The Burgomaster's Wife — Complete

by Georg Ebers

  CHAPTER XVII.

  In the big watch-house that had been erected beside the citadel,during the siege of the city, raised ten months before, city-guards andvolunteers sat together in groups after sunset, talking over their beeror passing the time in playing cards by the feeble light of thin tallowcandles.

  The embrasure where the officers' table stood was somewhat betterlighted. Wilhelm, who, according to his friend's advice, appeared inthe uniform of an ensign of the city-guards, seated himself at the emptyboard just after the clock in the steeple had struck ten. While orderingthe waiter to bring him a mug of beer, Captain Allertssohn appeared withJunker von Warmond, who had taken part in the consultation at Peter Vander Werff's, and bravely earned his captain's sash two years beforeat the capture of Brill. As this son of one of the richest and mostaristocratic families in Holland, a youth whose mother had borne thename of Egmont, entered, he drew his hand, encased in a fencing glove,from the captain's arm and said, countermanding the musician's order:

  "Nothing of that sort, waiter! The little keg from the Wurzburger Steincan't be empty yet. We'll find the bottom of it this evening. What doyou say, Captain?"

  "Such an arrangement will lighten the keg and not specially burden us,"replied the other. "Good-evening, Herr Wilhelm, punctuality adorns thesoldier. People are beginning to understand how much depends upon it.I have posted the men, so that they can overlook the country inevery direction. I shall have them relieved from time to time, and atintervals look after them myself. This is good liquor, Junker. All honorto the man who melts his gold into such a fluid. The first glass must bea toast to the Prince."

  The three men touched their glasses, and soon after drank to the libertyof Holland and the prosperity of the good city of Leyden. Then theconversation took a lively turn, but duty was not forgotten, for at theend of half an hour the captain rose to survey the horizon himself andurge the sentinels to vigilant watchfulness.

  When he returned, Wilhelm and Junker von Warmond were so engaged ineager conversation, that they did not notice his entrance. The musicianwas speaking of Italy, and Allertssohn heard him exclaim impetuously:

  "Whoever has once seen that country can never forget it, and when I amsitting on the house-top with my doves, my thoughts only too often flyfar away with them, and my eyes no longer see our broad, monotonousplains and grey, misty sky."

  "Oh! ho! Meister Wilhelm," interrupted the captain, throwing himselfinto the arm-chair and stretching out his booted legs. "Oh! ho! Thistime I've discovered the crack in your brain. Italy, always Italy!I know Italy too, for I've been in Brescia, looking for good steelsword-blades for the Prince and other nobles, I crossed the ruggedApennines and went to Florence to see fine pieces of armor. From LivornoI went by sea to Genoa, where I obtained chased gold and silverwork forshoulder-belts and sheaths. Truth is truth the brown-skinned rascals cando fine work. But the country--the country! Roland, my fore man--how anysensible man can prefer it to ours is more than I understand."

  "Holland is our mother," replied von Warmond. "As good sons we believeher the best of women; yet we can admit, without shame, that there aremore beautiful ones in the world."

  "Do you blow that trumpet too?" exclaimed the fencing-master, pushinghis glass angrily further upon the table. "Did you ever cross the Alps?"

  "No, but--"

  "But you believe the color-daubers of the artist guild, whose eyes arecaught by the blue of the sky and sea, or the musical gentry who allowthemselves to be deluded by the soft voices and touching melodies there,but you would do well to listen to a quiet man too for once."

  "Go on, Captain."

  "Very well. And if anybody can get an untruthful word out of me, I'llpay his score till the Day of Judgment. I'll begin the story at thecommencement. First you must cross the horrible Alps. There you seebarren, dreary rocks, cold snow, wild glacier torrents on which no boatcan be used. Instead of watering meadows, the mad waves fling stones ontheir banks. Then we reach the plains, where it is true many kindsof plants grow. I was there in June, and made my jokes about the tinyfields, where small trees stood, serving as props for the vines. Itdidn't look amiss, but the heat, Junker, the heat spoiled all pleasure.And the dirt in the taverns, the vermin, and the talk about bravos,who shed the blood of honest Christians in the dark for a little paltrymoney. If your tongue dries up in your mouth, you'll find nothing buthot wine, not a sip of cool beer. And the dust, gentlemen, the frightfuldust. As for the steel in Brescia--it's worthy of all honor. But thefeather was stolen from my hat in the tavern, and the landlord devouredonions as if they were white bread. May God punish me if a single pieceof honest beef, such as my wife can set before me every day--and wedon't live like princes--ever came between my teeth.

  "And the butter, Junker, the butter! We burn oil in lamps, and greasedoor-hinges with it, when they creak, but the Italians use it to frychickens and fish. Confound such doings!"

  "Beware, Captain," cried Wilhelm, "or I shall take you at your word andyou'll be obliged to pay my score for life. Olive-oil is a pure, savoryseasoning."

  "For a man that likes it. I commend Holland butter. Olive-oil has itsvalue for polishing steel, but butter is the right thing for roastingand frying; so that's enough! But I beg you to hear me farther. FromLombardy I went to Bologna, and then crossed the Apennines. Sometimesthe road ascended, then suddenly plunged downward again, and it's aqueer pleasure, which, thank God, we are spared in this country, to sitin the saddle going down a mountain. On the right and left, loftycliffs tower like walls. Your breathing becomes oppressed in the narrowvalleys, and if you want to get a distant view--there's nothing tobe seen, for everywhere some good-for-nothing mountain thrusts itselfdirectly before your nose. I believe the Lord created those humps fora punishment to men after Adam's fall. On the sixth day of creation theearth was level. It was in August, and when the noon sun was reflectedfrom the rocks, the heat was enough to kill one; it's a miracle, thatI'm not sitting beside you dried up and baked. The famous blue of theItalian sky! Always the same! We have it here in this country too, butit alternates with beautiful clouds. There are few things in Holland Ilike better than our clouds. When the rough Apennines at last lay behindme, I reached the renowned city of Florence."

  "And can you deny it your approval?" asked the musician.

  "No, sir, there are many proud, stately palaces and beautiful churchesand no lack of silk and velvet everywhere, the trade of cloth-weavingtoo is flourishing; but my health, my health was not good in yourFlorence, principally on account of the heat, and besides I found manythings different from what I expected. In the first place, there's theriver Arno! The stream is a puddle, nothing but a puddle! Do you knowwhat the water looks like? Like the pools that stand between the brokenfragments and square blocks in a stonecutter's yard, after a heavythunder-shower."

  "The score, Captain, the score!"

  "I mean the yard of a stone-cutter, who does a large business, and poolsof tolerable width. Will you still contradict me if I maintain--theArno is a shallow, narrow stream, just fit to sail a boy's bark-boat.It spreads over a wide surface of grey pebbles, very much as the goldfringe straggles over the top of Junker von Warmond's fencing-glove."

  "You saw it at the end of a hot summer," replied Wilhelm, "it's verydifferent in spring."

  "Perhaps so; but I beg you to remember the Rhine, the Meuse, and ourother rivers, even the Marne, Drecht and whatever the smaller streamsare called. They remain full and bear stately ships at all seasons ofthe year. Uniform and reliable is the custom of this country; to-day oneway, to-morrow another, is the Italian habit. It's just the same withthe blades in the fencing-school."

  "The Italians wield dangerous weapons," said von Warmond.

  "Very true, but they bend to and fro and lack firmness. I know whatI'm talking about, for I lodged with my colleague Torelli, the bestfencing-master in the city. I'll say nothing of the meals he setbefore me. To-day macaroni, to-morrow macaroni with a couple of chickendrumsticks to boot, and so on. I've often drawn
my belt tighter afterdinner. As for the art of fencing, Torelli is certainly no bungler, buthe too has the skipping fashion in his method. You must keep your eyesopen in a passado with him, but if I can once get to my quarte, tierce,and side-thrust, I have him."

  "An excellent series," said Junker von Warmond. "It has been useful tome."

  "I know, I know," replied the captain eagerly. "You silenced theFrench brawler with it at Namur. There's the catch in my throat again.Something will happen to-day, gentlemen, something will surely happen."

  The fencing-master grasped the front of his ruff with his left hand andset the glass on the table with his right. He had often done so far morecarelessly, but to-day the glass shattered into many fragments.

  "That's nothing," cried the young nobleman. "Waiter, another glass forCaptain Allertssohn."

  The fencing-master pushed his chair back from the table, and lookingat the broken pieces of greenish glass, said in an altered tone, as ifspeaking to himself rather than his companions:

  "Yes, yes, something serious will happen to-day. Shattered into athousand pieces. As God wills! I know where my place is."

  Von Warmond filled a fresh glass, saying with a slight shade of reproofin his tone: "Why, Captain, Captain, what whims are these? Before thebattle of Brill I fell in jumping out of the boat and broke my sword.I soon found another, but the idea came into my head: 'you'll meet yourdeath to-day.' Yet here I sit, and hope to empty many a beaker withyou."

  "It has passed already," said the fencing-master, raising his hat andwiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand."Every one must meet his death-hour, and if mine is approachingto-day--be it as God wills! My family won't starve. The house on the newRhine is free from mortgage, and though they don't inherit much else, Ishall leave my children an honest name and trustworthy friends. I knowyou won't lose sight of my second boy, the musician, Wilhelm. Nobody isindispensable, and if Heaven wishes to call me from this command, Junkervon Nordwyk, Jan Van der Does, can fill my place. You, Herr von Warmond,are in just the right spot, and the good cause will reach a successfulend even without me."

  The musician listened with surprise to the softened tone of the strangeman's voice, but the young nobleman raised his drinking-cup, exclaiming:

  "Such heavy thoughts for a light glass! You make too much of the matter,Captain. Take your bumper again, and pledge me: Long live the noble artof fencing, and your series: quarte, tierce and side-thrust!"

  "They'll live," replied Allertssohn, "ay, they'll live. Many hundreds ofnoble gentlemen use the sword in this country, and the man who sits herehas taught them to wield it according to the rules. My series has servedmany in duelling, and I, Andreas, their master, have made tierce followquarte and side-thrust tierce thousands of times, but always withbuttons on the foils and against padded doublets. Outside the walls, inthe battle-field, no one, often as I have pressed upon the leaders, hasever stood against me in single combat. This Brescian sword-blade hasmore than once pierced a Spanish jerkin, but the art I teach, gentlemen,the art I love, to which my life has been devoted, I have neverpractised in earnest. That is hard to bear, gentlemen, and if Heaven isdisposed, before calling him away from earth, to grant a poor man, whois no worse than his neighbors, one favor, I shall be permitted to crossblades once in a true, genuine duel, and try my series against an ablechampion in a mortal struggle. If God would grant Andreas this--"

  Before the fencing-master had finished the last sentence, an armed mandashed the door open, shouting: "The light is raised at Leyderdorp!"

  At these words Allertssohn sprang from his chair as nimbly as a youth,drew himself up to his full height, adjusted his shoulder-belt and drewdown his sash, exclaiming:

  "To the citadel, Hornist, and sound the call for assembling the troops.To your volunteers, Captain Van Duivenvoorde. Post yourself with fourcompanies at the Hohenort Gate, to be ready to take part, if the battleapproaches the city-walls. The gunners must provide matches. Let thegarrisons in the towers be doubled. Klaas, go to the sexton of St.Pancratius and tell him to ring the alarm-bell, to warn the people atthe fair. Your hand, Junker. I know you will be at your post, and you,Meister Wilhelm."

  "I'll go with you," said the musician resolutely. "Don't reject me. Ihave remained quiet long enough; I shall stifle here."

  Wilhelm's cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a lustre so brightand angry, that Junker von Warmond looked at his phlegmatic friend inastonishment, while the captain called:

  "Then station yourself in the first company beside my ensign. You don'tlook as if you felt like jesting, and the work will be in earnest now,bloody earnest."

  Allertssohn walked out of doors with a steady step, addressed his menin a few curt, vigorous words, ordered the drummers to beat their drums,while marching through the city, to rouse the people at the fair, placedhimself at the head of his trusty little band, and led them towards thenew Rhine.

  The moon shone brightly down into the quiet streets, was reflected fromthe black surface of the river, and surrounded the tall peaked gables ofthe narrow houses with a silvery lustre. The rapid tramp of the soldierswas echoed loudly back from the houses through the silence of the night,and the vibration of the air, shaken by the beating of the drums, madethe panes rattle.

  This time no merry children with paper flags and wooden swords precededthe warriors, this time no gay girls and proud mothers followed them,not even an old man, who remembered former days, when he himself borearms. As the silent troops reached the neighborhood of Allertssohn'shouse, the clock in the church-steeple slowly struck twelve, anddirectly after the alarm-bell began to sound from the tower ofPancratius.

  A window in the second story of the fencing-toaster's house was thrownopen, and his wife's face appeared. An anxious married life with herstrange husband had prematurely aged pretty little Eva's countenance,but the mild moonlight transfigured her faded features. The beat of herhusband's drums was familiar to her, and when she saw him at midnightmarching past to the horrible call of the alarm-bell, a terrible dreadoverpowered her and would scarcely allow her to call: "Husband, husband!What is the matter, Andreas?"

  He did not hear, for the roll of the drums, the tramp of the soldiers'feet on the pavement and the ringing of the alarm-bell drowned hervoice; but he saw her distinctly, and a strange feeling stole over him.Her face, framed in a white kerchief and illumined by the moonlight,seemed to him fairer than he had ever seen it since the days of hiswooing, and he felt so youthful and full of chivalrous daring, on hisway to the field of danger, that he drew himself up to his full heightand marched by, keeping most perfect time to the beat of the drums,as in lover-like fashion he threw her a kiss with his left hand, whilewaving his sword in the right.

  The beating of drums and waving of banners had banished every gloomythought from his mind. So he marched on to the Gansort. There stood acart, the home of travelling traders, who had been roused from sleep bythe alarm-bell, and were hastily collecting their goods. An old woman,amid bitter lamentations, was just harnessing a thin horse to theshafts, and from a tiny window a child's wailing voice was heardcalling, "mother, mother," and then, "father, father."

  The fencing-master heard the cry. The smile faded from his lips, and hisstep grew heavier. Then he turned and shouted a loud "Forward" tohis men. Wilhelm was marching close behind him and at a sign from thecaptain approached; but Allertssohn, quickening his pace, seized themusician's arm, saying in a low tone:

  "You'll take the boy to teach?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Good; you'll be rewarded for it some day," replied the fencing-master,and waving his sword, shouted: "Liberty to Holland, death to theSpaniard, long live Orange!"

  The soldiers joyously joined in the shout, and marched rapidly with himthrough the Hohenort Gate into the open country and towards Leyderdorp.