Barbara Blomberg | Page 2

no one ventured to approach them with a
question, although--it had begun to rain again--they stopped before
going out of doors and stood talking together in low tones.
Many would gladly have caught part of their conversation, but no one
dared to move nearer, and the Southerners and Germans among them
did not understand the Flemish which they spoke.
Not until after the leech had raised his tall, pointed hat and the
statesman had pressed his prelate's cap closer upon his short, wavy dark
hair and drawn his sable-trimmed velvet cloak around him did several
courtiers hasten forward with officious zeal to open the little side door
for them.
Something must be going wrong upstairs.
Dr. Mathys's jovial face wore a very different expression when his
imperial patient was doing well, and Granvelle always bestowed a
friendly nod on one and another if he himself had cause to be content.
When the door had closed behind the pair, the tongues of the
ecclesiastics, the secular lords, and the ladies in the corridor were again
loosed; but there were no loud discussions in the various languages
now mingling in the Golden Cross, far less was a gay exclamation or a
peal of laughter heard from any of the groups who stood waiting for the
shower to cease.
Although each individual was concerned about his own affairs, one
thought, nevertheless, ruled them all--the Emperor Charles, his health,
and his decisions. Upon them depended not only the destiny of the
world, but also the weal and woe of the greatest as well as the humblest
of those assembled here.

"Emperor Charles" was the spell by which the inhabitants of half the
world obtained prosperity or ill-luck, war or peace, fulfilment or denial
of the wishes which most deeply stirred their souls. Even the highest in
the land, who expected from his justice or favour fresh good-fortune or
the averting of impending disasters, found their way to him wherever,
on his long and numerous journeys, he established his court.
Numerous petitioners had also flocked to Ratisbon, but the two great
nobles who now entered the Golden Cross certainly did not belong to
their number. One shook the raindrops from his richly embroidered
velvet cloak and the plumes in his cap, the other from his steel helmet
and suit of Milan mail, inlaid with gold. Chamberlain de Praet accosted
the former, Duke Peter of Columna, in Italian; the latter, the Landgrave
of Leuchtenberg, in a mixture of German and his Flemish native tongue.
He had no occasion to say much, for the Emperor wished to be alone.
He had ordered even crowned heads and ambassadors to be denied
admittance.
The Duke of Columna gaily begged for a dry shelter until the shower
was over, but the Landgrave requested to be announced to the Queen of
Hungary.
The latter, however, had also declined to grant any audiences that
afternoon. The royal lady, the Emperor's favourite sister, was in her
own room, adjoining her imperial brother's, talking with Don Luis
Quijada, the brave nobleman of whom the Spanish and the Netherland
soldiers had spoken with equal warmth.
His personal appearance rendered it an easy matter to believe in the
sincerity of their words, for the carriage of his slender, vigorous form
revealed all the pride of the Castilian noble. His face, with its closely
cut pointed beard, was the countenance of a true warrior, and the
expression of his black eyes showed the valiant spirit of a loyal, kind,
and simple heart.
The warm confidence with which Mary, the widow of the King of
Hungary, who fell in the Turkish war, gazed into Quijada's finely
modelled, slightly bronzed countenance proved that she knew how to

estimate his worth aright. She had sent for him to open her whole heart.
The vivacious woman, a passionate lover of the chase, found life in
Ratisbon unendurable. She would have left the city long ago to perform
her duties in the Netherlands--which she ruled as regent in the name of
her imperial brother--and devote herself to hunting, to her heart's
content, if the condition of the monarch's health had not detained her
near him.
She pitied Charles because she loved him, yet she was weary of playing
the sick nurse.
She had just indignantly informed Quijada what an immense burden of
work, in spite of the pangs of the gout, her suffering brother had
imposed upon himself ever since the first cock-crow. But he would take
no better care of himself, and therefore it was difficult to help him. Was
it not utterly unprecedented? Directly after mass he had examined
dozens of papers, made notes on the margins, and affixed his signature;
then he received Father Pedro de Soto, his confessor, the nuncio, the
English and the Venetian ambassadors; and, lastly, had an