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+The Project Gutenberg EBook A Word Only A Word, by Georg Ebers, v4
+#136 in our series by Georg Ebers
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+Title: A Word Only A Word, Volume 4.
+
+Author: Georg Ebers
+
+Release Date: April, 2004  [EBook #5575]
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+[This file was first posted on August 12, 2002]
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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WORD ONLY A WORD, BY EBERS, V4 ***
+
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+
+This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
+
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+
+A WORD, ONLY A WORD
+
+By Georg Ebers
+
+Volume 4.
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+The admiral's ship, which bore King Philip's ambassador to Venice,
+reached its destination safely, though it had encountered many severe
+storms on the voyage, during which Ulrich was the only passenger, who
+amid the rolling and pitching of the vessel, remained as well as an old
+sailor.
+
+But, on the other hand his peace of mind was greatly impaired, and any
+one who had watched him leaning over the ship's bulwark, gazing into the
+sea, or pacing up and down with restless bearing and gloomy eyes, would
+scarcely have suspected that this reserved, irritable youth, who was only
+too often under the dominion of melancholy moods, had won only a short
+time before a noble human heart, and was on the way to the realization of
+his boldest dreams, the fulfilment of his most ardent wishes.
+
+How differently he had hoped to enter "the Paradise of Art!"
+
+Never had he been so free, so vigorous, so rich, as in the dawn of the
+day, at whose close he was to unite Isabella's life with his own--and
+now--now!
+
+He had expected to wander through Italy from place to place as
+untrammelled, gay, and free as the birds in the air; he had desired to
+see, admire, en joy, and after becoming familiar with all the great
+artists, choose a new master among them.  Sophonisba's home was to have
+become his, and it had never entered his mind to limit the period of his
+enjoyment and study on the sacred soil.
+
+How differently his life must now be ordered!  Until he went on board of
+the ship in Valencia, the thought of calling a girl so good, sensible and
+loving as Isabella his own, rejoiced and inspired him, but during the
+solitary hours a sea-voyage so lavishly bestows, a strange transformation
+in his feelings occurred.
+
+The wider became the watery expanse between him and Spain, the farther
+receded Isabella's memory, the less alluring and delightful grew the
+thought of possessing her hand.
+
+He now told himself that, before the fatal hour, he had rejoiced at the
+anticipation of escaping her pedantic criticism, and when he looked
+forward to the future and saw himself, handsome Ulrich Navarrete, whose
+superior height filled the smaller Castilians with envy, walking through
+the streets with his tiny wife, and perceived the smiles of the people
+they met, he was seized with fierce indignation against himself and his
+hard fate.
+
+He felt fettered like the galley-slaves, whose chains rattled and
+clanked, as they pulled at the oars in the ship's waist.  At other times
+he could not help recalling her large, beautiful, love-beaming eyes, her
+soft, red lips, and yearningly confess that it would have been sweet to
+hold her in his arms and kiss her, and, since he had forever lost his
+Ruth, he could find no more faithful, sensible, tender wife than she.
+
+But what should he, the student, the wandering disciple of Art, do with a
+bride, a wife?  The best and fairest of her sex would now have seemed to
+him an impediment, a wearisome clog.  The thought of being obliged to
+accomplish some fixed task within a certain time, and then be subjected
+to an examination, curbed his enjoyment, oppressed, angered him.
+
+Grey mists gathered more and more densely over the sunny land, for which
+he had longed with such passionate ardor, and it seemed as if in that
+luckless hour, he had been faithless to the "word,"--had deprived himself
+of its assistance forever.
+
+He often felt tempted to send Coello his ducats and tell him he had been
+hasty, and cherished no desire to wed his daughter; but perhaps that
+would break the heart of the poor, dear little thing, who loved him so
+tenderly!  He would be no dishonorable ingrate, but bear the consequences
+of his own recklessness.
+
+Perhaps some miracle would happen in Italy, Art's own domain.  Perhaps
+the sublime goddess would again take him to her heart, and exert on him
+also the power Sophonisba had so fervently praised.
+
+The ambassador and his secretary, de Soto, thought Ulrich an unsocial
+dreamer; but nevertheless, after they reached Venice, the latter invited
+him to share his lodgings, for Don Juan had requested him to interest
+himself in the young artist.
+
+What could be the matter with the handsome fellow?  The secretary tried
+to question him, but Ulrich did not betray what troubled him, only
+alluding in general terms to a great anxiety that burdened his mind.
+
+"But the time is now coming when the poorest of the poor, the most
+miserable of all forsaken mortals, cast aside their griefs!" cried de
+Soto.  "Day after to morrow the joyous Carnival season will begin!  Hold
+up your head, young man!  Cast your sorrows into the Grand Canal, and
+until Ash-Wednesday, imagine that heaven has fallen upon earth!"
+
+Oh! blue sea, that washes the lagunes, oh!  mast-thronged Lido, oh!
+palace of the Doges, that chains the eye, as well as the backward gazing,
+mind, oh! dome of St. Mark, in thy incomparable garb of gold and
+paintings, oh!  ye steeds and other divine works of bronze, ye noble
+palaces, for which the still surface of the placid water serves as a
+mirror, thou square of St. Mark, where, clad in velvet, silk and gold,
+the richest and freest of all races display their magnificence, with just
+pride!  Thou harbor, thou forest of masts, thou countless fleet of
+stately galleys, which bind one quarter of the globe to another,
+inspiring terror, compelling obedience, and gaining boundless treasures
+by peaceful voyages and with shining blades.  Oh! thou Rialto, where gold
+is stored, as wheat and rye are elsewhere;--ye proud nobles, ye fair
+dames with luxuriant tresses, whose raven hue pleases ye not, and which
+ye dye as bright golden as the glittering zechins ye squander with such
+small, yet lavish hands!  Oh!  Venice, Queen of the sea, mother of
+riches, throne of power, hall of fame, temple of art, who could escape
+thy spell!
+
+What wanton Spring is to the earth, thy carnival season is to thee!  It
+transforms the magnificence of color of the lagune-city into a dazzling
+radiance, the smiles to Olympic laughter, the love-whispers to exultant
+songs, the noisy, busy life of the mighty commercial city into a mad
+whirlpool, which draws everything into its circle, and releases nothing
+it has once seized.
+
+De Soto urged and pushed the youth, who had already lost his mental
+equipoise, into the midst of the gulf, ere he had found the right
+current.
+
+On the barges, amid the throngs in the streets, at banquets, in ball-
+rooms, at the gaming-table, everywhere, the young, golden-haired,
+superbly-dressed artist, who was on intimate terms with the Spanish
+king's ambassador, attracted the attention of men, and the eyes,
+curiosity and admiration of the women; though people as yet knew not
+whence he came.
+
+He chose the tallest and most stately of the slender dames of Venice
+to lead in the dance, or through the throng of masks and citizens
+intoxicated with the mirth of the carnival.  Whithersoever he led the
+fairest followed.
+
+He wished to enjoy the respite before execution.  To forget--to forget--
+to indemnify himself for future seasons of sacrifice, dulness, self-
+conquest, torment.
+
+Poor little Isabella!  Your lover sought to enjoy the sensation of
+showing himself to the crowd with the stateliest woman in the company on
+his arm!  And you, Ulrich, how did you feel when people exclaimed behind
+you: "A splendid pair!  Look at that couple!"
+
+Amid this ecstasy, he needed no helping word, neither "fortune" nor "art;
+"without any magic spell he flew from pleasure to pleasure, through every
+changing scene, thinking only of the present and asking no questions
+about the future.
+
+Like one possessed he plunged into passion's wild whirl.  From the
+embrace of beautiful arms he rushed to the gaming-table, where the ducats
+he flung down soon became a pile of gold; the zechins filled his purse to
+overflowing.
+
+The quickly-won treasure melted like snow in the sun, and returned again
+like stray doves to their open cote.
+
+The works of art were only enjoyed with drunken eyes--yet, once more the
+gracious word exerted its wondrous power on the misguided youth.
+
+On Shrove-Tuesday, the ambassador took Ulrich to the great Titian.
+
+He stood face to face with the mighty monarch of colors, listened to
+gracious words from his lips, and saw the nonogenarian, whose tall figure
+was scarcely bowed, receive the king's gifts.
+
+Never, never, to the close of his existence could he forget that face!
+
+The features were as delicately and as clearly outlined, as if cut with
+an engraver's chisel from hard metal; but pallid, bloodless, untinged by
+the faintest trace of color.  The long, silver-white beard of the tall
+venerable painter flowed in thick waves over his breast, and the eyes,
+with which he scanned Ulrich, were those of a vigorous, keen-sighted man.
+His voice did not sound harsh, but sad and melancholy; deep sorrow
+shadowed his glance, and stamped itself upon the mouth of him, whose
+thin, aged hand still ensnared the senses easily and surely with gay
+symphonies of color!
+
+The youth answered the distinguished Master's questions with trembling
+lips, and when Titian invited him to share his meal, and Ulrich, seated
+at the lower end of the table in the brilliant banqueting-hall, was told
+by his neighbors with what great men he was permitted to eat, he felt so
+timid, small, and insignificant, that he scarcely ventured to touch the
+goblets and delicious viands the servants offered.
+
+He looked and listened; distinguishing his old master's name, and hearing
+him praised without stint as a portrait-painter.  He was questioned about
+him, and gave confused answers.
+
+Then the guests rose.
+
+The February sun was shining into the lofty window, where Titian seated
+himself to talk more gaily than before with Paolo Cagliari, Veronese, and
+other great artists and nobles.
+
+Again Ulrich heard Moor mentioned.  Then the old man, from whom the youth
+had not averted his eyes for an instant, beckoned, and Cagliari called
+him, saying that he, the gallant Antonio Moor's pupil, must now show what
+he could do; the Master, Titian, would give him a task.
+
+A shudder ran through his frame; cold drops of perspiration, extorted by
+fear, stood on his brow.
+
+The old man now invited him to accompany his nephew to the studio.
+Daylight would last an hour longer.  He might paint a Jew; no usurer nor
+dealer in clothes, but one of the noble race of prophets, disciples,
+apostles.
+
+Ulrich stood before the easel.
+
+For the first time after a long period he again called upon the "word,"
+and did so fervently, with all his heart.  His beloved dead, who in the
+tumult of carnival mirth had vanished from his memory, again rose before
+his mind, among them the doctor, who gazed rebukingly at him with his
+clear, thoughtful eyes.
+
+Like an inspiration a thought darted through the youth's brain.  He could
+and would paint Costa, his friend and teacher, Ruth's father.
+
+The portrait he had drawn when a boy appeared before his memory, feature
+for feature.  A red pencil lay close at hand.
+
+Sketching the outlines with a few hasty strokes, he seized the brush, and
+while hurriedly guiding it and mixing the colors, he saw in fancy Costa
+standing before him, asking him to paint his portrait.
+
+Ulrich had never forgotten the mild expression of the eyes, the smile
+hovering about the delicate lips, and now delineated them as well as he
+could.  The moments slipped by, and the portrait gained roundness and
+life.  The youth stepped back to see what it still needed, and once more
+called upon the "word" from the inmost depths of his heart; at the same
+instant the door opened, and leaning on a younger painter, Titian, with
+several other artists, entered the studio.
+
+He looked at the picture, then at Ulrich, and said with an approving
+smile: "See, see!  Not too much of the Jew, and a perfect apostle!  A
+Paul, or with longer hair and a little more youthful aspect, an admirable
+St. John.  Well done, well done! my son!"
+
+Well done, well done!  These words from Titian had ennobled his work;
+they echoed loudly in his soul, and the measure of his bliss threatened
+to overflow, when no less a personage than the famous Paolo Veronese,
+invited him to come to his studio as a pupil on Saturday.
+
+Enraptured, animated by fresh hope, he threw himself into his gondola.
+
+Everyone had left the palace, where he lodged with de Soto.  Who would
+remain at home on the evening of Shrove-Tuesday?
+
+The lonely rooms grew too confined for him.
+
+Quiet days would begin early the next morning, and on Saturday a new,
+fruitful life in the service of the only true word, Art, divine Art,
+would commence for him.  He would enjoy this one more evening of pleasure,
+this night of joy; drain it to the dregs.  He fancied he had won a
+right that day to taste every bliss earth could give.
+
+Torches, pitch-pans and lamps made the square of St. Mark's as bright as
+day, and the maskers crowded upon its smooth pavement as if it were the
+floor of an immense ball-room.
+
+Intoxicating music, loud laughter, low, tender whispers, sweet odors from
+the floating tresses of fair women bewildered Ulrich's senses, already
+confused by success and joy.  He boldly accosted every one, and if he
+suspected that a fair face was concealed under a mask, drew nearer,
+touched the strings of a lute, that hung by a purple ribbon round his
+neck, and in the notes of a tender song besought love.
+
+Many a wave of the fan rewarded, many an angry glance from men's dark
+eyes rebuked the bold wooer.  A magnificent woman of queenly height now
+passed, leaning on the arm of a richly-dressed cavalier.
+
+Was not that the fair Claudia, who a short time before had lost enormous
+sums at the gaming-table in the name of the rich Grimani, and who had
+invited Ulrich to visit her later, during Lent?
+
+It was, he could not be mistaken, and now followed the pair like a
+shadow, growing bolder and bolder the more angrily the cavalier rebuffed
+him with wrathful glances and harsh words; for the lady did not cease to
+signify that she recognized him and enjoyed his playing.  But the
+nobleman was not disposed to endure this offensive sport.  Pausing in the
+middle of the square, he released his arm with a contemptuous gesture,
+saying: "The lute-player, or I, my fair one; you can decide----"
+
+The Venetian laughed loudly, laid her hand on Ulrich's arm and said: "The
+rest of the Shrove-Tuesday night shall be yours, my merry singer."
+
+Ulrich joined in her gayety, and taking the lute from his neck, offered
+it to the cavalier, with a defiant gesture, exclaiming:
+
+"It's at your disposal, Mask; we have changed parts.  But please hold it
+firmer than you held your lady."  High play went on in the gaming hall;
+Claudia was lucky with the artist's gold.
+
+At midnight the banker laid down the cards.  It was Ash-Wednesday, the
+hall must be cleared; the quiet Lenten season had begun.
+
+The players withdrew into the adjoining rooms, among them the much-envied
+couple.
+
+Claudia threw herself upon a couch; Ulrich left her to procure a gondola.
+
+As soon as he was gone, she was surrounded by a motley throng of suitors.
+
+How the beautiful woman's dark eyes sparkled, how the gems on her full
+neck and dazzling arms glittered, how readily she uttered a witty
+repartee to each gay sally.
+
+"Claudia unaccompanied!" cried a young noble.  "The strangest sight at
+this remarkable carnival!"
+
+"I am fasting," she answered gaily; "and now that I long for meagre food,
+you come!  What a lucky chance!"
+
+"Heavy Grimani has also become a very light man, with your assistance."
+
+"That's why he flew away.  Suppose you follow him?"
+
+"Gladly, gladly, if you will accompany me."
+
+"Excuse me to-day; there comes my knight."
+
+Ulrich had remained absent a long time, but Claudia had not noticed it.
+Now he bowed to the gentlemen, offered her his arm, and as they descended
+the staircase, whispered: "The mask who escorted you just now detained
+me;--and there....see, they are picking him up down there in the court-
+yard.--He attacked me...."
+
+"You have--you...."
+
+"'They came to his assistance immediately.  He barred my way with his
+unsheathed blade."
+
+Claudia hastily drew her hand from the artist's arm, exclaiming in a low,
+anxious tone: "Go, go, unhappy man, whoever you may be!  It was Luigi
+Grimani; it was a Grimani!  You are lost, if they find you.  Go, if you
+love your life, go at once!"
+
+So ended the Shrove-Tuesday, which had begun so gloriously for the young
+artist.  Titian's "well done" no longer sounded cheerfully in his ears,
+the "go, go," of the venal woman echoed all the more loudly.
+
+De Soto was waiting for him, to repeat to him the high praise he had
+heard bestowed upon his art-test at Titian's; but Ulrich heard nothing,
+for he gave the secretary no time to speak, and the latter could only
+echo the beautiful Claudia's "go, go!"  and then smooth the way for his
+flight.
+
+When the morning of Ash-Wednesday dawned cool and misty, Venice lay
+behind the young artist.  Unpursued, but without finding rest or
+satisfaction, he went to Parma, Bologna, Pisa, Florence.
+
+Grimani's death burdened his conscience but lightly.  Duelling was a
+battle in miniature, to kill one's foe no crime, but a victory.  Far
+different anxieties tortured him.
+
+Venice, whither the "word" had led him, from which he had hoped and
+expected everything, was lost to him, and with it Titian's favor and
+Cagliari's instruction.
+
+He began to doubt himself, his future, the sublime word and its magic
+spell.  The greater the works which the traveller's eyes beheld, the more
+insignificant he felt, the more pitiful his own powers, his own skill
+appeared.
+
+"Draw, draw!"  advised every master to whom he applied, as soon as he had
+seen his work.  The great men, to whom he offered himself as a pupil,
+required years of persevering study.  But his time was limited, for the
+misguided youth's faithful German heart held firmly to one resolve; he
+must present himself to Coello at the end of the appointed time.  The
+happiness of his life was forfeited, but no one should obtain the right
+to call him faithless to his word, or a scoundrel.
+
+In Florence he heard Sebastiano Filippi--who had been a pupil of Michael
+Angelo-praised as a good drawer; so he sought him in Ferrara and found
+him ready to teach him what he still lacked.  But the works of the new
+master did not please him.  The youth, accustomed to Moor's wonderful
+clearness, Titian's brilliant hues, found Filippi's pictures indistinct,
+as if veiled by grey mists.  Yet he forced himself to remain with him for
+months, for he was really remarkably skilful in drawing, and his studio
+never lacked nude models; he needed them for the preliminary studies for
+his "Day of Judgment."
+
+Without satisfaction, without pleasure in the wearisome work, without
+love for the sickly master, who held aloof from any social intercourse
+with him when the hours of labor were over, he felt discontented, bored,
+disenchanted.
+
+In the evening he sought diversion at the gaming-table, and fortune
+favored him here as it had done in Venice.  His purse overflowed with
+zechins; but with the red gold, Art withdrew from him her powerful ally,
+necessity, the pressing need of gaining a livelihood by the exertion of
+his own strength.
+
+He spent the hours appointed for study like a careless lover, and worked
+without inclination, without pleasure, without ardor, yet with visible
+increase of skill.
+
+In gambling he forgot what tortured him, it stirred his blood, dispelled
+weariness; the gold was nothing to him.
+
+The lion's share of his gains he loaned to broken gamblers, without
+expectation of return, gave to starving artists, or flung with lavish
+hand to beggars.
+
+So the months in Ferrara glided by, and when the allotted time was over,
+he took leave of Sebastiano Filippi without regret.  He returned by sea
+to Spain, and arrived in Madrid richer than he had gone away, but with
+impoverished confidence in his own powers, and doubting the omnipotence
+of Art.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+Ulrich again stood before the Alcazar, and recalled the hour when, a poor
+lad, just escaped from prison, he had been harshly rebuffed by the same
+porter, who now humbly saluted the young gentleman attired in costly
+velvet.
+
+And yet how gladly he would have crossed this threshold poor as in those
+days, but free and with a soul full of enthusiasm and hope; how joyfully
+he would have effaced from his life the years that lay between that time
+and the present.
+
+He dreaded meeting the Coellos; nothing but honor urged him to present
+himself to them.
+
+Yes--and if the old man rejected him?--so much the better!
+
+The old cheerful confusion reigned in the studio.  He had a long time to
+wait there, and then heard through several doors Senora Petra's scolding
+voice and her husband's angry replies.
+
+At last Coello came to him and after greeting him, first formally, then
+cordially, and enquiring about his health and experiences, he shrugged
+his shoulders, saying:
+
+"My wife does not wish you to see Isabella again before the trial.  You
+must show what you can do, of course; but I.....  you look well and
+apparently have collected reales.  Or is it true," and he moved his hand
+as if shaking a dice-box.  "He who wins is a good fellow, but we want no
+more to do with such people here!  You find me the same as of old, and
+you have returned at the right time, that is something.  De Soto has told
+me about your quarrel in Venice.  The great masters were pleased with you
+and this, you Hotspur, you forfeited!  Ferrara for Venice!  A poor
+exchange.  Filippi--understands drawing; but otherwise....  Michael
+Angelo's pupil!  Does he still write on his back?  Every monk is God's
+servant, but in how few does the Lord dwell!  What have you drawn with
+Sebastiano?"
+
+Ulrich answered these questions in a subdued tone; and Coello listened
+with only partial attention, for he heard his wife telling the duenna
+Catalina in an adjoining room what she thought of her husband's conduct.
+She did so very loudly, for she wished to be overheard by him and Ulrich.
+But she was not to obtain her purpose, for Coello suddenly interrupted
+the returned travellers story, saying:
+
+"This is getting beyond endurance.  If she does her utmost, you shall see
+Isabella.  A welcome, a grasp of the hand, nothing more.  Poor young
+lovers!  If only it did not require such a confounded number of things to
+live....Well, we will see!"
+
+As soon as the artist had entered the adjoining room, a new and more
+violent quarrel arose there, but, though Senora Petra finally called a
+fainting-fit to her aid, her husband remained firm, and at last returned
+to the studio with Isabella.
+
+Ulrich had awaited her, as a criminal expects his sentence.  Now she
+stood before him led by her father's hand-and he, he struck his forehead
+with his fist, closed his eyes and opened them again to look at her--to
+gaze as if he beheld a wondrous apparition.  Then feeling as if he should
+die of shame, grief, and joyful surprise, he stood spellbound, and knew
+not what to do, save to extend both hands to her, or what to say, save
+I....I--I," then with a sudden change of tone exclaimed like a madman:
+
+"You don't know!  I am not....  Give me time, master.  Here, here, girl,
+you must, you shall, all must not be over!"
+
+He had opened his arms wide, and now hastily approached her with the
+eager look of the gambler, who has staked his last penny on a card.
+
+Coello's daughter did not obey.
+
+She was no longer little, unassuming Belita; here stood no child, but a
+beautiful, blooming maiden.  In eighteen months her figure had gained
+height; anxious yearning and constant contention with her mother had
+wasted her superabundance of flesh; her face had become oval, her bearing
+self-possessed.  Her large, clear eyes now showed their full beauty, her
+half-developed features had acquired exquisite symmetry, and her raven-
+black hair floated, like a shining ornament, around her pale, charming
+face.
+
+"Happy will be the man, who is permitted to call this woman his own!"
+cried a voice in the youth's breast, but another voice whispered "Lost,
+lost, forfeited, trifled away!"
+
+Why did she not obey his call?  Why did she not rush into his open arms?
+Why, why?
+
+He clenched his fists, bit his lips, for she did not stir, except to
+press closely to her father's side.
+
+This handsome, splendidly-dressed gentleman, with the pointed beard,
+deep-set eyes, and stern, gloomy gaze, was an entirely different person
+from the gay enthusiastic follower of art, for whom her awakening heart
+had first throbbed more quickly; this was not the future master, who
+stood before her mind as a glorious favorite of fortune and the muse,
+transfigured by joyous creation and lofty success--this defiant giant
+did not look like an artist.  No, no; yonder man no longer resembled the
+Ulrich, to whom, in the happiest hour of her life, she had so willingly,
+almost too willingly, offered her pure lips.
+
+Isabella's young heart contracted with a chill, yet she saw that he
+longed for her; she knew, could not deny, that she had bound herself to
+him body and soul, and yet--yet, she would so gladly have loved him.
+
+She strove to speak, but could find no words, save "Ulrich, Ulrich," and
+these did not sound gay and joyous, but confused and questioning.
+
+Coello felt her fingers press his shoulder closer and closer.  She was
+surely seeking protection and aid from him, to keep her promise and
+resist her lover's passionate appeal.
+
+Now his darling's eyes filled with tears, and he felt the tremor of her
+limbs.
+
+Softened by affectionate weakness and no longer able to resist the
+impulse to see his little Belita happy, he whispered:
+
+"Poor thing, poor young lovers!  Do as you choose, I won't look."
+
+But Isabella did not leave him; she only drew herself up higher, summoned
+all her courage and looking the returned traveller more steadily in the
+face, said:
+
+"You are so changed, so entirely changed, Ulrich I cannot tell what has
+come over me.  I have anticipated this hour day and night, and now it is
+here;--what is this?  What has placed itself between us?"
+
+"What, indeed!"  he indignantly exclaimed, advancing towards her with a
+threatening air.  "What?  Surely you must know!  Your mother has destroyed
+your regard for the poor bungler.  Here I stand!  Have I kept my promise,
+yes or no?  Have I become a monster, a venomous serpent?  Do not look at
+me so again, do not!  It will do no good; to you or me.  I will not allow
+myself to be trifled with!"
+
+Ulrich had shouted these words, as if some great injustice had been done
+him, and he believed himself in the right.
+
+Coello tried to release himself from his daughter, to confront the
+passionately excited man, but she held him back, and with a pale face and
+trembling voice, but proud and resolute manner, answered:
+
+"No one has trifled with you, I least of all; my love has been earnest,
+sacred earnest."
+
+"Earnest!" interrupted Ulrich, with cutting irony.
+
+"Yes, yes, sacred earnest;--and when my mother told me you had killed a
+man and left Venice for a worthless woman's sake, when it was rumored,
+that in Ferrara you had become a gambler, I thought: 'I know him better,
+they are slandering him to destroy the love you bear in your heart.'
+I did not believe it; but now I do.  I believe it, and shall do so, till
+you have withstood your trial.  For the gambler I am too good, to the
+artist Navarrete I will joyfully keep my promise.  Not a word, I will
+hear no more.  Come, father!  If he loves me, he will understand how to
+win me.  I am afraid of this man."
+
+Ulrich now knew who was in fault, and who in the right.  Strong impulse
+urged him away from the studio, away from Art and his betrothed bride;
+for he had forfeited all the best things in life.
+
+But Coello barred his way.  He was not the man, for the sake of a brawl
+and luck at play, to break friendship with the faithful companion, who
+had shown distinctly enough how fondly he loved his darling.  He had
+hidden behind these bushes himself in his youth, and yet become a skilful
+artist and good husband.
+
+He willingly yielded to his wife in small matters, in important ones he
+meant to remain master of the house.  Herrera was a great scholar and
+artist, but an insignificant man; and he allowed himself to be paid
+like a bungler.  Ulrich's manly beauty had pleased him, and under his,
+Coello's teaching, he would make his mark.  He, the father knew better
+what suited Isabella than she herself.  Girls do not sob so bitterly as
+she had done, as soon as the door of the studio closed behind her, unless
+they are in love.
+
+Whence did she obtain this cool judgment?  Certainly not from him, far
+less from her mother.
+
+Perhaps she only wished to arouse Navarrete to do his best at the trial.
+Coello smiled; it was in his power to judge mildly.
+
+So he detained Ulrich with cheering words, and gave him a task in which
+he could probably succeed.  He was to paint a Madonna and Child, and two
+months were allowed him for the work.  There was a studio in the Casa del
+Campo, he could paint there and need only promise never to visit the
+Alcazar before the completion of the work.
+
+Ulrich consented.  Isabella must be his.  Scorn for scorn!
+
+She should learn which was the stronger.
+
+He knew not whether he loved or hated her, but her resistance had
+passionately inflamed his longing to call her his.  He was determined,
+by summoning all his powers, to create a masterpiece.  What Titian had
+approved must satisfy a Coello! so he began the task.
+
+A strong impulse urged him to sketch boldly and without long
+consideration, the picture of the Madonna, as it had once lived in his
+soul, but he restrained himself, repeating the warning words which had so
+often been dinned into his ears: Draw, draw!
+
+A female model was soon found; but instead of trusting his eyes and
+boldly reproducing what he beheld, he measured again and again, and
+effaced what the red pencil had finished.  While painting his courage
+rose, for the hair, flesh, and dress seemed to him to become true to
+nature and effective.  But he, who in better times had bound himself
+heart and soul to Art and served her with his whole soul, in this picture
+forced himself to a method of work, against which his inmost heart
+rebelled.  His model was beautiful, but he could read nothing in the
+regular features, except that they were fair, and the lifeless
+countenance became distasteful to him.  The boy too caused him great
+trouble, for he lacked appreciation of the charm of childish innocence,
+the spell of childish character.
+
+Meantime he felt great secret anxiety.  The impulse that moved his brush
+was no longer the divine pleasure in creation of former days, but dread
+of failure, and ardent, daily increasing love for Isabella.
+
+Weeks elapsed.
+
+Ulrich lived in the lonely little palace to which he had retired,
+avoiding all society, toiling early and late with restless, joyless
+industry, at a work which pleased him less with every new day.
+
+Don Juan of Austria sometimes met him in the park.  Once the Emperor's
+son called to him:
+
+"Well, Navarrete, how goes the enlisting?"
+
+But Ulrich would not abandon his art, though he had long doubted its
+omnipotence.  The nearer the second month approached its close, the more
+frequently, the more fervently he called upon the "word," but it did not
+hear.
+
+When it grew dark, a strong impulse urged him to go to the city, seek
+brawls, and forget himself at the gaming-table; but he did not yield, and
+to escape the temptation, fled to the church, where he spent whole hours,
+till the sacristan put out the lights.
+
+He was not striving for communion with the highest things, he felt no
+humble desire for inward purification; far different motives influenced
+him.
+
+Inhaling the atmosphere laden with the soft music of the organ and the
+fragrant incense, he could converse with his beloved dead, as if they
+were actually present; the wayward man became a child, and felt all the
+gentle, tender emotions of his early youth again stir his heart.
+
+One night during the last week before the expiration of the allotted
+time, a thought which could not fail to lead him to his goal, darted into
+his brain like a revelation.
+
+A beautiful woman, with a child standing in her lap, adorned the canvas.
+
+What efforts he had made to lend these features the right expression.
+
+Memory should aid him to gain his purpose.  What woman had ever been
+fairer, more tender and loving than his own mother?
+
+He distinctly recalled her eyes and lips, and during the last few days
+remaining to him, his Madonna obtained Florette's joyous expression,
+while the sensual, alluring charm, that had been peculiar to the mouth of
+the musician's daughter, soon hovered around the Virgin's lips.
+
+Ay, this was a mother, this must be a true mother, for the picture
+resembled his own!
+
+The gloomier the mood that pervaded his own soul, the more sunny and
+bright the painting seemed.  He could not weary of gazing at it, for it
+transported him to the happiest hours of his childhood, and when the
+Madonna looked down upon him, it seemed as if he beheld the balsams
+behind the window of the smithy in the market-place, and again saw the
+Handsome nobles, who lifted him from his laughing mother's lap to set him
+on their shoulders.
+
+Yes! In this picture he had been aided by the "joyous art," in whose
+honor Paolo Veronese, had at one of Titian's banquets, started up,
+drained a glass of wine to the dregs, and hurled it through the window
+into the canal.
+
+He believed himself sure of success, and could no longer cherish anger
+against Isabella.  She had led him back into the right path, and it would
+be sweet, rapturously sweet, to bear the beloved maiden tenderly and
+gently in his strong arms over the rough places of life.
+
+One morning, according to the agreement, he notified Coello that the
+Madonna was completed.
+
+The Spanish artist appeared at noon, but did not come alone, and the man,
+who preceded him, was no less important a personage than the king
+himself.
+
+With throbbing heart, unable to utter a single word, Ulrich opened the
+door of the studio, bowing low before the monarch, who without
+vouchsafing him a single glance, walked solemnly to the painting.
+
+Coello drew aside the cloth that covered it, and the sarcastic chuckle
+Ulrich had so often heard instantly echoed from the king's lips; then
+turning to Coello he angrily exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by the
+young artist:
+
+"Scandalous!  Insulting, offensive botchwork!  A Bacchante in the garb
+of a Madonna!  And the child! Look at those legs!  When he grows up, he
+may become a dancing-master.  He who paints such Madonnas should drop his
+colors!  His place is the stable--among refractory horses."
+
+Coello could make no reply, but the king, glancing at the picture again,
+cried wrathfully:
+
+"A Christian's work, a Christian's!  What does the reptile who painted
+this know of the mother, the Virgin, the stainless lily, the thornless
+rose, the path by which God came to men, the mother of sorrow, who bought
+the world with her tears, as Christ did with His sacred blood.  I have
+seen enough, more than enough!  Escovedo is waiting for me outside!  We
+will discuss the triumphal arch to-morrow!"
+
+Philip left the studio, the court-artist accompanying him to the door.
+
+When he returned, the unhappy youth was still standing in the same place,
+gazing, panting for breath, at his condemned work.
+
+"Poor fellow!"  said Coello, compassionately, approaching him; but Ulrich
+interrupted, gasping in broken accents:
+
+"And you, you?  Your verdict!"
+
+The other shrugged his shoulders and answered with sincere pity:
+
+"His Majesty is not indulgent; but come here and look yourself.  I will
+not speak of the child, though it....  In God's name, let us leave it as
+it is.  The picture impresses me as it did the king, and the Madonna--
+I grieve to say it, she belongs anywhere rather than in Heaven.  How
+often this subject is painted!  If Meister Antonio, if Moor should see
+this...."
+
+"Then, then?" asked Ulrich, his eyes glowing with a gloomy fire.
+
+"He would compel you to begin at the beginning once more.  I am sincerely
+sorry for you, and not less so for poor Belita.  My wife will triumph!
+You know I have always upheld your cause; but this luckless work..."
+
+"Enough!" interrupted the youth.  Rushing to the picture, he thrust his
+maul-stick through it, then kicked easel and painting to the floor.
+
+Coello, shaking his head, watched him, and tried to soothe him with
+kindly words, but Ulrich paid no heed, exclaiming:
+
+"It is all over with art, all over.  A Dios, Master!  Your daughter does
+not care for love without art, and art and I have nothing more to do with
+each other."
+
+At the door he paused, strove to regain his self-control, and at last
+held out his hand to Coello, who was gazing sorrowfully after him.
+
+The artist gladly extended his, and Ulrich, pressing it warmly, murmured
+in an agitated, trembling voice:
+
+"Forgive this raving....It is only....I only feel, as if I was bearing
+all that had been dear to me to the grave.  Thanks, Master, thanks for
+many kindnesses.  I am, I have--my heart--my brain, everything is
+confused.  I only know that you, that Isabella, have been kind to me.
+and I, I have--it will kill me yet!  Good fortune gone!  Art gone!  A
+Dios, treacherous world!  A Dios, divine art!"
+
+As he uttered the last sentence he drew his hand from the artist's grasp,
+rushed back into the studio, and with streaming eyes pressed his lips to
+the palette, the handle of the brush, and his ruined picture; then he
+dashed past Coello into the street.
+
+The artist longed to go to his child; but the king detained him in the
+park.  At last he was permitted to return to the Alcazar.
+
+Isabella was waiting on the steps, before the door of their apartments.
+She had stood there a long, long time.
+
+"Father!" she called.
+
+Coello looked up sadly and gave an answer in the negative by
+compassionately waving his hand.
+
+The young girl shivered, as if a chill breeze had struck her, and when
+the artist stood beside her, she gazed enquiringly at him with her dark
+eyes, which looked larger than ever in the pallid, emaciated face, and
+said in a low, firm tone:
+
+"I want to speak to him.  You will take me to the picture.  I must see
+it."
+
+"He has thrust his maul-stick through it.  Believe me, child, you would
+have condemned it yourself."
+
+"And yet, yet!  I must see it," she answered earnestly, "see it with
+these eyes.  I feel, I know--he is an artist.  Wait, I'll get my
+mantilla."
+
+Isabella hurried back with flying feet, and when a short time after,
+wearing the black lace kerchief on her head, she descended the staircase
+by her father's side, the private secretary de Soto came towards them,
+exclaiming:
+
+"Do you want to hear the latest news,  Coello?  Your pupil Navarrete has
+become faithless to you and the noble art of painting.  Don Juan gave him
+the enlistment money fifteen minutes ago.  Better be a good trooper, than
+a mediocre artist!  What is the matter, Senorita?"
+
+"Nothing, nothing,"  Isabella murmured gently, and fell fainting on her
+father's breast.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+Two years had passed.  A beautiful October day was dawning; no cloud
+dimmed the azure sky, and the sun's disk rose, glowing crimson, behind
+the narrow strait, that afforded ingress to the Gulf of Corinth.
+
+The rippling waves of the placid sea, which here washed the sunny shores
+of Hellas, yonder the shady coasts of the Peloponnesus, glittered like
+fresh blooming blue-bottles.
+
+Bare, parched rocks rise in naked beauty at the north of the bay, and the
+rays of the young day-star shot golden threads through the light white
+mists, that floated around them.
+
+The coast of Morea faces the north; so dense shadows still rested on the
+stony olive-groves and the dark foliage of the pink laurel and oleander
+bushes, whose dense clumps followed the course of the stream and filled
+the ravines.
+
+How still, how pleasant it usually was here in the early morning!
+
+White sea-gulls hovered peacefully over the waves, a fishing-boat or
+galley glided gently along, making shining furrows in the blue mirror of
+the water; but today the waves curled under the burden of countless
+ships, to-day thousands of long oars lashed the sea, till the surges
+splashed high in the air with a wailing, clashing sound.  To-day there
+was a loud clanking, rattling, roaring on both sides of the water-gate,
+which afforded admittance to the Bay of Lepanto.
+
+The roaring and shouting reverberated in mighty echoes from the bare
+northern cliffs, but were subdued by the densely wooded southern shore.
+
+Two vast bodies of furious foes confronted each other like wrestlers, who
+stretch their sinewy arms to grasp and hurl their opponents to the
+ground.
+
+Pope Pius the Fifth had summoned Christianity to resist the land-
+devouring power of the Ottomans.  Cyprus, Christian Cyprus, the last
+province Venice possessed in the Levant, had fallen into the hands of the
+Moslems.  Spain and Venice had formed an alliance with Christ's
+vicegerent; Genoese, other Italians, and the Knights of St. John were
+assembling in Messina to aid the league.
+
+The finest and largest Christian armada, which had left a Christian port
+for a long time, put forth to sea from this harbor.  In spite of all
+intrigues, King Philip had entrusted the chief command to his young half-
+brother, Don Juan of Austria.
+
+The Ottomans too had not been idle, and with twelve myriads of soldiers
+on three hundred ships, awaited the foe in the Gulf of Lepanto.
+
+Don Juan made no delay.  The Moslems had recently murdered thousands of
+Christians at Cyprus, an outrage the fiery hero could not endure, so he
+cast to the winds the warnings and letters of counsel from Madrid, which
+sought to curb his impetuous energy, his troops, especially the
+Venetians, were longing for vengeance.
+
+But the Moslems were no less eager for the fray, and at the close of his
+council-of-war, and contrary to its decision, Kapudan Pacha sailed to
+meet the enemy.
+
+On the morning of October 7th every ship, every man was ready for battle.
+
+The sun appeared, and from the Spanish ships musical bell-notes rose
+towards heaven, blending with the echoing chant: "Allahu akbar, allahu
+akbar, allahu akbar," and the devout words: "There is no God save Allah,
+and Mohammed is the prophet of Allah; to prayer!"
+
+"To prayer!"  The iron tongue of the bell uttered the summons, as well
+as the resonant voice of the Muezzin, who to-day did not call the
+worshippers to devotion from the top of a minaret, but from the masthead
+of a ship.  On both sides of the narrow seagate, thousands of Moslems and
+Christians thought, hoped and believed, that the Omnipotent One heard
+them.
+
+The bells and chanting died away, and a swift galley with Don Juan on
+board, moved from ship to ship.  The young hero, holding a crucifix in
+his hand, shouted encouraging words to the Christian soldiers.
+
+The blare of trumpets, roll of drums, and shouts of command echoed from
+the rocky shores.
+
+The armada moved forward, the admiral's galley, with Don Juan, at its
+head.
+
+The Turkish fleet advanced to meet it.
+
+The young lion no longer asked the wise counsel of the experienced
+admiral.  He desired nothing, thought of nothing, issued no orders,
+except "forward," "attack," "board," "kill," "sink," "destroy!"
+
+The hostile fleets clashed into the fight as bulls, bellowing sullenly,
+rush upon each other with lowered heads and bloodshot eyes.
+
+Who, on this day of vengeance, thought of Marco Antonio Colonna's plan of
+battle, or the wise counsels of Doria, Venieri, Giustiniani?
+
+Not the clear brain and keen eye--but manly courage and strength would
+turn the scale to-day.  Alexander Farnese, Prince of Parma, had joined
+his young uncle a short time before, and now commanded a squadron of
+Genoese ships in the front.  He was to keep back till Doria ordered him
+to enter the battle.  But Don Juan had already boarded the vessel
+commanded by the Turkish admiral, scaled the deck, and with a heavy
+sword-stroke felled Kapudan Pacha.  Alexander witnessed the scene, his
+impetuous, heroic courage bore him on, and he too ordered: "Forward!"
+
+What was the huge ship he was approaching?  The silver crescent decked
+its scarlet pennon, rows of cannon poured destruction from its sides, and
+its lofty deck was doubly defended by bearded wearers of the turban.
+
+It was the treasure-galley of the Ottoman fleet.  It would be a gallant
+achievement could the prince vanquish this bulwark, this stronghold of
+the foe; which was three times greater in size, strength, and number of
+its crew, than Farnese's vessel.  What did he care, what recked he of the
+shower of bullets and tar-hoops that awaited him?
+
+Up and at them.
+
+Doria made warning signals, but the prince paid no heed, he would neither
+see nor hear them.
+
+Brave soldiers fell bleeding and gasping on the deck beside him, his mast
+was split and came crashing down.  "Who'll follow me?"  he shouted,
+resting his hand on the bulwark.
+
+The tried Spanish warriors, with whom Don Juan had manned his vessel,
+hesitated.  Only one stepped mutely and resolutely to his side, flinging
+over his shoulder the two-handed sword, whose hilt nearly reached to the
+tall youth's eyes.
+
+Every one on board knew the fair-haired giant.  It was the favorite of
+the commander in chief--it was Navarrete, who in the war against the
+Moors of Cadiz and Baza had performed many an envied deed of valor.
+His arm seemed made of steel; he valued his life no more than one of the
+plumes in his helmet, and risked it in battle as recklessly as he did his
+zechins at the gaming-table.
+
+Here, as well as there, he remained the winner.
+
+No one knew exactly whence he came as he never mentioned his family,
+for he was a reserved, unsocial man; but on the voyage to Lepanto he had
+formed a friendship with a sick soldier, Don Miguel Cervantes.  The
+latter could tell marvellous tales, and had his own peculiar opinions
+about everything between heaven and earth.
+
+Navarrete, who carried his head as high as the proudest grandee, devoted
+every leisure hour to his suffering comrade, uniting the affection of a
+brother, with the duties of a servant.
+
+It was known that Navarrete had once been an artist, and he seemed one
+of the most fervent of the devout Castilians, for he entered every church
+and chapel the army passed, and remained standing a long, long time
+before many a Madonna and altar-painting as if spellbound.
+
+Even the boldest dared not attack him, for death hovered over his sword,
+yet his heart had not hardened.  He gave winnings and booty with lavish
+hand, and every beggar was sure of assistance.
+
+He avoided women, but sought the society of the sick and wounded, often
+watching all night beside the couch of some sorely-injured comrade, and
+this led to the rumor that he liked to witness death.
+
+Ah, no!  The heart of the proud, lonely man only sought a place where it
+might be permitted to soften; the soldier, bereft of love, needed some
+nook where he could exercise on others what was denied to himself:
+"devoted affection."
+
+Alexander Farnese recognized in Navarrete the horse-tamer of the picadero
+in Madrid; he nodded approvingly to him, and mounted the bulwark.  But
+the other did not follow instantly, for his friend Don Miguel had joined
+him, and asked to share the adventure.  Navarrete and the captain strove
+to dissuade the sick man, but the latter suddenly felt cured of his
+fever, and with flashing eyes insisted on having his own way.
+
+Ulrich did not wait for the end of the dispute, for Farnese was now
+springing into the hostile ship, and the former, with a bold leap,
+followed.
+
+Alexander, like himself, carried a two-Banded sword, and both swung them
+as mowers do their scythes.  They attacked, struck, felled, and the
+foremost foes shrank from the grim destroyers.  Mustapha Pacha, the
+treasurer and captain of the galley, advanced in person to confront the
+terrible Christians, and a sword-stroke from Alexander shattered the hand
+that held the curved sabre, a second stretched the Moslem on the deck.
+
+But the Turks' numbers were greatly superior and threatened to crush the
+heroes, when Don Miguel Cervantes, Ulrich's friend, appeared with twelve
+fresh soldiers on the scene of battle, and cut their way to the hard-
+pressed champions.  Other Spanish and Genoese warriors followed and the
+fray became still more furious.
+
+Ulrich had been forced far away from his royal companion-in-arms, and was
+now swinging his blade beside his invalid friend.  Don Miguel's breast
+was already bleeding from two wounds, and he now fell by Ulrich's side; a
+bullet had broken his left arm.
+
+Ulrich stooped and raised him; his men surrounded him, and the Turks were
+scattered, as the tempest sweeps clouds from the mountain.
+
+Don Miguel tried to lift the sword, which had dropped from his grasp, but
+he only clutched the empty air, and raising his large eyes as if in
+ecstasy, pressed his hand upon his bleeding breast, exclaiming
+enthusiastically: "Wounds are stars; they point the way to the heaven of
+fame-of-fame...."
+
+His senses failed, and Ulrich bore him in his strong aims to a part of
+the treasure-ship, which was held by Genoese soldiers.  Then he rushed
+into the fight again, while in his ears still rang his friend's fervid
+words:
+
+"The heaven of fame!"
+
+That was the last, the highest aim of man!  Fame, yes surely fame was the
+"word"; it should henceforth be his word!
+
+It seemed as if a gloomy multitude of heavy thunderclouds had gathered
+over the still, blue arm of the sea.  The stifling smoke of powder
+darkened the clear sky like black vapors, while flashes of lightning and
+peals of thunder constantly illumined and shook the dusky atmosphere.
+
+Here a magazine flew through the air, there one ascended with a fierce
+crash towards the sky.  Wails of pain and shouts of victory, the blare of
+trumpets, the crash of shattered ships and falling masts blended in
+hellish uproar.
+
+The sun's light was obscured, but the gigantic frames of huge burning
+galleys served for torches to light the combatants.
+
+When twilight closed in, the Christians had gained a decisive victory.
+Don Juan had killed the commander-in-chief of the Ottoman force, Ali
+Pacha, as Farnese hewed down the treasurer.  Uncle and nephew emerged
+from the battle as heroes worthy of renown, but the glory of this victory
+clung to Don Juan's name.
+
+Farnese's bold assault was kindly rebuked by the commander-in-chief,
+and when the former praised Navarrete's heroic aid before Don Juan, the
+general gave the bold warrior and gallant trooper, the honorable
+commission of bearing tidings of the victory to tile king.  Two galleys
+stood out to sea in a westerly direction at the same time: a Spanish one,
+bearing Don Juan's messenger, and a Venetian ship, conveying the courier
+of the Republic.
+
+The rowers of both vessels had much difficulty in forcing a way through
+the wreckage, broken masts and planks, the multitude of dead bodies and
+net work of cordage, which covered the surface of the water; but even
+amid these obstacles the race began.
+
+The wind and sea were equally favorable to both galleys; but the
+Venetians outstripped the Spaniards and dropped anchor at Alicante
+twenty-four hours before the latter.
+
+It was the rider's task, to make up for the time lost by the sailors.
+The messenger of the Republic was far in advance of the general's.
+Everywhere that Ulrich changed horses, displaying at short intervals the
+prophet's banner, which he was to deliver to the king as the fairest
+trophy of victory--it was inscribed with Allah's name twenty-eight
+thousand nine hundred times--he met rejoicing throngs, processions, and
+festal decorations.
+
+Don Juan's name echoed from the lips of men and women, girls and
+children.  This was fame, this was the omnipresence of a god; there could
+be no higher aspiration for him, who had obtained such honor.
+
+Fame, fame!  again echoed in Ulrich's soul; if there is a word, which
+raises a man above himself and implants his own being in that of millions
+of fellow-creatures, it is this.
+
+And now he urged one steed after another until it broke down, giving
+himself no rest even at night; half an hour's ride outside of Madrid he
+overtook the Venetian, and passed by him with a courteous greeting.
+
+The king was not in the capital, and he went on without delay to the
+Escurial.
+
+Covered with dust, splashed from head to foot with mud, bruised, tortured
+as if on the rack, he clung to the saddle, yet never ceased to use whip
+and spur, and would trust his message to no other horseman.
+
+Now the barren peaks of the Guadarrama mountains lay close before him,
+now he reached the first workshops, where iron was being forged for the
+gigantic palace in process of building.  How many chimneys smoked, how
+many hands were toiling for this edifice, which was to comprise a royal
+residence, a temple, a peerless library, a museum and a tomb.
+
+Numerous carts and sledges, on which blocks of light grey granite had
+been drawn hither, barred his way.  He rode around them at the peril of
+falling with his horse over a precipice, and now found himself before a
+labyrinth of scaffolds and free-stone, in the midst of a wild, grey,
+treeless mountain valley.  What kind of a man was this, who had chosen
+this desert for his home, in life as well as in death!  The Escurial
+suited King Philip, as King Philip suited the Escurial.  Here he felt
+most at ease, from here the royal spider ceaselessly entangled the world
+in his skilful nets.
+
+His majesty was attending vespers in the scarcely completed chapel.  The
+chief officer of the palace, Fray Antonio de Villacastin, seeing Ulrich
+slip from his horse, hastened to receive the tottering soldier's tidings,
+and led him to the church.
+
+The 'confiteor' had just commenced, but Fray Antonio motioned to the
+priests, who interrupted the Mass, and Ulrich, holding the prophet's
+standard high aloft, exclaimed: "An unparalleled victory!--Don Juan....
+October 7th....! at Lepanto--the Ottoman navy totally destroyed....!"
+
+Philip heard this great news and saw the standard, but seemed to have
+neither eyes nor ears; not a muscle in his face stirred, no movement
+betrayed that anything was passing in his mind.  Murmuring in a
+sarcastic, rather than a joyous tone: "Don Juan has dared much," he gave
+a sign, without opening the letter, to continue the Mass, remaining on
+his knees as if nothing had disturbed the sacred rite.
+
+The exhausted messenger sank into a pew and did not wake from his stupor,
+until the communion was over and the king had ordered a Te Deum for the
+victory of Lepanto.
+
+Then he rose, and as he came out of the pew a newly-married couple passed
+him, the architect, Herrera, and Isabella Coello, radiant in beauty.
+
+Ulrich clenched his fist, and the thought passed through his mind, that
+he would cast away good-fortune, art and fame as carelessly as soap-
+bubbles, if he could be in Herrera's place.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+What fame is--Ulrich was to learn!
+
+He saw in Messina the hero of Lepanto revered as a god.  Wherever the
+victor appeared, fair hands strewed flowers in his path, balconies and
+windows were decked with hangings, and exulting women and girls, joyous
+children and grave men enthusiastically shouted his name and flung
+laurel-wreaths and branches to him.  Messages, congratulations and gifts
+arrived from all the monarchs and great men of the world.
+
+When he saw the wonderful youth dash by, Ulrich marvelled that his steed
+did not put forth wings and soar away with him into the clouds.  But he
+too, Navarrete, had done his duty, and was to enjoy the sweetness of
+renown.  When he appeared on Don Juan's most refractory steed, among the
+last of the victor's train, he felt that he was not overlooked, and often
+heard people tell each other of his deeds.
+
+This made him raise his head, swelled his heart, urged him into new paths
+of fame.
+
+The commander-in-chief also longed to press forward, but found himself
+condemned to inactivity, while he saw the league dissolve, and the fruit
+of his victory wither.  King Philip's petty jealousy opposed his wishes,
+poisoned his hopes, and barred the realization of his dreams.
+
+Don Juan was satiated with fame.  "Power" was the food for which he
+longed.  The busy spider in the Escurial could not deprive him of the
+laurel, but his own "word," his highest ambition in life, his power, he
+would consent to share with no mortal man, not even his brother.
+
+"Laurels  are  withering leaves,  power is arable land," said Don Juan to
+Escovedo.
+
+It befits an emperor's son, thought Ulrich, to cherish such lofty wishes;
+to men of lower rank fame can remain the guiding star on life's pathway.
+
+The elite of the army was in the Netherlands; there he could find what he
+desired.
+
+Don Juan let him go, and when fame was the word, Ulrich had no cause to
+complain of its ill-will.
+
+He bore the standard of the proud "Castilian" regiment, and when strange
+troops met him as he entered a city, one man whispered to another: "That
+is Navarrete, who was in the van at every assault on Haarlem, who, when
+all fell back before Alkmaar, assailed the walls again, it was not his
+fault that they were forced to retreat....he turned the scale with his
+men on Mook-Heath....have you heard the story?  How, when struck by two
+bullets, he wrapped the banner around him, and fell with, and on it, upon
+the grass."
+
+And now, when with the rebellious army he had left the island of Schouwen
+behind him and was marching through Brabant, it was said:
+
+"Navarrete!  It was he, who led the way for the Spaniards with the
+standard on his head, when they waded through the sea that stormy night,
+to surprise Zierikzee."
+
+Whoever bore arms in the Netherlands knew his name; but the citizens also
+knew who he was, and clenched their fists when they spoke of him.
+
+On the battle-field, in the water, on the ice, in the breaches of their
+firm walls, in burning cities, in streets and alleys, in council-chambers
+and plundered homes, he had confronted them as a murderer and destroyer.
+Yet, though the word fame had long been embittered to him, the inhumanity
+which clung to his deeds had the least share in it.
+
+He was the servant of his monarch, nothing more.  All who bore the name
+of Netherlander were to him rebels and heretics, condemned by God,
+sentenced by his king; not worthy peasants, skilful, industrious
+citizens, noble men, who were risking property and life for religion and
+liberty.
+
+This impish crew disdained to pray to the merciful mother of God and the
+saints, these temple violaters had robbed the churches of their statues,
+driven the pious monks and nuns from their cloisters!  They called the
+Pope the Anti-Christ, and in every conquered city he found satirical
+songs and jeering verses about his lord, the king, his generals and all
+Spaniards.
+
+He had kept the faith of his childhood, which was shared by every
+one who bore arms with him, and had easily obtained absolution, nay,
+encouragement and praise, for the most terrible deeds of blood.
+
+In battle, in slaughter, when his wounds burned, in plundering, at the
+gaming-table, everywhere he called upon the Holy Virgin, and also, but
+very rarely, on the "word," fame.
+
+He no longer believed in it, for it did not realize what he had
+anticipated.  The laurel now rustled on his curls like withered
+leaves.  Fame would not fill the void in his heart, failed to satisfy
+his discontented mind; power offered the lonely man no companionship of
+the soul, it could not even silence the voice which upbraided him--the
+unapproachable champion, him at whom no mortal dared to look askance--
+with being a miserable fool, defrauded of true happiness and the right
+ambition.
+
+This voice tortured him on the soft down beds in the town, on the straw
+in the camp, over his wine and on the march.
+
+Yet how many envied him.  Ay! when he bore the standard at the head of
+the regiment he marched like a victorious demi-god!  No one else could
+support so well as he the heavy pole, plated with gold, and the large
+embroidered silken banner, which might have served as a sail for a
+stately ship; but he held the staff with his right hand, as if the burden
+intrusted to him was an easily-managed toy.  Meantime, with inimitable
+solemnity, he threw back the upper portion of the body and his curly
+head, placing his left hand on his hip.  The arch of the broad chest
+stood forth in fine relief, and with it the breast-plate and points of
+his armor.  He seemed like a proud ship under swelling sails, and even in
+hostile cities, read admiration in the glances of the gaping crowd.  Yet
+he was a miserable, discontented man, and could not help thinking more
+and more frequently of Don Juan's "word."
+
+He no longer trusted to the magic power of a word, as in former times.
+Still, he told himself that the "arable field" of the emperor's son,
+"power," was some thing lofty and great-ay, the loftiest aim a man could
+hope to attain.
+
+Is not omnipotence God's first attribute?  And now, on the march from
+Schouwen through Brabant, power beckoned to him.  He had already tasted
+it, when the mutinous army to which he belonged attempted to pillage a
+smithy.  He had stepped before the spoilers and saved the artisan's life
+and property.  Whoever swung the hammer before the bellows was sacred to
+him; he had formerly shared gains and booty with many a plundered member
+of his father's craft.
+
+He now carried a captain's staff, but this was mere mummery, child's
+play, nothing more.  A merry soldier's-cook wore a captain's plume on the
+side of his tall hat.  The field-officer, most of the captains and the
+lieutenants, had retired after the great mutiny on the island of Schouwen
+was accomplished, and their places were now occupied by ensigns,
+sergeants and quartermasters.  The higher officers had gone to Brussels,
+and the mutinous army marched without any chief through Brabant.
+
+They had not received their well-earned pay for twenty-two months, and
+the starving regiments now sought means of support wherever they could
+find them.
+
+Two years since, after the battle of Mook-Heath, the army had helped
+itself, and at that time, as often happened on similar occasions, an
+Eletto--[The chosen one.  The Italian form is used, instead of the
+Spanish 'electo'.]--had been chosen from among the rebellious subaltern
+officers.  Ulrich had then been lying seriously wounded, but after the
+end of the mutiny was told by many, that no other would have been made
+Eletto had he only been well and present.  Now an Eletto was again to be
+chosen, and whoever was elected would have command of at least three
+thousand men, and possibly more, as it was expected that other regiments
+would join the insurrection.  To command an army!  This was power, this
+was the highest attainment; it was worth risking life to obtain it.
+
+The regiments pitched their camp at Herenthals, and here the election was
+to be held.
+
+In the arrangement of the tents, the distribution of the wagons which
+surrounded the camp like a wall, the stationing of field-pieces at the
+least protected places, Ulrich had the most authority, and while
+exercising it forced himself, for the first time in his life, to appear
+gentle and yielding, when he would far rather have uttered words of
+command.  He lived in a state of feverish excitement; sleep deserted his
+couch, he imagined that every word he heard referred to himself and his
+election.
+
+During these days he learned to smile when he was angry, to speak
+pleasantly while curses were burning on his lips.  He was careful not to
+betray by look, word, or deed what was passing in his mind, as he feared
+the ridicule that would ensue should he fail to achieve his purpose.
+
+One more day, one more night, and perhaps he would be commander-in-chief,
+able to conquer a kingdom and keep the world in terror.  Perhaps, only
+perhaps; for another was seeking with dangerous means to obtain control
+of the army.
+
+This was Sergeant-Major and Quartermaster Zorrillo, an excellent and
+popular soldier, who had been chosen Eletto after the battle of Mook-
+Heath, but voluntarily resigned his office at the first serious
+opposition he encountered.
+
+It was said that he had done this by his wife's counsel, and this woman
+was Ulrich's most dangerous foe.
+
+Zorrillo belonged to another regiment, but Ulrich had long known him and
+his companion, the "campsibyl."
+
+Wine was sold in the quartermaster's tent, which, before the outbreak of
+the mutiny, had been the rendezvous of the officers and chaplains.
+
+The sibyl entertained the officers with her gay conversation, while they
+drank or sat at the gaining-table; she probably owed her name to the
+skill she displayed in telling fortunes by cards.  The common soldiers
+liked her too, because she took care of their sick wives and children.
+
+Navarrete preferred to spend his time in his own regiment, so he did not
+meet the Zorrillos often until the mutiny at Schouwen and on the march
+through Brabant.  He had never sought, and now avoided them; for he knew
+the sibyl was leaving no means untried to secure her partner's election.
+Therefore he disliked them; yet he could not help occasionally entering
+their tent, for the leaders of the mutiny held their counsels there.
+Zorrillo always received him courteously; but his companion gazed at him
+so intently and searchingly, that an anxious feeling, very unusual to the
+bold fellow, stole over him.
+
+He could not help asking himself whether he had seen her before, and when
+the thought that she perhaps resembled his mother, once entered his mind,
+he angrily rejected it.
+
+The day before she had offered to tell his fortune; but he refused point-
+blank, for surely no good tidings could come to him from those lips.
+
+To-day she had asked what his Christian name was, and for the first time
+in years he remembered that he was also called "Ulrich."  Now he was
+nothing but "Navarrete," to himself and others.  He lived solely for
+himself, and the more reserved a man is, the more easily his Christian
+name is lost to him.
+
+As, years before, he had told the master that he was called nothing but
+Ulrich, he now gave the harsh answer: "I am Navarrete, that's enough!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+Towards evening, the members of the mutiny met at the Zorrillos to hold a
+council.
+
+The weather outside was hot and sultry, and the more people assembled,
+the heavier and more oppressive became the air within the spacious tent,
+the interior of which looked plain enough, for its whole furniture
+consisted of some small roughly-made tables, some benches and chairs, and
+one large table, and a superb ebony chest with ivory ornaments, evidently
+stolen property.  On this work of art lay the pillows used at night,
+booty obtained at Haarlem; they were covered with bright but worn-out
+silk, which had long shown the need of the thrifty touch of a woman's
+hand.  Pictures of the saints were pasted on the walls, and a crucifix
+hung over the door.
+
+Behind the great table, between a basket and the wine cask, from which
+the sibyl replenished the mugs, stood a high-backed chair.  A coarse
+barmaid, who had grown up in the camp, served the assembled men, but she
+had no occasion to hurry, for the Spaniards were slow drinkers.
+
+The guests sat, closely crowded together, in a circle, and seemed grave
+and taciturn; but their words sounded passionate, imperious, defiant, and
+the speakers often struck their coats of mail with their clenched fists,
+or pounded on the floor with their swords.
+
+If there was any difference of opinion, the disputants flew into a
+furious rage, and then a chorus of fierce, blustering voices rose like a
+tenfold echo.  It often seemed as if the next instant swords must fly
+from their sheaths and a bloody brawl begin; but Zorrillo, who had been
+chosen to preside over the meeting, only needed to raise his baton and
+command order, to transform the roar into a low muttering; the weather-
+beaten, scarred, pitiless soldiers, even when mutineers, yielded willing
+obedience to the word of command and the iron constraint of discipline.
+
+On the sea and at Schouwen their splendid costumes had obtained a
+beggarly appearance.  The velvet and brocade extorted from the rich
+citizens of Antwerp, now hung tattered and faded around their sinewy
+limbs.  They looked like foot-pads, vagabonds, pirates, yet sat, as
+military custom required, exactly in the order of their rank; on the
+march and in the camp, every insurgent willingly obeyed the orders of
+the new leader, who by the fortune of war had thrown pairs-royal on the
+drumhead.
+
+One thing was certain: some decisive action must be taken.  Every one
+needed doublets and shoes, money and good lodgings.  But in what way
+could these be most easily procured?  By parleying and submitting on
+acceptable conditions, said some; by remaining free and capturing a city,
+roared others; first wealthy Mechlin, which could be speedily reached.
+There they could get what they wanted without money.  Zorrillo
+counselled  prudent  conduct;  Navarrete impetuously advised bold action.
+They, the insurgents, he cried, were stronger than any other military
+force in the Netherlands, and need fear no one.  If they begged and
+entreated they would be dismissed with copper coins; but if they enforced
+their demands they would become rich and prosperous.
+
+With flashing eyes he extolled what the troops, and he himself had done;
+he enlarged upon the hardships they had borne, the victories won for the
+king.  He asked nothing but good pay for blood and toil, good pay, not
+coppers and worthless promises.
+
+Loud shouts of approval followed his speech, and a gunner, who now held
+the rank of captain, exclaimed enthusiastically:
+
+"Navarrete, the hero of Lepanto and Haarlem, is right!  I know whom I
+will choose."
+
+"Victor, victor Navarrete!"  echoed from many a bearded lilt.
+
+But Zorrillo interrupted these declarations, exclaiming, not without
+dignity, while raising his baton still higher.  "The election will take
+place to-morrow, gentlemen; we are holding a council to-day.  It is very
+warm in here; I feel it as much as you do.  But before we separate,
+listen a few minutes to a man, who means well."  Zorrillo now explained
+all the reasons, which induced him to counsel negotiations and a friendly
+agreement with the commander-in-chief.  There was sound, statesmanlike
+logic in his words, yet his language did not lack warmth and charm.  The
+men perceived that he was in earnest, and while he spoke the sibyl went
+behind him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and wiped the perspiration
+from his brow with her handkerchief.  Zorrillo permitted it, and without
+interrupting himself, gave her a grateful, affectionate glance.
+
+The bronzed warriors liked to look at her, and even permitted her to
+utter a word of advice or warning during their discussions, for she was a
+wise woman, not one of the ordinary stamp.  Her blue eyes sparkled with
+intelligence and mirth, her full lips seemed formed for quick, gay
+repartee, she was always kind and cheer ful in her manner even to the
+most insignificant.  But whence came the deep lines about her red mouth
+and the outer corners of her eyes?  She covered them with rouge every
+day, to conceal the evidence of the sorrowful hours she spent when alone?
+The lines were well disguised, yet they increased, and year by year grew
+deeper.
+
+No wrinkle had yet dared to appear on the narrow forehead; and the
+delicate features, dazzlingly-white teeth, girlish figure, and winning
+smile lent this woman a youthful aspect.  She might be thirty, or perhaps
+even past forty.
+
+A pleasure made her younger by ten summers, a vexation transformed her
+into a matron.  The snow white hair, carefully arranged on her forehead,
+seemed to indicate somewhat advanced age; but it was known that it had
+turned grey in a few days and nights, eight years before, when a
+discontented blackguard stabbed the quartermaster, and he lay for weeks
+at the point of death.
+
+This white hair harmonized admirably with the red cheeks of the camp-
+sibyl, who appreciating the fact, did not dye it.
+
+During Zorrillo's speech her eyes more than once rested on Ulrich with a
+strangely intense expression.  As soon as he paused, she went back again
+behind the table to the crying child, to cradle it in her arms.
+
+Zorrillo--perceiving that a new and violent argument was about to break
+forth among the men--closed the meeting.  Before adjourning, however, it
+was unanimously decided that the election should be held on the morrow.
+
+While the soldiers noisily rose, some shaking hands with Zorrillo, some
+with Navarrete, the stately sergeant-major of a German lansquenet troop,
+which was stationed in Antwerp, and did not belong to the insurgents,
+entered the wide open door of the tent.  His dress was gay and in good
+order; a fine Dalmatian dog followed him.
+
+A thunder-storm had begun, and it was raining violently.  Some of the
+Spaniards were twisting their rosaries, and repeating prayers, but
+neither thunder, lightning, nor water seemed to have destroyed the
+German's good temper, for he shook the drops from his plumed hat with a
+merry "phew," gaily introducing himself to his comrades as an envoy from
+the Pollviller regiment.
+
+His companions, he said, were not disinclined to join the "free army"--
+he had come to ask how the masters of Schouwen fared.
+
+Zorrillo offered the sergeant-major a chair, and after the latter had
+raised and emptied two beakers from the barmaid's pewter waiter in quick
+succession, he glanced around the circle of his rebel comrades.  Some he
+had met before in various countries, and shook hands with them.  Then he
+fixed his eyes on Ulrich, pondering where and under what standard he had
+seen this magnificent, fair-haired warrior.
+
+Navarrete recognizing the merry lansquenet, Hans Eitelfritz of Colln on
+the Spree, held out his hand, and cried in the Spanish language, which
+the lansquenet had also used:
+
+"You are Hans Eitelfritz!  Do you remember Christmas in the Black Forest,
+Master Moor, and the Alcazar in Madrid?"
+
+"Ulrich, young  Master Ulrich!  Heavens and earth!"  cried Eitelfritz;--
+but suddenly interrupted himself; for the sibyl, who had risen from the
+table to bring the envoy, with her own hands, a larger goblet of wine,
+dropped the beaker close beside him.
+
+Zorrillo and he hastily sprung to support the tottering woman, who was
+almost fainting.  But she recovered herself, waving them back with a mute
+gesture.
+
+All eyes were fixed upon her, and every one was startled; for she stood
+as if benumbed, her bright, youthful face had suddenly become aged and
+haggard.  "What is the matter?"  asked Zorrillo anxiously.  Recovering
+her self-control, she answered hastily "The thunder, the storm...."
+
+Then, with short, light steps, she went back to the table, and as she
+resumed her seat the bell for evening prayers was heard outside.
+
+Most of the company rose to obey the summons.
+
+"Good-bye till to-morrow morning, Sergeant!  The election will take place
+early to-morrow."
+
+"A Dios, a Dios, hasta mas ver, Sibila, a Dios!"  was loudly shouted, and
+soon most of the guests had left the tent.
+
+Those who remained behind were scattered among the different tables.
+Ulrich sat at one alone with Hans Eitelfritz.
+
+The lansquenet had declined Zorrillo's invitation to join him; an old
+friend from Madrid was present, with whom he wished to talk over happier
+days.  The other willingly assented; for what he had intended to say to
+his companions was against Ulrich and his views.  The longer the
+sergeant-major detained him the better.  Everything that recalled Master
+Moor was dear to Ulrich, and as soon as he was alone with Hans
+Eitelfritz, he again greeted him in a strange mixture of Spanish and
+German.  He had forgotten his home, but still retained a partial
+recollection of his native language.  Every one supposed him to be a
+Spaniard, and he himself felt as if he were one.
+
+Hans Eitelfritz had much to tell Ulrich; he had often met Moor in
+Antwerp, and been kindly received in his studio.
+
+What pleasure it afforded Navarrete to hear from the noble artist, how he
+enjoyed being able to speak German again after so many years, difficult
+as it was.  It seemed as if a crust melted away from his heart, and none
+of those present had ever seen him so gay, so full of youthful vivacity.
+Only one person knew that he could laugh and play noisily, and this one
+was the beautiful woman at the long table, who knew not whether she
+should die of joy, or sink into the earth with shame.
+
+She had taken the year old infant from the basket.  It was a pale, puny
+little creature, whose father had fallen in battle, and whose mother had
+deserted it.
+
+The handsome standard-bearer yonder was called Ulrich!  He must be her
+son!  Alas, and she could only cast stolen glances at him, listen by
+stealth to the German words that fell from the beloved lips.  Nothing
+escaped her notice, yet while looking and listening, her thoughts
+wandered to a far distant country, long vanished days; beside the bearded
+giant she saw a beautiful, curly-haired child; besides the man's deep
+voice she heard clear, sweet childish tones, that called her "mother" and
+rang out in joyous, silvery laughter.
+
+The pale child in her arms often raised its little hand to its cheek,
+which was wet with the tears of the woman; who tended it.  How hard, how
+unspeakably, terribly hard it was for this woman, with the youthful face
+and white locks, to remain quiet!  How she longed to start up and call
+joyously to the child, the man, her lover's enemy, but her own, own
+Ulrich:
+
+"Look at me, look at me!  I am your mother.  You are mine!  Come, come to
+my heart!  I will never leave you more!"
+
+Ulrich now laughed heartily again, not suspecting what was passing in a
+mother's heart, close beside him; he had no eyes for her, and only
+listened to the jests of the German lansquenet, with whom he drained
+beaker after beaker.
+
+The strange child served as a shield to protect the camp-sibyl from her
+son's eyes, and also to conceal from him that she was watching,
+listening, weeping.  Eitelfritz talked most and made one joke after
+another; but she did not laugh, and only wished he would stop and let
+Ulrich speak, that she might be permitted to hear his voice again.
+
+"Give the dog Lelaps a little corner of the settle," cried Hans
+Eitelfritz.  "He'll get his feet wet on the damp floor--for the rain is
+trickling in--and take cold.  This choice fellow isn't like ordinary
+dogs."
+
+"Do you call the tiger Lelaps?"  asked Ulrich.  "An odd name."
+
+"I got him from a student at Tubingen, dainty Junker Fritz of Hallberg,
+in exchange for an elephant's tusk I obtained in the Levant, and he owes
+his name to the merry rogue.  I tell you, he's wiser than many learned
+men; he ought to be called Doctor Lelaps."
+
+"He's a pretty creature."
+
+"Pretty!  More, far more!  For instance, at Naples we had the famous
+Mortadella sausage for breakfast, and being engaged in eager
+conversation, I forgot him.  What did my Lelaps do?  He slipped quietly
+into the garden, returned with a bunch of forget-me-nots in his mouth,
+and offered it to me, as a gallant presents a bouquet to his fair one.
+That meant: dogs liked sausage too, and it was not seemly to forget him.
+What do you say to that show of sense?"
+
+"I think your imagination more remarkable than the dog's sagacity."
+
+"You believed in my good fortune in the old days, do you now doubt this
+true story?"
+
+"To be sure, that is rather preposterous, for whoever loyally and
+faithfully trusts good-fortune--your good fortune--is ill-advised.  Have
+you composed any new songs?"
+
+"'That is all over now!"  sighed the trooper.  "See this scar!  Since an
+infidel dog cleft my skull before Tunis, I can write no more verses; yet
+it hasn't grown quiet in my upper story on that account.  I lie now,
+instead of composing.  My boon companions enjoy the nonsensical trash,
+when I pour it forth at the tavern."
+
+"And the broken skull: is that a forget-me-not story too, or was it...."
+
+"Look here!  It's the actual truth.  It was a bad blow, but there's a
+grain of good in everything evil.  For instance, we were in the African
+desert just dying of thirst, for that belongs to the desert as much as
+the dot does to the letter i.  Lelaps yonder was with me, and scented a
+spring.  Then it was necessary to dig, but I had neither spade nor
+hatchet, so I took out the loose part of the skull, it was a hard piece
+of bone, and dug with it till the water gushed out of the sand, then I
+drank out of my brain-pan as if it were a goblet."
+
+"Man, man!"  exclaimed Ulrich, striking his clenched fist on the table.
+
+"Do you suppose a dog can't scent a spring?"  asked Eitelfritz, with
+comical wrath.  "Lelaps here was born in Africa, the native land of
+tigers, and his mother...."
+
+"I thought you got him in Tubingen?"
+
+"I said just now that I tell lies.  I imposed upon you, when I made you
+think Lelaps came from Swabia; he was really born in the desert, where
+the tigers live.
+
+"No offence, Herr Ulrich!  We'll keep our jests for another evening.  As
+soon as I'm knocked down, I stop my nonsense.  Now tell me, where shall I
+find Navarrete, the standard-bearer, the hero of Lepanto and Schouwen?
+He must be a bold fellow; they say Zorrillo and he...."
+
+The lansquenet had spoken loudly; the quartermaster, who caught the name
+Navarrete, turned, and his eyes met Ulrich's.
+
+He must be on his guard against this man.
+
+The instant Zorrillo recognized him as a German, he would hold a powerful
+weapon.  The Spaniards would give the command only to a Spaniard.
+
+This thought now occurred to him for the first time.  It had needed the
+meeting with Hans Eitelfritz, to remind him that he belonged to a
+different nation from his comrades.  Here was a danger to be encountered,
+so with the rapid decision, acquired in the school of war, he laid his
+hand heavily on his countryman's, saying in a low, impressive tone: "You
+are my friend, Hans Eitelfritz, and have no wish to injure me."
+
+"Zounds, no!  What's up?"
+
+"Well then, keep to yourself where and how we first met each other.
+Don't interrupt me.  I'll tell you later in my tent, where you must take
+up your quarters, how I gained my name, and what I have experienced in
+life.  Don't show your surprise, and keep calm.  I, Ulrich, the boy from
+the Black Forest, am the man you seek, I am Navarrete."
+
+"You?"  asked the lansquenet, opening his eyes in amazement.  "Nonsense!
+You're paying me off for the yarns I told you just now."
+
+No, Hans Eitelfritz, no!  I am not jesting, I mean it.  I am Navarrete!
+Nay more!  If you keep your mouth shut, and the devil doesn't put his
+finger into the pie, I think, spite of all the Zorrillos, I shall be
+Eletto to-morrow.
+
+"You know the Spanish temper!  The German Ulrich will be a very different
+person to them from the Castilian Navarrete.  It is in your power to
+spoil my chance."
+
+The other interrupted him by a peal of loud, joyous laughter, then
+shouted to the dog: "Up, Lelaps!  My respects to Caballero Navarrete."
+
+The Spaniards frowned, for they thought the German was drunk, but Hans
+Eitelfritz needed more liquor than that to upset his sobriety.
+
+Flashing a mischievous glance at Ulrich from his bright eyes, he
+whispered: "If necessary, I too can be silent.  You man without a
+country!  You soldier of fortune!  A Swabian the commander of these
+stiffnecked braggarts.  Now see how I'll help you."
+
+"What do you mean to do?" asked Ulrich; but Hans Eitelfritz had already
+raised the huge goblet, banging it down again so violently that the table
+shook.  Then he struck the top with his clenched fist, and when the
+Spaniards fixed their eyes on him, shouted in their language: "Yes,
+indeed, it was delightful in those days, Caballero Navarrete.  Your
+uncle, the noble Conde in what's its name, that place in Castile, you
+know, and the Condesa and Condesilla.  Splendid people!  Do you remember
+the coal-black horses with snow-white tails in your father's stable, and
+the old servant Enrique.  There wasn't a longer nose than his in all
+Castile!  Once, when I was in Burgos, I saw a queer, longish shadow
+coming round a street corner, and two minutes after, first a nose and
+then old Enrique appeared."
+
+"Yes, yes," replied Ulrich, guessing the lansquenet's purpose.  "But it
+has grown late while we've been gossiping; let us go!"
+
+The woman at the table had not heard the whispers exchanged between the
+two men; but she guessed the object of the lansquenet's loud words.  As
+the latter slowly rose, she laid the child in the basket, drew a long
+breath, pressed her fingers tightly upon her eyes for a short time, and
+then went directly up to her son.
+
+Florette did not know herself, whether she owed the name of sibyl to her
+skill in telling fortunes by cards, or to her wise counsel.  Twelve years
+before, while still sharing the tent of the Walloon captain Grandgagnage,
+it had been given her, she could not say how or by whom.  The fortune-
+telling she had learned from a sea-captain's widow, with whom she had
+lodged a long time.
+
+When her voice grew sharp and weaker, in order to retain consideration
+and make herself important, she devoted herself to predicting the future;
+her versatile mind, her ambition, and the knowledge of human-nature
+gained in the camp and during her wanderings from land to land, aided
+her to acquire remarkable skill in this strange pursuit.
+
+Officers of the highest rank had sat opposite to her cards, listening to
+her oracular sayings, and Zorrillo, the man who had now been her lover
+for ten years, owed it to her influence, that he did not lose his
+position as quartermaster after the last mutiny.
+
+Hans Eitelfritz had heard of her skill and when, as he was leaving, she
+approached and offered to question the cards for him, he would not allow
+Ulrich to prevent him from casting a glance into the future.
+
+On the whole, what was predicted to him sounded favorable, but the
+prophetess did not keep entirely to the point, for in turning the cards
+she found much to say to Ulrich, and once, pointing to the red and green
+knaves, remarked thoughtfully: "That is you, Navarrete; that is this
+gentleman.  You must have met each other on some Christmas day, and not
+here, but in Germany; if I see rightly, in Swabia."
+
+She had just overheard all this.
+
+But a shudder ran through Ulrich's frame when he heard it, and this
+woman, whose questioning glance had always disturbed him, now inspired
+him with a mysterious dread, which he could not control.  He rose to
+withdraw;  but she detained him, saying: "Now it is your turn, Captain."
+
+"Some other time,"  replied  Ulrich,  repellently.  Good fortune always
+comes in good time, and to know ill-luck in advance, is a misfortune I
+should think."
+
+"I can read the past, too."
+
+Ulrich started.  He must learn what his rival's companion knew of his
+former life, so he answered quickly, "Well, for aught I care, begin."
+
+"Gladly, gladly, but when I look into the past, I must be alone with the
+questioner.  Be kind enough to give Zorrillo your company for quarter of
+an hour, Sergeant."
+
+"Don't believe everything she tells you, and don't look too deep into her
+eyes.  Come, Lelaps, my son!"  cried the lansquenet, and did as he was
+requested.
+
+The woman dealt the cards silently, with trembling hands, but Ulrich
+thought: "Now she will try to sound me, and a thousand to one will do
+everything in her power to disgust me with desiring the Eletto's baton.
+That's the way blockheads are caught.  We will keep to the past."
+
+His companion met this resolution halfway; for before she had dealt the
+last two rows, she rested her chin on the cards in her hands and, trying
+to meet his glance, asked:
+
+"How shall we begin?  Do you still remember your childhood?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"Your father?"
+
+"I have not seen him for a long time.  Don't the cards tell you, that he
+is dead?"
+
+"Dead, dead:--of course he's dead.  You had a mother too?"
+
+"Yes, yes," he answered impatiently; for he was unwilling to talk with
+this woman about his mother.
+
+She shrank back a little, and said sadly:  "That sounds very harsh.  Do
+you no longer like to think of your mother?"
+
+"What is that to you?"
+
+"I must know."
+
+"No, what concerns my mother is....I will--is too good for juggling."
+
+"Oh," she said, looking at him with a glance from which he shrank.  Then
+she silently laid down the last cards, and asked: "Do you want to hear
+anything about a sweetheart?"
+
+"I have none.  But how you look at me!  Have you grown tired of Zorrillo?
+I am ill-suited for a gallant."
+
+She shuddered slightly.  Her bright face had again grown old, so old and
+weary that he pitied her.  But she soon regained her composure, and
+continued:
+
+"What are you saying?  Ask the questions yourself now, if you please."
+
+"Where is my native place?"
+
+"A wooded, mountainous region in Germany."
+
+"Ah, ha!  and what do you know of my father?"
+
+"You look like him, there is an astonishing resemblance in the forehead
+and eyes; his voice, too, was exactly like yours."
+
+"A chip of the old block."
+
+"Well, well.  I see Adam before me...."
+
+"Adam?"  asked Ulrich, and the blood left his cheeks.
+
+"Yes, his name was Adam," she continued more boldly, with increasing
+vivacity: "there he stands.  He wears a smith's apron, a small leather
+cap rests on his fair hair.  Auriculas and balsams stand in the bow-
+window.  A roan horse is being shod in the market-place below."
+
+The soldier's head swam, the happiest period of his childhood, which he
+had not recalled for a long time, again rose before his memory; he saw
+his father stand before him, and the woman, the sibyl yonder, had the
+eyes and mouth, not of his mother, but of the Madonna he had destroyed
+with his maul-stick.  Scarcely able to control himself, he grasped her
+hand, pressing it violently, and asked in German:
+
+"What is my name?  And what did my mother call me?"
+
+She lowered her eyes as if in shame, and whispered softly in German:
+"Ulrich, Ulrich, my darling, my little boy, my lamb, Ulrich--my child!
+Condemn me, desert me, curse me, but call me once more "my mother."
+
+"My mother," he said gently, covering his face with his hands--but she
+started up, hurried back to the pale baby in the cradle, and pressing her
+face upon the little one's breast, moaned and wept bitterly.
+
+Meantime, Zorrillo had not averted his eyes from Navarrete and his
+companion.  What could have passed between the two, what ailed the man?
+
+Rising slowly, he approached the basket before which the sibyl was
+kneeling, and asked anxiously: "What was it, Flora?"
+
+She pressed her face closer to the weeping child, that he might not see
+her tears, and answered quickly "I predicted things, things....go, I will
+tell you about it later."
+
+He was satisfied with this answer, but she was now obliged to join the
+Spaniards, and Ulrich took leave of her with a silent salutation.
+
+
+
+
+
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