German fiction -- Translations into English; Holy Roman Empire -- History -- Charles V, 1519-1556 -- Fiction
The sight of the aged noblewoman writhing like a maniac in the dust was
so pitiful and touching that it melted Barbara’s heart, and induced her
to promise to use the first favourable opportunity to intercede with the
Emperor in behalf of her son and his child, a little girl of six. From
that time she awaited at every new interview the opportune moment; but
when Charles was less gracious, the right time certainly had not come,
and when he was especially loving the happiness of possessing his heart
seemed to her so great that it appeared sinful to risk it for the sake
of a stranger.
This waiting and conflict with herself also did not remain unnoticed,
and it was characteristic of Charles to reflect upon and seek reasons
for it. Only the spell of her voice and her beauty had remained
unchanged, and when she sang in the Golden Cross in the presence of the
guests, who became more numerous the nearer drew the time of the opening
of the Reichstag, fixed for the fifth of June, and he perceived their
delight, vanity fanned the dying fire again, for he still loved her, and
therefore felt associated with her and her successes.
So the days became weeks, and though they brought Barbara a wealth of
happiness, they were not free from gloomy and bitter hours.
The marquise, who saw her son’s doom drawing nearer and nearer, made the
mealtimes and every moment which she spent with her a perfect hell. Frau
Lerch continued to urge her, and now advised her to persuade the Emperor
to rid her of the old tormentor.
In another matter also she was at a loss what to do. The Wittenberg
theologian, Erasmus Eckhart, found that his own songs, when she sang
them to him, seemed entirely new, and the gratitude he felt merged into
ardent love, the first which had taken possession of his young soul. But
Barbara resolutely refused to receive his visits, and thereby deprived
him of the possibility of opening his heart to her. So, in despair,
he wandered about her house more and more frequently, and sent her one
fiery love letter after another.
To betray his unseemly conduct to the Emperor or to the confessor would
have brought upon him too severe a punishment for an offence which,
after all, was the most profound homage. She dared not go to the
Hiltners, from fear of a fresh misunderstanding, and it would be a long
time ere Wolf’s health would permit him to be excited by such matters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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