German fiction -- Translations into English; Holy Roman Empire -- History -- Charles V, 1519-1556 -- Fiction
He involuntarily seized the saddlebag which contained the handsomest
gift he had bought in Brussels for the person who had drawn him back to
Ratisbon with a stronger power of attraction than anything else. If all
went well, that very day, perhaps, he might have the right to call her
his own.
These visions of the future aroused so joyous a feeling in his young
soul that Massi, the violinist, read in his by no means mobile features
what was passing in his mind. His cheery “Well, Sir Knight!” awakened
his ever-courteous colleague and travelling companion from his dream,
and, when the latter started and turned toward him, Alassi gaily
continued: “To see his home and his family again does, indeed, make any
man glad! The sight of yonder shining steeples and roofs seems to make
your heart laugh, Sir Wolf, and, by Our Lady, you have good reason
to bestow one or more candles upon her, for, besides other delightful
things, a goodly heritage is awaiting you in Ratisbon.”
Here he paused, for the sunny radiance vanished simultaneously from
the sky and from his companion’s face. The violinist, as if in apology,
added: “Some trouble always precedes an inheritance, and who knows
whether, in your case also, rumour did not follow the evil custom of
lying or making a mountain out of a molehill?”
Wolf Hartschwert slightly shrugged his shoulders and calmly answered:
“It is all true about the heritage, Massi, and also the trouble, but
it is unpleasant to hear you, too, call me ‘Sir.’ Let it drop for the
future, if we are to be intimate. To others I shall, of course, be the
knight or cavalier. You know what the title procures for a man, though
your saying--
‘Knightly Knightly rank with lack of land
More care than joy hath at command,’
is but too true. As for the heritage, an old friend has really named me
in his will, but you must not expect that it is a large bequest. The man
who left it to me was a plain person of moderate property, and I myself
shall not learn until the next few days what I am to receive in addition
to his modest house.”
“The more it is, the more cordially I shall congratulate you,” cried the
violinist, and then looked back toward the other travellers.
Wolf did the same, and turned his horse. If he did not urge on the
loiterers the gate, which was closed at nightfall, would need to be
opened for them, for the five troopers who acted as escort had deemed
their duty done when Winzer was reached, and made themselves comfortable
in the excellent tavern there.
The carters had used the lash stoutly, yet it had been no easy matter
to advance rapidly. The rain had softened the road, and the horses and
beasts of burden were sorely wearied by the long trip from Brussels to
Ratisbon, which had been made in hurried days’ journeys. The train of
horsemen and wagons stretched almost beyond the range of vision, for it
comprised the whole world-renowned orchestra of the Emperor Charles, and
Queen Mary’s boy choir.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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