutwords. "What is it?" asked Ulrich in surprise. The smith then told him what he had provided and arranged, adding: "thepicture on the standard--you say you painted it yourself. " "Yes, father. " "It was your mother, exactly as she looked when. . . . She did not treateither of us rightly--but she!--the Christian must forgive;--and as shewas your mother--why--I should like. . . . Perhaps it is not possible; butif you could paint her picture, not as a Madonna, only as she looked whena young wife. . . . " "I can, I will!" cried Ulrich, in joyous excitement. "Take me upstairs, is the canvas ready?" "In the frame, firmly in the frame! I am an old man, and you see, child, I remember how wonderfully sweet your mother was; but I can never succeedin recalling just how she looked then. I have tried, tried thousands andthousands of times; at--Richtberg, here, everywhere--deep as was mywrath!" "You shall see her again surely--surely!" interrupted Ulrich. "I see herbefore me, and what I see in my mind, I can paint!" The work was commenced the very same day. Ulrich now succeededwonderfully, and lavished on the portrait all the wealth of love, withwhich his heart was filled. Never had he guided the brush so joyously; in painting this picture heonly wished to give, to give--give his beloved father the best he couldaccomplish, so he succeeded. The young wife, attired in a burgher dress, stood with her bewitchingeyes and a melancholy, half-tender, half-mournful smile on her lips. Adam was not permitted to enter the studio again until the portrait wascompleted. When Ulrich at last unveiled the picture, the old man--unablelonger to control himself--burst into loud sobs and fell upon his son'sbreast. It seemed to Adam that the pretty creature in the golden frame--far from needing his forgiveness--was entitled to his gratitude formany blissful hours. Soon after, Adam found Moor at home, and a few hours later took Ulrichto him. It was a happy and a quiet meeting, which was soon followed by asecond interview in the smith's house. Moor gazed long and searchingly at Ulrich's work. When he had examinedit sufficiently, he held out his hand to his pupil, saying warmly: "I always said so; you are an artist! From to-morrow we will worktogether again, daily, and you will win more glorious victories with thebrush than with the sword. " Ulrich's cheeks glowed with happiness and pride. Ruth had never before seen him look so, and as she gazed joyfully intohis eyes, he held out his hands to her, exclaiming: "An artist, an artistagain! Oh, would that I had always remained one! Now I lack only onething more--yourself!" She rushed to his embrace, exclaiming joyously "Yours, yours! I havealways been so, and always shall be, to-day, to-morrow, unto death, forever and ever!" "Yes, yes, " he answered gravely. "Our hearts are one and ever will be, nothing can separate them; but your fate shall not be linked to minetill, Moor himself calls me a master. Love imposes no condition--I amyours and you are mine--but I impose the trial on myself, and this time Iknow it will be passed. " A new spirit animated the pupil. He rushed to his work with tirelessenergy, and even the hardest task became easy, when he thought of theprize he sought. At the end of a year, Moor ceased to instruct him, and Ruth became the wife of Meister Ulrich Schwab. The famous artist-guild of Antwerp soon proudly numbered him amongthem, and even at the present day his pictures are highly esteemed byconnoisseurs, though they are attributed to other painters, for he neversigned his name to his works. Of the four words, which illumined his life-path as guiding-stars, he hadlearned to value fame and power least; fortune and art remained faithfulto him, but as the earth does not shine by its own might, but receivesits light from the sun, so they obtained brilliancy, charm and endearingpower through love. The fierce Eletto, whose sword raged in war, following the teachings ofhis noble Master, became a truly Christian philanthropist. Many have gazed with quiet delight at the magnificent picture, whichrepresents a beautiful mother, with a bright, intelligent face, leadingher three blooming children towards a pleasant old man, who holds out hisarms to them. The old man is Adam, the mother Ruth, the children are thearmorer's grandchildren; Ulrich Schwab was the artist. Meister Moor died soon after Ulrich's marriage, and a few years after, Sophonisba di Moncada came to Antwerp to seek the grave of him she hadloved. She knew from the dead man that he had met his dear Madrid pupil, and her first visit was to the latter. After looking at his works, she exclaimed: "The word! Do you remember, Meister? I told you then, that you hadfound the right one. You are greatly altered, and it is a pity that youhave lost your flowing locks; but you look like a happy man, and towhat do you owe it? To the word, the only right word: 'Art!'" He let her finish the sentence, then answered gravely "There is still aloftier word, noble lady! Whoever owns it--is rich indeed. He will nolonger wander--seek in doubt. "And this is?" she asked incredulously, with a smile of superiorknowledge. "I have found it, " he answered firmly. "It is 'Love. '" Sophonisba bent her head, saying softly and sadly: "yes, yes--love. "