The Burgomaster's Wife — Complete

by Georg Ebers

  CHAPTER VII.

  A second and third rainy day followed the first one. White mists andgrey fog hung over the meadows. The cold, damp north-west wind droveheavy clouds together and darkened the sky. Rivulets dashed into thestreets from the gutters on the steep roofs of Leyden; the water in thecanals and ditches grew turbid and rose towards the edges of the banks.Dripping, freezing men and women hurried past each other without anyform of greeting, while the pair of storks pressed closer to each otherin their nest, and thought of the warm south, lamenting their prematurereturn to the cold, damp, Netherland plain.

  In thoughtful minds the dread of what must inevitably come wasincreasing. The rain made anxiety grow as rapidly in the hearts of manycitizens, as the young blades of grain in the fields. Conversations,that sounded anything but hopeful, took place in many tap-rooms--inothers men were even heard declaring resistance folly, or loudlydemanding the desertion of the cause of the Prince of Orange andliberty.

  Whoever in these days desired to see a happy face in Leyden might havesearched long in vain, and would probably have least expected to find itin the house of Burgomaster Van der Werff.

  Three days had now elapsed since Peter's departure, nay the fourthwas drawing towards noon, yet the burgomaster had not returned, and nomessage, no word of explanation, had reached his family.

  Maria had put on her light-blue cloth dress with Mechlin lace in thesquare neck, for her husband particularly liked to see her in this gownand he must surely return to-day.

  The spray of yellow wall-flowers on her breast had been cut from theblooming plant in the window of her room, and Barbara had helped arrangeher thick hair.

  It lacked only an hour of noon, when the young wife's delicate, slenderfigure, carrying a white duster in her hand, entered the burgomaster'sstudy. Here she stationed herself at the window, from which the pouringrain streamed in numerous crooked serpentine lines, pressed her foreheadagainst the panes, and gazed down into the quiet street.

  The water was standing between the smooth red tiles of the pavement. Aporter clattered by in heavy wooden shoes, a maid-servant, with a shawlwrapped around her head, hurried swiftly past, a shoemaker's boy, witha pair of boots hanging on his back, jumped from puddle to puddle,carefully avoiding the dry places;--no horseman appeared.

  It was almost unnaturally quiet in the house and street; she heardnothing except the plashing of the rain. Maria could not expect herhusband until the beat of horses' hoofs was audible; she was not evengazing into the distance--only dreamily watching the street and theceaseless rain.

  The room had been thoughtfully heated for the drenched man, whose returnwas expected, but Maria felt the cold air through the chinks in thewindows. She shivered, and as she turned back into the dusky room, itseemed as if this twilight atmosphere must always remain, as if no morebright days could ever come.

  Minutes passed before she remembered for what purpose she had enteredthe room and began to pass the dusting-cloth over the writing-table, thepiles of papers, and the rest of the contents of the apartment. At lastshe approached the pistols, which Peter had not taken with him on hisjourney.

  The portrait of her husband's first wife hung above the weapons andsadly needed dusting, for until now Maria had always shrunk fromtouching it.

  To-day she summoned up her courage, stood opposite to it, and gazedsteadily at the youthful features of the woman, with whom Peter had beenhappy. She felt spellbound by the brown eyes that gazed at her from thepleasant face.

  Yes, the woman up there looked happy, almost insolently happy. How muchmore had Peter probably given to his first wife than to her?

  This thought cut her to the heart, and without moving her lips sheaddressed a series of questions to the silent portrait, which stillgazed steadily and serenely at her from its plain frame.

  Once it seemed as if the full lips of the pictured face quivered, oncethat the eyes moved. A chill ran through her veins, she began to beafraid, yet could not leave the portrait, and stood gazing upward withdilated eyes.

  She did not stir, but her breath came quicker and quicker, and her eyesseemed to grow keener.

  A shadow rested on the dead Eva's high forehead. Had the artist intendedto depict some oppressive anxiety, or was what she saw only dust, thathad settled on the colors?

  She pushed a chair towards the portrait and put her foot on the seat,pushing her dress away in doing so. Blushing, as if other eyes thanthe painted ones were gazing down upon her, she drew it over the whitestocking, then with a rapid movement mounted the seat. She could nowlook directly into the eyes of the portrait. The cloth in Maria'strembling hand passed over Eva's brow, and wiped the shadow fromthe rosy flesh. She now blew the dust from the frame and canvas, andperceived the signature of the artist to whom the picture owed itsorigin. "Artjen of Leyden," he called himself, and his careful hand hadfinished even the unimportant parts of the work with minute accuracy.She well knew the silver chain with the blue turquoises, that rested onthe plump neck. Peter had given it to her as a wedding present, and shehad worn it to the altar; but the little diamond cross suspendedfrom the middle she had never seen. The gold buckle at Eva's belt hadbelonged to her since her last birthday--it was very badly bent, and thedull points would scarcely pierce the thick ribbon.

  "She had everything when it was new," she said to herself. "Jewels? Whatdo I care for them! But the heart, the heart--how much love has she leftin Peter's heart?"

  She did not wish to do so, but constantly heard these words ringing inher ears, and was obliged to summon up all her self-control, to saveherself from weeping.

  "If he would only come, if he would only come!" cried a voice in hertortured soul.

  The door opened, but she did not notice it.

  Barbara crossed the threshold, and called her by her name in a tone ofkindly reproach.

  Maria started and blushing deeply, said,

  "Please give me your hand; I should like to get down. I have finished.The dust was a disgrace." When she again stood on the floor, the widowsaid, "What red cheeks you have! Listen, my dear sister-in-law, listento me, child--!"

  Barbara was interrupted in the midst of her admonition, for the knockerfell heavily on the door, and Maria hurried to the window.

  The widow followed, and after a hasty glance into the street, exclaimed:

  "That's Wilhelm Cornieliussohn, the musician. He has been to Delft. Iheard it from his mother. Perhaps he brings news of Peter. I'll send himup to you, but he must first tell me below what his tidings are. If youwant me, you'll find me with Bessie. She is feverish and her eyes ache;she will have some eruption or a fever."

  Barbara left the room. Maria pressed her hands upon her burning cheeks,and paced slowly to and fro till the musician knocked and entered.

  After the first greeting, the young wife asked eagerly:

  "Did you see my husband in Delft?"

  "Yes indeed," replied Wilhelm, "the evening of the day beforeyesterday."

  "Then tell me--"

  "At once, at once. I bring you a whole pouch full of messages. Firstfrom your mother."

  "Is she well?"

  "Well and bright. Worthy Doctor Groot too is hale and hearty."

  "And my husband?"

  "I found him with the doctor. Herr Groot sends the kindest remembrancesto you. We had musical entertainments at his home yesterday and the daybe fore. He always has the latest novelties from Italy, and when we trythis motet here--"

  "Afterwards, Herr Wilhelm! You must first tell me what my husband--"

  "The burgomaster came to the doctor on a message from the Prince. He wasin haste, and could not wait for the singing. It went off admirably. Ifyou, with your magnificent voice, will only--"

  "Pray, Meister Wilhelm?"

  "No, dear lady, you ought not to refuse. Doctor Groot says, that when agirl in Delft, no one could support the tenor like you, and if you, Frauvon Nordwyk, and Herr Van Aken's oldest daughter--"

  "But, my dear Meister!" exclaimed the burgomaster's wife with in
creasingimpatience, "I'm not asking about your motets and tabulatures, but myhusband."

  Wilhelm gazed at the young wife's face with a half-startled,half-astonished look. Then, smiling at his own awkwardness, he shook hishead, saying in a tone of good-natured repentance:

  "Pray forgive me, little things seem unduly important to us when theycompletely fill our own souls. One word about your absent husband mustsurely sound sweeter to your ears, than all my music. I ought to havethought of that sooner. So--the burgomaster is well and has transacteda great deal of business with the Prince. Before he went to Dortrechtyesterday morning, he gave me this letter and charged me to place it inyour hands with the most loving greetings."

  With these words the musician gave Maria a letter. She hastily took itfrom his hand, saying:

  "No offence, Herr Wilhelm, but we'll discuss your motet to-morrow, orwhenever you choose; to-day--"

  "To-day your time belongs to this letter," interrupted Wilhelm. "Thatis only natural. The messenger has performed his commission, and themusic-master will try his fortune with you another time."

  As soon as the young man had gone, Maria went to her room, sat down atthe window, hurriedly opened her husband's letter and read:

  "MY DEAR AND FAITHFUL WIFE!

  "Meister Wilhelm Corneliussohn, of Leyden, will bring you this letter. I am well, but it was hard for me to leave you on the anniversary of our wedding-clay. The weather is very bad. I found the Prince in sore affliction, but we don't give up hope, and if God helps us and every man does his duty, all may yet be well. I am obliged to ride to Dortrecht to-day. I have an important object to accomplish there. Have patience, for several days must pass before my return.

  "If the messenger from the council inquires, give him the papers lying on the right-hand side of the writing-table under the smaller leaden weight. Remember me to Barbara and the children. If money is needed, ask Van Hout in my name for the rest of the sum due me; he knows about it. If you feel lonely, visit his wife or Frail von Nordwyk; they would be glad to see you. Buy as much meal, butter, cheese, and smoked meat, as is possible. We don't know what may happen. Take Barbara's advice! Relying upon your obedience,

  "Your faithful husband,

  "PETER ADRIANSSOHN VAN DER WERFF."

  Maria read this letter at first hastily, then slowly, sentence bysentence, to the end. Disappointed, troubled, wounded, she folded it,drew the wall-flowers from the bosom of her dress--she knew not why--andflung them into the peat-box by the chimney-piece. Then she opened herchest, took out a prettily-carved box, placed it on the table, and laidher husband's letter inside.

  Long after it had found a place with other papers, Maria still stoodbefore the casket, gazing thoughtfully at its contents.

  At last she laid her hand on the lid to close it; but hesitated and tookup a packet of letters that had lain amid several gold and silver coins,given by godmothers and godfathers, modest trinkets, and a witheredrose.

  Drawing a chair up to the table, the young wife seated herself and beganto read. She knew these letters well enough. A noble, promising youthhad addressed them to her sister, his betrothed bride. They were datedfrom Jena, whither he had gone to complete his studies in jurisprudence.Every word expressed the lover's ardent longing, every line was pervadedby the passion that had filled the writer's heart. Often the prose ofthe young scholar, who as a pupil of Doctor Groot had won his bride inDelft, rose to a lofty flight.

  While reading, Maria saw in imagination Jacoba's pretty face, and thehandsome, enthusiastic countenance of her bridegroom. She rememberedtheir gay wedding, her brother-in-law's impetuous friend, so lavishlyendowed with every gift of nature, who had accompanied him to Holland tobe his groomsman, and at parting had given her the rose which lay beforeher in the little casket. No voice had ever suited hers so well; shehad never heard language so poetical from any other lips, never had eyesthat sparkled like the young Thuringian noble's looked into hers.

  After the wedding Georg von Dornberg returned home and the young couplewent to Haarlem. She had heard nothing from the young foreigner, andher sister and her husband were soon silenced forever. Like most of theinhabitants of Haarlem, they were put to death by the Spanish destroyersat the capture of the noble, hapless city. Nothing was left of herbeloved sister except a faithful memory of her, and her betrothedbridegroom's letters, which she now held in her hand.

  They expressed love, the true, lofty love, that can speak with thetongues of angels and move mountains. There lay her husband's letter.Miserable scrawl! She shrank from opening it again, as she laid thebeloved mementoes back into the box, yet her breast heaved as shethought of Peter. She knew too that she loved him, and that his faithfulheart belonged to her. But she was not satisfied, she was not happy, forhe showed her only tender affection or paternal kindness, and she wishedto be loved differently. The pupil, nay the friend of the learned Groot,the young wife who had grown up in the society of highly educated men,the enthusiastic patriot, felt that she was capable of being more,far more to her husband, than he asked. She had never expected gushingemotions or high-strung phrases from the grave man engaged in vigorousaction, but believed he would understand all the lofty, noble sentimentsstirring in her soul, permit her to share his struggles and become thepartner of his thoughts and feelings. The meagre letter received to-dayagain taught her that her anticipations were not realized.

  He had been a faithful friend of her father, now numbered with the dead.Her brother-in-law too had attached himself, with all the enthusiasm ofyouth, to the older, fully-matured champion of liberty, Van der Werff.When he had spoken of Peter to Maria, it was always with expressions ofthe warmest admiration and love. Peter had come to Delft soon after herfather's death and the violent end of the young wedded pair, and whenhe expressed his sympathy and strove to comfort her, did so in strong,tender words, to which she could cling, as if to an anchor, in themisery of her heart. The valiant citizen of Leyden came to Delft moreand more frequently, and was always a guest at Doctor Groot's house.When the men were engaged in consultation, Maria was permitted to filltheir glasses and be present at their conferences. Words flew to and froand often seemed to her neither clear nor wise; but what Van der Werffsaid was always sensible, and a child could understand his plain,vigorous speech. He appeared to the young girl like an oak-tree amongswaying willows. She knew of many of his journeys, undertaken at theperil of his life, in the service of the Prince and his native land, andawaited their result with a throbbing heart.

  More than once in those days, the thought had entered her mind that itwould be delightful to be borne through life in the strong arms of thissteadfast man. Then he extended these arms, and she yielded to his wishas proudly and happily as a squire summoned by the king to be made aknight. She now remembered this by-gone time, and every hope with whichshe had accompanied him to Leyden rose vividly before her soul.

  Her newly-wedded husband had promised her no spring, but a pleasantsummer and autumn by his side. She could not help thinking of thiscomparison, and what entirely different things from those she hadanticipated, the union with him had offered to this day. Tumult,anxiety, conflict, a perpetual alternation of hard work and excessivefatigue, this was his life, the life he had summoned her to share at hisside, without even showing any desire to afford her a part in his caresand labors. Matters ought not, should not go on so. Everything that hadseemed to her beautiful and pleasant in her parents' home--was beingdestroyed here. Music and poetry, that had elevated her soul, cleverconversation, that had developed her mind, were not to be found here.Barbara's kind feelings could never supply the place of these lostpossessions; for her husband's love she would have resigned themall--but what had become of this love?

  With bitter emotions, she replaced the casket in the chest and obeyedthe summons to dinner, but found no one at the great table except Adrianand the servants. Barbara was watching Bessie.

  Never had she seemed to herself so desolate, so
lonely, so useless asto-day. What could she do here? Barbara ruled in kitchen and cellar, andshe--she only stood in the way of her husband's fulfilling his duties tothe city and state.

  Such were her thoughts, when the knocker again struck the door. Sheapproached the window. It was the doctor. Bessie had grown worse andshe, her mother, had not even inquired for the little one.

  "The children, the children!" she murmured; her sorrowful featuresbrightened, and her heart grew lighter as she said to herself:

  "I promised Peter to treat them as if they were my own, and I willfulfil the duties I have undertaken." Full of joyous excitement, sheentered the sick-room, hastily closing the door behind her. DoctorBontius looked at her with a reproving glance, and Barbara said:

  "Gently, gently! Bessie is just sleeping a little." Maria approached thebed, but the physician waved her back, saying:

  "Have you had the purple-fever?"

  "No."

  "Then you ought not to enter this room again. No other help is neededwhere Frau Barbara nurses."

  The burgomaster's wife made no reply, and returned to the entry. Herheart was so heavy, so unutterably heavy. She felt like a stranger inher husband's house. Some impulse urged her to go out of doors, andas she wrapped her mantle around her and went downstairs, the smell ofleather rising from the bales piled in layers on the lower story, whichshe had scarcely noticed before, seemed unendurable. She longed forher mother, her friends in Delft, and her quiet, cheerful home. Forthe first time she ventured to call herself unhappy and, while walkingthrough the streets with downcast eyes against the wind, struggledvainly to resist some mysterious, gloomy power, that compelled herto minutely recall everything that had resulted differently from herexpectations.