CHAPTER VIII.
After the musician had left the burgomaster's house, he went to youngHerr Matanesse Van Wibisma's aunt to get his cloak, which had not beenreturned to him. He did not usually give much heed to his dress, yet hewas glad that the rain kept people in the house, for the outgrown wrapon his shoulders was by no means pleasing in appearance. Wilhelm mustcertainly have looked anything but well-clad, for as he stood in oldFraulein Van Hoogstraten's spacious, stately hall, the steward Belottireceived him as patronizingly as if he were a beggar.
But the Neopolitan, in whose mouth the vigorous Dutch sounded like therattling in the throat of a chilled singer, speedily took a differenttone when Wilhelm, in excellent Italian, quietly explained the object ofhis visit. Nay, at the sweet accents of his native tongue, the servant'srepellent demeanor melted into friendly, eager welcome. He was beginningto speak of his home to Wilhelm, but the musician made him curt repliesand asked him to get his cloak.
Belotti now led him courteously into a small room at the side of thegreat hall, took off his cloak, and then went upstairs. As minute afterminute passed, until at last a whole quarter of an hour elapsed, andneither servant nor cloak appeared, the young man lost his patience,though it was not easily disturbed, and when the door at last openedserious peril threatened the leaden panes on which he was drummingloudly with his fingers. Wilhelm doubtless heard it, yet he drummed withredoubled vehemence, to show the Italian that the time was growing longto him. But he hastily withdrew his fingers from the glass, for a girl'smusical voice said behind him in excellent Dutch:
"Have you finished your war-song, sir? Belotti is bringing your cloak."
Wilhelm had turned and was gazing in silent bewilderment into the faceof the young noblewoman, who stood directly in front of him. Thesefeatures were not unfamiliar, and yet--years do not make even a goddessyounger, and mortals increase in height and don't grow smaller; but thelady whom he thought he saw before him, whom he had known well in theeternal city and never forgotten, had been older and taller than theyoung girl, who so strikingly resembled her and seemed to take littlepleasure in the young man's surprised yet inquiring glance. With ahaughty gesture she beckoned to the steward, saying in Italian:
"Give the gentleman his cloak, Belotti, and tell him I came to beg himto pardon your forgetfulness."
With these words Henrica Van Hoogstraten turned towards the door, butWilhelm took two hasty strides after her, exclaiming:
"Not yet, not yet, Fraulein! I am the one to apologize. But if you haveever been amazed by a resemblance--"
"Anything but looking like other people!" cried the girl with arepellent gesture.
"Ah, Fraulein, yet--"
"Let that pass, let that pass," interrupted Henrica in so irritated atone that the musician looked at her in surprise. "One sheep looks justlike another, and among a hundred peasants twenty have the same face.All wares sold by the dozen are cheap."
As soon as Wilhelm heard reasons given, the quiet manner peculiar to himreturned, and he answered modestly:
"But nature also forms the most beautiful things in pairs. Think of theeyes in the Madonna's face."
"Are you a Catholic?"
"A Calvinist, Fraulein."
"And devoted to the Prince's cause?"
"Say rather, the cause of liberty."
"That accounts for the drumming of the war-song."
"It was first a gentle gavotte, but impatience quickened the time. I ama musician, Fraulein."
"But probably no drummer. The poor panes!"
"They are an instrument like any other, and in playing we seek toexpress what we feel."
"Then accept my thanks for not breaking them to pieces."
"That wouldn't have been beautiful, Fraulein, and art ceases whenugliness begins."
"Do you think the song in your cloak--it dropped on the ground and Nicopicked it up--beautiful or ugly?"
"This one or the other?"
"I mean the Beggar-song."
"It is fierce, but no more ugly than the roaring of the storm."
"It is repulsive, barbarous, revolting."
"I call it strong, overmastering in its power."
"And this other melody?"
"Spare me an answer; I composed it myself. Can you read notes,Fraulein?"
"A little."
"And did my attempt displease you?"
"Not at all, but I find dolorous passages in this choral, as in all theCalvinist hymns."
"It depends upon how they are sung."
"They are certainly intended for the voices of the shopkeepers' wivesand washerwomen in your churches."
"Every hymn, if it is only sincerely felt, will lend wings to the soulsof the simple folk who sing it; and whatever ascends to Heaven from theinmost depths of the heart, can hardly displease the dear God, to whomit is addressed. And then--"
"Well?"
"If these notes are worth being preserved, it may happen that amatchless choir--"
"Will sing them to you, you think?"
"No, Fraulein; they have fulfilled their destination if they are oncenobly rendered. I would fain not be absent, but that wish is far lessearnest than the other."
"How modest!"
"I think the best enjoyment in creating is had in anticipation."
Henrica gazed at the artist with a look of sympathy, and said with asofter tone in her musical voice:
"I am sorry for you, Meister. Your music pleases me; why should I denyit? In many passages it appeals to the heart, but how it will be spoiledin your churches! Your heresy destroys every art. The works of the greatartists are a horror to you, and the noble music that has unfolded herein the Netherlands will soon fare no better."
"I think I may venture to believe the contrary."
"Wrongly, Meister, wrongly, for if your cause triumphs, which may theVirgin forbid, there will soon be nothing in Holland except pilesof goods, workshops, and bare churches, from which even singing andorgan-playing will soon be banished."
"By no means, Fraulein. Little Athens first became the home of the arts,after she had secured her liberty in the war against the Persians."
"Athens and Leyden!" she answered scornfully. "True, there are owls onthe tower of Pancratius. But where shall we find the Minerva?"
While Henrica rather laughed than spoke these words, her name was calledfor the third time by a shrill female voice. She now interrupted herselfin the middle of a sentence, saying:
"I must go. I will keep these notes."
"You will honor me by accepting them; perhaps you will allow me to bringyou others."
"Henrica!" the voice again called from the stairs, and the young ladyanswered hastily:
"Give Belotti whatever you choose, but soon, for I shan't stay here muchlonger."
Wilhelm gazed after her. She walked no less quickly and firmly throughthe wide hall and up the stairs, than she had spoken, and again he wasvividly reminded of his friend in Rome.
The old Italian had also followed Henrica with his eyes. As she vanishedat the last bend of the broad steps, he shrugged his shoulders, turnedto the musician and said, with an expression of honest sympathy:
"The young lady isn't well. Always in a tumult; always like a loadedpistol, and these terrible headaches too! She was different when shecame here."
"Is she ill?"
"My mistress won't see it," replied the servant. "But what the camerieraand I see, we see. Now red--now pale, no rest at night, at table shescarcely eats a chicken-wing and a leaf of salad."
"Does the doctor share your anxiety?"
"The doctor? Doctor Fleuriel isn't here. He moved to Ghent when theSpaniards came, and since then my mistress will have nobody but thebarber who bleeds her. The doctors here are devoted to the Prince ofOrange and are all heretics. There, she is calling again. I'll send thecloak to your house, and if you ever feel inclined to speak my language,just knock here. That calling--that everlasting calling! The young ladysuffers from it too."
When Wilhelm entered the
street, it was only raining very slightly. Theclouds were beginning to scatter, and from a patch of blue sky thesun was shining brightly down on Nobelstrasse. A rainbow shimmered invariegated hues above the roofs, but to-day the musician had no eyesfor the beautiful spectacle. The bright light in the wet street did notcharm him. The hot rays of the day-star were not lasting, for "they drewrain." All that surrounded him seemed confused and restless. Beside abeautiful image which he treasured in the sanctuary of his memories,only allowing his mind to dwell upon it in his happiest hours, sought tointrude. His real diamond was in danger of being exchanged for a stone,whose value he did not know. With the old, pure harmony blended anothersimilar one, but in a different key. How could he still think ofIsabella, without remembering Henrica! At least he had not heard theyoung lady sing, so his recollection of Isabella's songs remainedunclouded. He blamed himself because, obeying an emotion of vanity, hehad promised to send new songs to the proud young girl, the friend ofSpain. He had treated Herr Matanesse Van Wibisma rudely on account ofhis opinions, but sought to approach her, who laughed at what he prizedmost highly, because she was a woman, and it was sweet to hear his workpraised by beautiful lips. "Hercules throws the club aside and sits downat the distaff, when Omphale beckons, and the beautiful Esther and thedaughter of Herodias--" murmured Wilhelm indignantly. He felt sorelytroubled, and longed for his quiet attic chamber beside the dove-cote.
"Something unpleasant has happened to him in Delft," thought his father.
"Why doesn't he relish his fried flounders to-day?" asked his mother,when he had left them after dinner. Each felt that something oppressedthe pride and favorite of the household, but did not attempt to discoverthe cause; they knew the moods to which he was sometimes subject forhalf a day.
After Wilhelm had fed his doves, he went to his room, where he pacedrestlessly to and fro. Then he seized his violin and wove all themelodies be had heard from Isabella's lips into one. His music hadrarely sounded so soft, and then so fierce and passionate, and hismother, who heard it in the kitchen, turned the twirling-stick fasterand faster, then thrust it into the firmly-tied dough, and rubbing herhands on her apron, murmured:
"How it wails and exults! If it relieves his heart, in God's name lethim do it, but cat-gut is dear and it will cost at least two strings."
Towards evening Wilhelm was obliged to go to the drill of the militarycorps to which he belonged. His company was ordered to mount guard atthe Hoogewoort Gate. As he marched through Nobelstrasse with it, heheard the low, clear melody of a woman's voice issuing from an openwindow of the Hoogstraten mansion. He listened, and noticing with ashudder how much Henrica's voice--for the singer must be the younglady--resembled Isabella's, ordered the drummer to beat the drum.
The next morning a servant came from the Hoogstraten house andgave Wilhelm a note, in which he was briefly requested to come toNobelstrasse at two o'clock in the afternoon, neither earlier nor later.
He did not wish to say "yes"--he could not say "no," and went to thehouse at the appointed hour. Henrica was awaiting him in the little roomadjoining the hall. She looked graver than the day before, while heaviershadows under her eyes and the deep flush on her cheeks reminded Wilhelmof Belotti's fears for her health. After returning his greeting, shesaid without circumlocution, and very rapidly:
"I must speak to you. Sit down. To be brief, the way you greeted meyesterday awakened strange thoughts. I must strongly resemble some otherwoman, and you met her in Italy. Perhaps you are reminded of some onevery near to me, of whom I have lost all trace. Answer me honestly, forI do not ask from idle curiosity. Where did you meet her?"
"In Lugano. We drove to Milan with the same vetturino, and afterwards Ifound her again in Rome and saw her daily for months."
"Then you know her intimately. Do you still think the resemblancesurprising, after having seen me for the second time?"
"Very surprising."
"Then I must have a double. Is she a native of this country?"
"She called herself an Italian, but she understood Dutch, for she hasoften turned the pages of my books and followed the conversation I hadwith young artists from our home. I think she is a German lady of noblefamily."
"An adventuress then. And her name?"
"Isabella--but I think no one would be justified in calling her anadventuress."
"Was she married?"
"There was something matronly in her majestic appearance, yet she neverspoke of a husband. The old Italian woman, her duenna, always called herDonna Isabella, but she possessed little more knowledge of her past thanI."
"Is that good or evil?"
"Nothing at all, Fraulein."
"And what led her to Rome?"
"She practised the art of singing, of which she was mistress; but didnot cease studying, and made great progress in Rome. I was permitted toinstruct her in counterpoint."
"And did she appear in public as a singer?"
"Yes and no. A distinguished foreign prelate was her patron, and hisrecommendation opened every door, even the Palestrina's. So the churchmusic at aristocratic weddings was entrusted to her, and she did notrefuse to sing at noble houses, but never appeared for pay. I know that,for she would not allow any one else to play her accompaniments.She liked my music, and so through her I went into many aristocratichouses."
"Was she rich?"
"No, Fraulein. She had beautiful dresses and brilliant jewels, but wascompelled to economize. Remittances of money came to her at times fromFlorence, but the gold pieces slipped quickly through her fingers, forthough she lived plainly and eat scarcely enough for a bird, while herdelicate strength required stronger food, she was lavish to imprudenceif she saw poor artists in want, and she knew most of them, for she didnot shrink from sitting with them over their wine in my company."
"With artists and musicians?"
"Mere artists of noble sentiments. At times she surpassed them all inher overflowing mirth."
"At times?"
"Yes, only at times, for she had also sorrowful, pitiably sorrowfulhours and days, but as sunshine and shower alternate in an April day,despair and extravagant gayety ruled her nature by turns."
"A strange character. Do you know her end?"
"No, Fraulein. One evening she received a letter from Milan, whichmust have contained bad news, and the next day vanished without anyfarewell."
"And you did not try to follow her?"
Wilhelm blushed, and answered in an embarrassed tone:
"I had no right to do so, and just after her departure I fellsick--dangerously sick."
"You loved her?"
"Fraulein, I must beg you--"
"You loved her! And did she return your affection?"
"We have known each other only since yesterday, Fraulein vonHoogstraten."
"Pardon me! But if you value my desire, we shall not have seen eachother for the last time, though my double is undoubtedly a differentperson from the one I supposed. Farewell till we meet again. You hear,that calling never ends. You have aroused an interest in your strangefriend, and some other time must tell me more about her. Only this onequestion: Can a modest maiden talk of her with you without disgrace?"
"Certainly, if you do not shrink from speaking of a noble lady who hadno other protector than herself."
"And you, don't forget yourself!" cried Henrica, leaving the room.
The musician walked thoughtfully towards home. Was Isabella a relativeof this young girl? He had told Henrica almost all he knew of herexternal circumstances, and this perhaps gave the former the same rightto call her an adventuress, that many in Rome had assumed. The wordwounded him, and Henrica's inquiry whether he loved the strangerdisturbed him, and appeared intrusive and unseemly. Yes, he had felt anardent love for her; ay, he had suffered deeply because he was no moreto her than a pleasant companion and reliable friend. It had cost himstruggles enough to conceal his feelings, and he knew, that but for thedread of repulse and scorn, he would have yielded and revealed them toher. Old wounds in his hea
rt opened afresh, as he recalled the time shesuddenly left Rome without a word of farewell. After barely recoveringfrom a severe illness, he had returned home pale and dispirited, andmonths elapsed ere he could again find genuine pleasure in his art. Atfirst, the remembrance of her contained nothing save bitterness, butnow, by quiet, persistent effort, he had succeeded, not in attainingforgetfulness, but in being able to separate painful emotions fromthe pure and exquisite joy of remembering her. To-day the old strugglesought to begin afresh, but he was not disposed to yield, and did notcease to summon Isabella's image, in all its beauty, before his soul.
Henrica returned to her aunt in a deeply-agitated mood. Was theadventuress of whom Wilhelm had spoken, the only creature whom she lovedwith all the ardor of her passionate soul? Was Isabella her lost sister?Many incidents were opposed to it, yet it was possible. She torturedherself with questions, and the less peace her aunt gave her, the moreunendurable her headache became, the more plainly she felt that thefever, against whose relaxing power she had struggled for days, wouldconquer her.