German fiction -- Translations into English; Holy Roman Empire -- History -- Charles V, 1519-1556 -- Fiction
She had done this with entire devotion, and endeavoured to reflect upon
what had happened and what obligations she must meet. But she had had
little success, for as soon as she began to think, her august lover rose
before her eyes, she imagined that she heard his tender words, and her
mind wandered to the future.
Only she had clearly perceived that she had lost something infinitely
great, and obtained in its place something that was far more exquisite,
that she had been deemed worthy of a loftier honour, a richer happiness
than any one else.
Ah, yes, she was happy, more than happy, and yet not entirely so, for
happiness must be bright, and a dark, harassing shadow fell again and
again over the sunny enthusiasm which irradiated her nature and lent her
a haughtier bearing.
She ascribed it to the novelty of her elevation to a height of which she
had never dreamed. Eyes accustomed to twilight must also endure pain,
she told herself, ere they became used to the brilliance of the sun.
Perhaps Heaven, in return for such superabundant gifts, demanded a
sacrifice, and denied complete enjoyment. She would gladly do all in her
power to satisfy the claim, and so she formed the resolve--which seemed
to her to possess an atoning power--no longer to deceive the worthy man
who loved her so loyally, and for whom she felt an affection. At the
very next opportunity Wolf should learn that she could never become his,
and when she had just confessed it so gently and lovingly, she had only
fulfilled the vow made in the chapel before the Virgin's image. There,
too, she had determined, if the Emperor ever gave her any power over his
decisions, to reward Wolf's loyal love by interceding for him wherever it
could be done.
Now he had left her; but she could wait for her father no longer.
She must go to Fran Lerch.
The idea of confiding to her the secret which filled her with happy
dread was far from her thoughts; but love had both increased her vanity
tenfold, and confined it within narrower limits. She could not be
beautiful enough for the lover who awaited her, yet she wished to be
beautiful for him alone. But her stock of gowns and finery was so very
scanty, and no one understood how to set off her charms so well as the
obliging, experienced old woman, who had an expedient for every
emergency.
Retiring to her little bow-windowed room, she examined her store of
clothes.
There, too, lay her royal lover's gift, the glittering star.
She involuntarily seized it to take the jewel to the Grieb and show
it to the old woman; but the next instant, with a strange feeling of
dissatisfaction, she flung it back again among the other contents of the
chest.
Thus, in her impetuous fashion, she thrust it out of her sight. Maestro
Gombert had pronounced the star extremely valuable, and she desired
nothing from the Emperor Charles, nothing from her beloved lord save his
love.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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