The Dove in the Eagle's Nest by Charlotte M. Yonge (e novels for free .txt) 📖

warmth, it is far more cheerful.  Moreover, a window has been opened showing the rich green meadow below, with the bridge over the Braunwasser, and the little church, with a spire of pierced lace-work, and white cottages peeping out of the retreating forest.

That is the window which the Lady Baroness loves.  See her there, the lovely old lady of seventy-five—yes, lovelier than ever, for her sweet brown eyes have the same pensive, clear beauty, enhanced by the snowy whiteness of her hair, of which a soft braid shows over the pure pale brow beneath the white band, and sweeping black veil, that she has worn by right for twenty years.  But the slight form is active and brisk, and there are ready smiles and looks of interest for the pretty fair-haired maidens, three in number, who run in and out from their household avocations to appeal to the “dear grandmother,” mischievously to tell of the direful yawns proceeding from brothers Ebbo and Gottfried over their studies with their tutor, or to gaze from the window and wonder if the father, with the two brothers, Friedel Max and Kasimir, will return from Ulm in time for the “mid-day eating.”

Ah! there they are.  Quick-eyed Vittoria has seen the cavalcade first, and dances off to tell Ermentrude and Stine time enough to prepare their last batch of fritters for the new-comers; Ebbo and Götz rush headlong down the hillside; and the Lady Baroness lays down her distaff, and gazes with eyes of satisfied content at the small party of horsemen climbing up the footpath.  Then, when they have wound out of sight round a rock, she moves out towards the hall-door, with a light, quick step, for never yet has she resigned her great enjoyment, that of greeting her son on the steps of the porch—those steps where she once met such fearful news, but where that memory has been effaced by many a cheerful welcome.

There, then, she stands, amid the bright throng of grandchildren, while the Baron and his sons spring from their horses and come up to her.  The Baron doffs his Spanish hat, bends the knee, kisses her hand, and receives her kiss on his brow, with the fervour of a life-devotion, before he turns to accept the salutation of his daughters, and then takes her hand, with pretty affectionate ceremony, to hand her back to her seat.  A few words pass between them.  “No, motherling,” he says, “I signed it not; I will tell you all by and by.”

And then the mid-day meal is served for the whole household, as of old, with the salt-cellar in the middle, but with a far larger company above it than when first we saw it.  The seven young folks preserve a decorous silence, save when Fraulein Ermentrude’s cookeries are good-naturedly complimented by her father, or when Baron Friedmund Maximilianus breaks out with some wonderful fact about new armour seen at Ulm.  He is a handsome, fair, flaxen-haired young man—like the old Adlersteins, say the elder people—and full of honest gaiety and good nature, the special pride of his sisters; and no sooner is the meal over, than, with a formal entreaty for dismissal, all the seven, and all the dogs, move off together, to that favourite gathering-place round the stove, where all their merry tongues are let loose together.

To them, the Herr Vater and the Frau Grossmutter seem nearly of the same age, and of the same generation; and verily the eighteen years between the mother and son have dwindled into a very small difference even in appearance, and a lesser one in feeling.  She is a youthful, beautiful old lady; he a grave, spare, worn, elderly man, in his full strength, but with many a trace of care and thought, and far more of silver than of brown in his thin hair and pointed beard, and with a melancholy thoughtfulness in his clear brown eyes—all well corresponding with the gravity of the dress in which he has been meeting the burghers of Ulm; a black velvet suit—only relieved by his small white lace ruff, and the ribbon and jewel of the Golden Fleece, the only other approach to ornament that he wears being that ring long ago twisted off the Emperor Maximilian’s chain.  But now, as he has bowed off the chaplain to his study, and excused himself from aiding his two gentlemen-squires in consuming their krug of beer, and hands his mother to her favourite nook in the sunny window, taking his seat by her side, his features assume an expression of repose and relaxation as if here indeed were his true home.  He has chosen his seat in full view of a picture that hangs on the wainscoted wall, near his mother—a picture whose pure ethereal tinting, of colour limpid as the rainbow, yet rich as the most glowing flower-beds; and its soft lovely pose, and rounded outlines, prove it to be no produce even of one of the great German artists of the time, but to have been wrought, under an Italian sky, by such a hand as left us the marvellous smile of Mona Lisa.  It represents two figures, one unmistakably himself when in the prime of life, his brow and cheeks unfurrowed, and his hair still thick, shining brown, but with the same grave earnestness of the dark eye that came with the early sense of responsibility, and with the first sorrow of his youth.  The other figure, one on which the painter evidently loved to dwell, is of a lady, so young that she might almost pass for his daughter, except for the peculiar, tender sweetness that could only become the wife and mother.  Fair she is as snow, with scarce a deepening of the rose on cheek, or even lip, fragile and transparent as a spiritual form, and with a light in the blue eyes, and a grace in the soft fugitive smile, that scarce seems to belong to earth; a beauty not exactly of feature, but rather the pathetic loveliness of calm fading away—as if she were already melting into the clear blue sky with the horizon of golden light, that the wondrous power of art has made to harmonize with, but not efface, her blue dress, golden hair, white coif, and fair skin.  It is as if she belonged to that sky, and only tarried as unable to detach herself from the clasp of the strong hand round and in which both her hands are twined; and though the light in her face may be from heaven, yet the whole countenance is fixed in one absorbed, almost worshipping gaze of her husband, with a wistful simplicity and innocence on devotion, like the absorption of a loving animal, to whom its master’s presence is bliss and sunshine.  It is a picture to make light in a dark place, and that sweet face receives a loving glance, nay, an absolutely reverent bend of the knightly head, as the Baron seats himself.

“So it was as we feared, and this Schmalkaldic League did not suit thy sense of loyalty, my son?” she asks, reading his features anxiously.

“No, mother.  I ever feared that further pressure would drive our friends beyond the line where begin schism and rebellion; and it seems to me that the moment is come when I must hold me still, or transgress mine own sense of duty.  I must endure the displeasure of many I love and respect.”

“Surely, my son, they have known you too long and too well not to respect your motives, and know that conscience is first with you.”

“Scarce may such confidence be looked for, mother, from the most part, who esteem every man a traitor to the cause if he defend it not precisely in the fashion of their own party.  But I hear that the King of France has offered himself as an ally, and that Dr. Luther, together with others of our best divines, have thereby been startled into doubts of the lawfulness of the League.”

“And what think you of doing, my son?”

“I shall endeavour to wait until such time as the much-needed General Council may proclaim the ancient truth, and enable us to avouch it without disunion.  Into schism I will not be drawn.  I have held truth all my life in the Church, nor will I part from her now.  If intrigues again should prevail, then, Heaven help us!  Meantime, mother, the best we can, as has ever been your war-cry.”

“And much has been won for us.  Here are the little maidens, who, save Vittoria, would never have been scholars, reading the Holy Word daily in their own tongue.”

“Ach, I had not told you, mother!  I have the Court Secretary’s answer this day about that command in the Kaisar’s guards that my dear old master had promised to his godson.”

“Another put-off with Flemish courtesy, I see by thy face, Ebbo.”

“Not quite that, mother.  The command is ready for the Baron Friedmund Maximilianus von Adlerstein Wildschloss, and all the rest of it, on the understanding that he has been bred up free from all taint of the new doctrine.”

“New?  Nay, it is the oldest of all doctrine.”

“Even so.  As I ever said, Dr. Luther hath been setting forth in greater clearness and fulness what our blessed Friedel and I learnt at your knee, and my young ones have learnt from babyhood of the true Catholic doctrine.  Yet I may not call my son’s faith such as the Kaisar’s Spanish conscience-keepers would have it, and so the boy must e’en tarry at home till there be work for his stout arm to do.”

“He seems little disappointed.  His laugh comes ringing the loudest of all.”

“The Junker is more of a boy at two-and-twenty than I ever recollect myself!  He lacks not sense nor wit, but a fray or a feast, a chase or a dance, seem to suffice him at an age when I had long been dwelling on matters of moment.”

“Thou wast left to be thine own pilot; he is but one of thy gay crew, and thus even these stirring times touch him not so deeply as thou wert affected by thine own choice in life between disorderly freedom and honourable restraint.”

“I thought of that choice to-day, mother, as I crossed the bridge and looked at the church; and more than ever thankful did I feel that our blessed Friedel, having aided me over that one decisive pass, was laid to rest, his tender spirit unvexed by the shocks and divisions that have wrenched me hither and thither.”

“Nay; not hither and thither.  Ever hadst thou a resolute purpose and aim.”

“Ever failed in by my own error or that of others—What, thou nestling here, my little Vittoria, away from all yonder prattle?”

“Dear father, if I may, I love far best to hear you and the grandmother talk.”

“Hear the child!  She alone hath your face, mother, or Friedel’s eyes!  Is it that thou wouldst be like thy noble Roman godmother, the Marchesa di Pescara, that makes thee seek our grave company, little one?”

“I always long to hear you talk of her, and of the Italian days, dear father, and how you won this noble jewel of yours.”

“Ah, child, that was before those times!  It was the gift of good Kaisar Max at his godson’s christening, when he filled your sweet mother with pretty spite by persuading her that it was a little golden bear-skin.”

“Tell her how you had gained it, my son.”

“By vapouring, child; and by the dull pride of my neighbours.  Heard’st thou never of the siege of Padua, when we had Bayard, the best knight in Europe, and 500 Frenchmen for our allies?  Our artillery had made a breach, and the Kaisar requested the French knights to lead the storm, whereto they answered, Well and good, but our German nobles must share the assault, and not leave them to fight with no better backers than the hired lanzknechts.  All in reason, quoth I, and more shame for us not to have been foremost in our Kaisar’s own cause; but what said the rest of our misproud chivalry?  They would never condescend to climb a wall on foot in company with lanzknechts!  On horseback must their worships fight, or not at all; and when to shame them I called myself a mountaineer, more used to climb than to ride, and vowed that I should esteem it an honour to follow such a knight as Bayard, were it on all fours, then cast they my burgher blood in my teeth.  Never saw I the Kaisar so enraged; he swore that all the common sense in the empire was in the burgher blood, and that he would make me a knight of the noblest order in Europe to show how he esteemed it.  And next morning he was gone!  So ashamed was he of his own army that he rode off in the night, and sent orders to break up the siege.  I could have torn my hair, for I had just lashed up a few of our nobles to a better sense of honour, and we would yet have redeemed our name!