Excerpt,
Friedrich Freiherr De La Motte Fouque’: "Romantic
Fiction." 1871.
Still many of the four hundred transports which formed the fleet
were missing, though confidently expected; And the landing, after a council of
war had been held, was deferred till the dawn of the next day while the bright
and innumerable stars began to sparkle on the clear southern night-heaven.
The late contrary wind had not been the first which the Christian
emperor's squadron had had to encounter since the sailing of the thirty-six
imperial galleys from the harbour of Genoa; for it was not without almost constant
combats against wind and waves, that after fourteen tedious days he had at last
reached the island of Majorca. In this harbour he found many German and Italian ships,
but was obliged to wait a stated time for the Spanish fleet, under the command
of Admiral Madoza, two hundred sail strong; for this bold seaman had attempted
a long time, but in vain, to guide it through the rough autumnal sea to the
appointed place of rendezvous. He had succeeded at last, and they were now
close to Africa.
Silent,
gloomy, void of habitations, — for the threatened Algiers was not in sight, —
Cape Matifo, the destined place of landing, frowned on the Europeans.
Upon
the noble galley of the young bold Genoese Giannettino Doria, nephew of the
doge, sat the old, but still powerful steersman, Ruperto Sansogno, at his post;
his left hand supporting his head, which was sunk in thought, his faithful
right hand leaning upon the helm that had been entrusted to him, while his long
white hair flowed down over his brow to his long white beard. You might almost
fancy he was one of those old river-gods sculptured upon the monuments of
Romish antiquity, with dripping locks, leaning upon his oar.
Walprecht,
a young German trooper in Giannettino Doria's chosen body-guard, let his
silver-tipped swordsheath, as if by chance, slip down from his arm upon the deck,
and burst into a fit of unrestrained and hearty laughter, as the thoughtful old
man started up a little frightened at the alarm.
"Foolish
jester!" said Ruperto, angrily, sinking back again into his former
position. "Thou mightest have spared thy silly grins for the time when
that moon-like German mask of thine shall have dropped from the empty skull beneath. That, under the existing
circumstances, may very soon happen, and then you may grin on as long as you
like."
"Yours are not very flowery similes," returned Walprecht,
in unrepressed merriment; and yet it seemed to him as if an icy hand was laid
upon his shoulder; but shaking off the gloomy feeling without any perceptible motion,
he added, laughing: —"And, nevertheless, you Italians are proud of being
born the children of the south, whose little hands, even in the cradle, grasp
two bright bunches of flowers and fruit of a never-fading kind. It was indeed a
beautiful picture, a child with bright swelling bunches of flowers," he
said, after some consideration, kindly, and with a softer voice; but then again
adding, with a laugh, —"only it is unfortunate, old Ruperto Sansogno, that
your observations about skulls are appropriate to nothing in the world less
than to an Italian flower garden, like those which, to my great delight, I have
often strolled through at Genoa."
"Everything has its season," said the old steersman.
"When God chooses to send a warning death-worm —they call it also a
death-watch — to me, to you, and to others, what have you to say against it?
and what can I do for or against it, if I am only once commanded in this manner
by the great Admiral on high? Have you never seen a butterfly of a sad-coloured
kind, which is called the ‘mourning cloak,' rise up out of the bright chalice
of a flower? But hark, close by lies the galley of the young noble Spaniard,
who has the command of ten vessels, Don Felix Carrero, who dreams of nothing
but victory and Renown; and with him is his beautiful beloved Donna Lisandra,
more angel-like even in the beauty of her song and the notes of her guitar than
in the perfect gracefulness of her form. Listen, and disturb not the lurking
spirits of the air, for she sings."
And as the notes of nightingales pass over beds of flowers, a sweet
woman's voice breathed forth the following song in the language of Castile:—
"Slumbering on a couch I lay,
And a dream passed through the air.
As the soft, soft breezes stray
Over beds of blossoms fair:
Bright the glorious future spread
Rainbow-like around my head;
As a princess I was crowned,
And in the triumphal train
Proudly o'er the flower-strewn ground
Don Carrero led me on.
Don Carrero, noble knight,
Listen, and thy love shall tell
How the vision clear and bright
On her sleeping eyelids fell.
We had landed in my dream.
And thy purple banner hung
A flag of victory in the gleam
Of the glorious setting sun;
And thy sword-blade through the air
Sounded like the last faint groan
Of the dying, here and there
O'er the field of battle borne.
Round thee on the field of blood
Towered a bulwark of the slain,
While I in bridal vesture stood
On a hill above the plain.
Breathing hopes of love and joy
Through the tumult of the fight.
But amid the trumpet-call.
Sounding through the gathering night,
Fainter, lower grew my song.
Dying like a lute unstrung.
Then a conquered Moor drew near—
Conquered, else he had not dared.
Spirit of evil, near
to me,
Glowing star of victory!
'Beautiful lady,' then he said,
'The purple flag thy hero waves
In token that his foes are dead.
Or numbered with his conquered slaves.
To thee, who in thy lofty mind
Viewest the issue of the fight.
Belongs a purple star, to bind
As on the glorious brow of night.
Bow down, lady! Man must bow
When he honour would receive.'
But the bowing pleased me not,
'Moorish slave, I'd have thee know,
I no little flower am,
Bent about by every breeze.'
But the thought unto me came
Of the noble crown of state
Soon upon my head to stand.
And I bowed before the man:
But upon my head he set
No wreath, or gem, or coronet.
No! upon my breast there bloomed
Suddenly a purple rose.
Hero of the conquering flag,
Noble knight, Don Carrero,
Thy bride, thy love, in purple shone.
To ornament thy victory! "
The song ceased, or it was overpowered by a joyous burst of
trumpets, that suddenly broke loose upon the deck of Don Carrero's galley. The
proud Castilian did honour to the dream of victory of his beautiful lady and bride
with a warlike greeting.
Called upon deck by the joyous sound, the beautiful blooming youth,
Giannettino Doria, appeared on the deck of his vessel, and at his side a grave,
somewhat aged man, of a noble countenance, with fiery, almost burning eyes, his
arms folded over his breast, and veiled in the white black-crossed mantle of
the German order of knights.
Upon the deck of the neighbouring Spanish galley still strolled her
captain, Don Felix Carrero, tenderly leading his tall graceful bride — a
wondrously beautiful Castilian, somewhat pale, but her features of the most perfect
symmetry, and with silent large dark star-like eyes, and jet black hair parted
over her proud alabaster brow. The rising moon shone upon her figure, now wholly
veiled in its white drapery, surrounding her as it were with a glorious light.
The two ships greeted each other solemnly and respectfully.
"Yonder knight, Don Felix Carrero, would be an enviable man,
if one dealt in such unworthy feelings as envy!" said the young glowing
Genoese, Giannettino, to his companion. "But away with such thoughts! This
tall knightly Castilian deserves to be an angel's bridegroom, and with noble
right bears his name, 'Felix, the happy.' Think you not so, Baron of
Marbach?"
"I!" answered the German lord with kindled, almost angrily
sparkling eye; "I and that Don Felix Carrero! It is always against my will
that any appeal is made to me concerning him. The man displeases me from first to
last. In my whole life I never saw any one with such lofty, overflown, and
unbearably proud ideas and manners.
You laugh, Signor Giannettino. Might I ask you why?"
“Bold knight," returned the young Doria with engaging sweetness,
"permit me to speak to you tonight a little more freely and more boldly
than it else might beseem my youth to address your ripe age of manhood, already
crowned with honour. But harken: days of fierce battle are close at hand; then
shall we all seem of the same age, at least as regards this particular object that
we have in view. Age and youth can contend equally with the undisciplined
troops rising up before us on these Moorish coasts."
"I love you always, Signor Giannettino Doria," answered the
German knight with heartfelt, and to him rare but most pleasing cordiality;
"but most of all when danger draws near, or is already in existence. Then
are you the most dear to me. Therefore say what you will; you have laughed at
me just a little — and why?"
"Does it seem so right to you," said the young Genoese, "whom
thousands call the bold, the proud, the brave Baron Marbach, to blame so
hastily the ideas and manners of this Don Felix Carrero as something altogether
wicked and unheard-of? Have you then no looking-glass in your cabin? or has the
sea-wave, when it is still, never reflected back your own noble self?"
"Tonight is a vigil, I suppose,'' said the German knight, with
difficulty disguising his rising passion under a kind of raillery.
"Indeed, young gentleman, though it may be necessary for me to repent, yet
I cannot but say that the boldness of your speech exceeds the wisdom of
it."
"I did not wish to offend you," returned Giannettino Doria,
gently but firmly.
"Enough!" said Baron Marbach somewhat sharply. Yet soon
recovering himself, he fondly took both the hands of the princely youth in his,
and looking kindly at him, said — "Giannettino, I have a mind to give
account to you of my pride, in comparison with the pride of this Castilian; but
mark me — only to you. Therefore know, a lofty mind searches throughout the
swarming stars in order to find the polar star, and having found it, to measure
the form and order of the whole. Pride will climb to heaven in order to prepare
itself a throne therein; that is a giant's dream and foolery. Have you
understood me?"
"Yes, sir knight," answered Giannettino, "as far as your
definition goes I understand you. But as to why your aspirations should be all
of the noble and excellent kind, and the aspirations of the Don Felix Carrero
all as certainly of an ignoble and evil kind — excuse me, this I am by no means
able to comprehend."
“Young man," said the Baron of Marbach in a strangely moved
voice, while two big tears sparkled in his eyes — "young man, my striving is
after a divine idea of a new world, and a new era of time; the aim of this poor
Carrero is confined to his temporal knighthood and his childish love. God grant
that you may perceive the difference; and hope it of you."
Then, with a tone and manner strongly contrasted with his former
energy, he added “And now, to set the crowning point to his vanity, he leads
about his ostentatious bride, as if she were a bird in a bower on purpose to be
looked at; he even takes her into the very midst of the tumult of battle, as if
to point her out as a prize of victory for the Mohammedans."
Giannettino Doria, with a proud look, and some haughtiness in his tone,
returned “Baron Marbach, whatever we may bring with us to these barbarous
coasts, under the protection of the invincible Emperor Charles the Fifth — and
permit me at the same time to add, the admiral, my uncle, Andrea Doria, the Doge
of Genoa, who ranks next to our emperor as a naval commander. Whatever we bring
with us at this time can never be intended as a booty for the barbarians, but
only serve to render our victorious trophies more brilliant and more complete.
Donna Lisandra de Sarmontada y Balcosta, the richest and most beautiful heiress
in Spain, cannot possibly be more secure in one of her strongest castles than
in this victoriously winged armada, under the protection of her beloved Don Felix
Carrero, flower of the Castilian knighthood."
"Giannettino!" said the German lord, suddenly breaking forth
into an unwonted laugh; "Giannettino Doria! are you still a merry
thoughtless Italian, or have you suddenly changed into a solemn Spanish
Hidalgo? for, in truth, I scarcely recognise your own words under such a solemn
garb."
Giannettino laughed without restraint, and then added:
"Indeed, as our Italian language has in its sound so at a similarity to
the Spanish, the two nations must, one would think, have more in common with
each other, and be more closely united, than we generally suppose. If we
Italians by any chance rise into the heroic style, we are certain to fall down
into the Spanish grandezza, scarcely knowing how. However, this much I must
say, to pursue the subject of my Castilian brother in arms—that by thus bringing
the dearest and most beautiful treasure of his life to these barbarous coasts,
as to a triumphal procession, he gives surety that he possesses at any rate one
great quality of a soldier, namely, the certainty of victory."
The German lord angrily shook his head. After some silence, he
said, with scarcely repressed passion: — "Take it not ill, young prince,
if I say that this boasted quality of a soldier is shared in the highest degree
also by the common mercenary. Nor is it of much real value: for if in the midst
of his certainty of victory, a lost battle, or some other great misfortune
befalls him, he suddenly forgets his short-lived confidence, and wonders that
he ever had such a certainty. The commander-in-chief, on the contrary, or the
thoughtful warrior must consider upon and weigh every chance beforehand, and
keep himself prepared for whatever may happen. Then, if an unexpected piece of
fortune — but in prosperity every man knows how to act.''
"I would unwillingly," said the princely youth,
"most unwillingly, contradict so famed and experienced a warrior as you
are, but just as unwillingly would I enter into your views. Ah! it would banish
all the joy from my soldier's life. No, Baron Marbach. For this same noble confidence
of success, I would praise our emperor, and this young noble eagle of Castile,
ever hoping for victory, and so for that reason victorious."
“And I think with your uncle, the great doge and admiral, Andrea
Doria," answered Marbach quickly, "with regard at least to this
seemingly unprosperous expedition of ours. Has he not —"
" Pardon me for interrupting you," said Giannettino; "but
your voice is loud, and your words in no way suited for the ears of the sailors
on watch, not even for my old brave steersman, who turns on us from his post
every now and then such sullen piercing glances."
"You are right, and I am a fool," said the knight, full
of noble resentment against himself. "They have a mocking proverb in
Germany, that we Swabians never become prudent till the fortieth year of our
life. If it is the prudence of the world of which the proverb speaks—the rules
of which our rash Swabian blood often breaks—a dozen years may be added to the
proverb for my sake; for though arrived at such an age, I must,
notwithstanding, allow myself to be tutored, by your young Genoese prudence, and
unfortunately with perfect justice. Nevertheless, my own heart is too full, and
yours too dear to me, for me at once to break off our conversation. Step with
me to the forepart of the ship; there we shall be undisturbed, and I will speak
softly."
Giannettino Doria
They stood on the beak of the galley, and after looking with a
serious glance for a few moments over the gloomy coast of Africa, the German
baron whispered to his young friend: — "Have you forgotten how your wise
uncle warned the emperor not to undertake this expedition at a time when the
sea-storms are at their height? at that time of the year when an experienced
sailor leaves the mischief-bringing salt wave, and seeks a secure
harbour?"
"I have not forgotten it," said the young Doria;
"but neither have I forgotten how the Emperor Charles V answered my uncle
and other prudent counsellors: 'Permit me once to act as an emperor, that I may
satisfy myself.' It was a noble saying."
" It was the saying of an emperor certainly," answered the
German knight gloomily; “but whether it was a humane and wise saying — that,
indeed, the issue will soon teach us."
The youth, burning with noble rage, returned hastily: "Teach!
— the issue! My baron, the issue may indeed teach many things; among others,
prudence for future times, in so far as the same example can assist and be of value
where the object is extended, and always different in some way from any former
occasion. Still is there something over which the issue has no influence; and that
is, the real intrinsic wisdom and right of every human resolve. You must, I am
quite confident, after a beautiful and varied life, still bear in your nobly
beating heart the remembrance of many a heroic and courageous resolve of your
soul, which afterwards bore bitter fruit both for yourself and others, and
whose influence would last for time and for eternity. It is not the skill or
seeming wisdom with which an enterprise is planned that at all times gives it
value. You know how this deserter from our holy faith to the standard of the
crescent, Hassan Aga, who now reigns in Algiers, shamefully throws back upon
Christian men and Christian countries, as evil, what good he has before learnt
in our Christian army! How this reckless Sardinian renegade has not spared his
own native island from his pirate squadron; how, with the most savage, and
bloody, and, pardon me for the expression, brutish violence, he has pillaged
the beautiful coasts of Sicily and Naples, so that they stand desolated, and mourn
not only on account of the misery they have suffered through him, but also of
the disgrace suffered from him! He is indeed the Corsair of the Corsairs."
"And well skilled in war by land as well as sea," added
the knight Marbach; "and in the art of fortifications. It was not without
a hard-fought contest that our imperial master returned in former years from
the victory of Tunis, and no Hassan Aga commanded there."
"Well, and so much the better that he commands here!" exclaimed
Giannettino Doria. "If we would kill the one powerful head of the hydra,
we must do it by one decisive attack, and as it were by one stroke of the
sword."
"May it be so!" said the other; adding in a low voice:
"and you now, noble Giannettino, speak in somewhat a louder voice than is
necessary, if you would keep the tenor of your words from the ship's watch, and
from the steersman. Yet I grant that they will do no harm, for they carry with
them the trumpet-sound of victory. And so, good night; God forbid that I should
disturb any of your knightly dreams of joy."
He was about to leave him; but Giannettino seized the right hand of
the German lord with both of his, and said, with the perfectly irresistible
sincerity of youth: — "Bold baron, think not my heart is so childishly sure
of the issue of our enterprise that I cannot endure the thought that it may
perhaps prove unsuccessful. All rests in the hand of God; but I feel, however
the event may be, an unextinguishable joy in my heart, assuring me that the
remembrance of my name shall not be lost in the future wave of time, because I
dared to conquer or die in a great undertaking. Though stranded or broken to
pieces on a neighbouring cliff, every noble ship leaves the track which follows
her keel behind her course upon the mirror of the waves."
"Trust not the mirror of the waves, and still less the foam
that rises for a moment on their surface," said the baron, shaking his
head. "Many a beautiful image has vanished unnoticed, as a fool with cap
and bells disappears after a banquet."
"Well," returned Giannettino, somewhat downcast, but with
a firm and manly tone, "if after-ages may hear nothing good of me, they
shall at any rate hear nothing that is bad. This at least is in the power of
every man."
"Indeed!" said Baron Marbach gloomily to himself, and he
drew his knight's mantle close around him, as if he were shivering in a
winter's frost. "Well, think as you will; but for my part, it seems to me
that you still persevere in your hopes of victory."
"Troy fell, and Hector remained great!" exclaimed Giannettino
joyfully.
"But," Marbach answered, "then Hector had good luck;
and yet not altogether good luck, for to this day every schoolboy relates how
Hector ran three times round the walls of Troy as a deserter, before he could
make up his mind to fight with Achilles, who was pursuing him. You must know,
young knight, that I consider to be as untrue, as I should consider it if it
were told of you or of me. Yet schoolboys explain it thus, and their honoured
tutors cry 'bravo!' to it; and old Homer was, in the main, a great poet, and
moreover a worthy man, who was well acquainted with war, as may be seen from
many parts of his works. Now if a poet, after two or three hundred years—though
there were scarcely so many years between Hector and Homer—happens to judge
unjustly of you, can you hinder it?"
"I cannot, and neither do 1 wish to," said the young Doria,
proudly, while he leaned upon his long beautifully shaped rapier. "The
African Moorish poets I do not fear, with regard to my fame in after-ages; and
the Italian poets shall not be able to think otherwise of me than I would
desire they should think."
"As if there were only Moorish and Italian poets in this
widely peopled world!" exclaimed the German lord, with a scornful laugh. “Only
think, after some two hundred years, a young poet may spring from the race of
Marbach, who shall be inspired by the Muse to write an historical tragedy, or
epic poem, or some such thing, concerning these our times; and it may occur to him,
in a wild fit of humour, to bring in Geanettino Doria (it may be because it will
give weight to the plan of the poem) as a careless spendthrift, as a silly
blockhead, as a weak, perfectly uneducated child, or even as—"
Giannettino's shining blade flew out of its sheath. "For
pity's sake, do not wound the air!" said the Baron of Marbach, with
ironical composure. "Only consider, your presumptuous calumniator has
already to wait a hundred years until he is born; and therefore I myself cannot
induce my Marbachian offspring, either by anger or prayers, to place you in
your best light. Therefore, fame stands written where victory stands written,
and all incomprehensible things besides." He looked in deep thought
upwards to the stars.
Giannettino let his beautiful blade sink slowly back again; but not
before he had carefully wiped it with an Indian handkerchief, as something like
rusting dew was sprinkled upon the noble steel.
"It is the fault of the changing climate!'' he said, involuntarily
explaining to the German lord.
With kind but grave salutation they parted from each other.
Chapter Second
At the same hour of the night, alone, upon a watch-tower of
Algiers, stood the chief of the horde of pirates, the so much feared Hassan Aga.
With inward rage he looked out over the region round Cape Matifo,
as if he would see with his naked eye the fleet of the Christians, which he
knew was anchored in the bay. His angry spirit, like a grisly distorted
monster, hovered about it with harpy wings and harpy claws.
Then again, sinking back into his own breast, he refreshed himself
there with the fearful thoughts of battle, which had made him so often, and for
so long a time, a terror to the heretofore peaceful coasts. But it seemed to him
as if his own spiritual deformity glimmered against a mirror, a fiery flaming
mirror. "Black upon a gold ground!" he muttered to himself.
"Away! I have never been able to endure the colours. They are the most
hateful to me in all the world! They are the colours of the Christian emperor's
eagle! And woe is me! my soul floats like an eagle before my inward eyes,
though far blacker than an eagle — oh, far blacker!" He looked wildly
upwards to the firmament, murmuring — "Stars! I see you in multitudes; but
where hides itself now the crescent — the sickle, the emblem of victory?
Mahomet's crescent! where tarriest thou?"
And from the narrow passes of the rock, winding up between the wall
of the fortress and the perpendicular rugged precipice, now overspread by the
deepest shadows of night, like a ghastly echo sounded under the feet of the
renegade —
"Mahomet's crescent! where tarriest thou?"
Seized by a singularly convulsive, but else
not unusual, fit of shuddering, Hassan Aga cried,
"Who sings there? Or rather, who howls there?"
A sudden, hoarse whisper, like the croaking of a raven, rushed up
again as an answer, while the renegade could perceive nothing else than that it
was spoken in the Arabic language: and a warning to be silent struck his ear
about the tenth or twentieth word. The croaking creature now seemed to him
under the shadow of the wall as a thing deformed, wound about with veils and
thick drapery. Silently, but cautiously, with his sharp-bladed rapier in his
right hand, he bent down far over the battlements. Still the figure of the
veiled creature remained quite indistinct. He might have thought it a
salamander stretched out by witchcraft to the size of a giant, but that now
were widely extended long, dry, withered arms, the fingers armed with claws,
waving through the night-air, as if forming an invisible web, wrought with
thousands and thousands of threads. It appeared to Hassan Aga like a horrible
magical net. Then the hoarse singing and howling began again, and the words of
the song could be distinctly heard in the Arabic language:
"Crescent of Mahomet,
Break through with magic might!'
Long wert thou standing
In the heavens commanding; —
Oh! cast from around thee
The veils that enshroud thee,
Fling aside the pale dives, and
Vapour-like sylphs —
Tarrying, hovering.
Sorrowing, fluttering.
Children of fleeting air;
Fair as the blossoms white.
White as the blossoms fair,
Dew-clouds their veiling shroud.
Dew-winds their whisperings,
Children of dreamy night!
Crescent of Mahomet,
Tear them with piercing breath;
Scatter the shadow elves,
Bid them go hide themselves;
Heed not their smiles and tears,
Coming like hopes and fears;
Break through with magic might,
Sickle of Death!
If they weep, 'tis but like the call
Of a young bird,
At spring-time by nightfall.
In flower-fields heard.
If they bleed, men but hear the sound
Of soft dews trickling round—
Scatter with magic breath
The mists thou wearest;
In thy right hand thou bearist
Victory or death!
Crescent, appear!"
And inaudibly a thick shower of rain or dew overspread Hassan Aga's
inquiring upturned brow, and the sickle of the moon, like the sickle of death,
darted sharp and pale
through
the clouds, suddenly flying away on all sides.
Hassan Aga could not but think of a mighty host driven asunder, of
standards battered and torn to pieces in the wildest tumult and uproar of the
battle. But from the dizzy footpath at the bottom of the wall distinctly rose
the croaking question; "Hassan Aga, dost thou still take me for a
bewitched salamander? Or for an enchanted web? Or hast thou perceived at last, by
the effect my magical song had on the firmament, what I can do? Know, proud
Aga, here lurks one who is a powerful friend to thee."
"The lurking friend is not a very pleasing one!" said Hassan,
turning away.
But then the voice croaked back, screeching with passion:
"Renegade, as a sneaking reptile you crept into the avenging, destroying
band of Mahomet—a traitor to your mother Christianity; viper, as they call you
there, where you were a child, a most beloved child; now a cursed pirate
beast—you, cursed by priests and women, and all who once prayed for you in your
Christian churches."
"Silence, grisly wretch!" cried the horror-struck renegade,
supporting himself, as he spoke, against the battlements of the tower, so that
a dizziness of horror might not precipitate him over the rocky walls into the dark
gulf below. The croaking creature laughed almost unrestrainedly— like a glad
and happy being, she laughed; but the ghastly sounds of hell broke forth also
from her execrable heart.
"Cease! cease!" cried Aga, each moment growing more
dizzy; and for the first time in Algiers his command sounded through the
unsubstantial space in vain and unheeded. "Abominable mocker," he
cried out at last, "who art thou? Answer! By Mahomet's sickle, I conjure
thee! By his blood-dripping sickle, and by all the furies of hell, I conjure
thee! Name thyself, thou she-devil!" And suddenly stopping in her
laughter, as when a trumpet in the clatter of the wildest musket-fire sounds the
"halt" of the commander, the woman said, mockingly it is true, but
nevertheless as if she were completely conquered:
"For what reason have you not spoken with me before on such
good and seemly grounds? I obey you willingly; it signifies little how. Attend,
for you know me; at least you certainly know my name;" and suddenly shrieking
out in a shrill tone, she cried: "I am the witch Baranaga! the witch
Baranaga! the witch Baranaga!" And gloomily the sea, and the stony rock,
and the stranded shore re-echoed again and again, Baranaga! Baranaga! Baranaga!
and the roused owls and bats fluttered out of the walls, and flew madly round
the turbaned head of the renegade. But he said angrily to the witch: "Away
from hence, if life is dear to you. If you are caught, you shall burn to ashes
on the wood-pile. Think you I have forgotten how, six years ago, you came
creeping in from the desert, and croaked out just before the walls of Tunis the
accursed foolery that this proud Christian emperor, Charles the Fifth, would
take Tunis by storm?"
"And did he not truly and verily do so?" grinned the witch.
"Yes, indeed!" murmured Hassan. "He did so because
your howlings and curses had bewildered and disheartened the brave Musselmen of
my companion in fate and arms, the great Barbarossa."
"Those were brave Musselmen," sneered the witch Baranaga,
scornfully, "who allowed themselves to be bewildered and disheartened by
the crack-brained, malicious howling of an old woman! Do you not think so, renegade?"
Hassan answered, "One thing I not only think—one thing I know
quite certainly—my great brother in arms, Barbarossa, wished at that time to
have you burnt for your uncalled-for prophecies."
"Oh, yes; he wished to," murmured the witch—"there
you are quite right; but could he? Would
was there very far separate from could
—even half the diameter of the earth apart; and so would it now prove to you if
you still persevere in your murderous intentions. —Mark! Do you still see me?
Farewell!" And she had slipped in between the stony cliffs and
disappeared. Her wild singing howled up from below, distant and gloomy, like deep
laughter from the hollow caves. But soon again gliding from a crevice in the
wall, flourishing a blood-red burning torch in her fist, which illumined her
hideous features, that seemed to tremble before it, she said calmly: "Burn
me now, if it pleases you, renegade; I bring you a consecrated torch for that
purpose. But catch me first!"
Hassan was silent with the savage feeling of his helplessness against
the sorceress.
Then the witch began to dance wildly upon the narrow dizzy steps
between the base of the wall and the perpendicular rock, and waved the torch in
a thousand spiry circles about her disheveled head.
"Down with you," murmured Hassan softly through his long
beard, that was wildly floating in the rising nightwind—"Down with you
over the hanging cliffs, with your accursed dances."
The witch stood silent and terrified. She must have partly heard
the angry murmuring curse of Aga, however inaudibly he supposed that he had
muttered it. Softly and slowly she now let the flames of the torch blow again
in the calm breezes of the night, while she whispered to the renegade:
"So, so! will you curse me —me and my poor dances? You have danced with me
willingly before now. I may have wished to dance with you oftener — but perhaps
not to dance; for indeed I was also willing enough to talk with you. That you
have noticed. Recollect when you were yet living in Livorno, —just then become
a ship's ensign, after your first warlike attack upon a Venetian galley."
And with each word, her voice had become more sweet, more melodious
still from the croaking that yet sounded in his ears; like the voice of a
nightingale sorrowfully wailing, she added, "Just now, when I laughed so
gladly in child-like joy, then you harshly and peevishly scolded me, because I
— a poor and now sorrowful and miserable being —because I in my way became for
a little while more happy."
“It is not possible!" whispered the renegade with repressed tears.
"How, — strange mystery — apparition of the night,—can you be —you
—Rosetta of Livorno?"
And the sweet voice answered from the veil that closely covered her
form: "Rosetta —yes — the fresh blooming maiden, whom you would fain have
seduced by your persuasions. Already she stood on the silken rope ladder,
hesitating before her chamber-window, looking
down
undetermined upon you who, to give her encouragement, had half climbed up the
aerial path, — already she even bent down towards you, — when at midnight from
the neighbouring church was wafted the greeting of a church festival with a
spiritual song, and, breaking into a flood of tears, Rosetta of Livorno sighed,
'O God, that song sounded also at the day of my confirmation. No, false seducer,
I will not yield!"
"Show me your countenance, your dear countenance, O
Rosetta!" whispered the renegade; and the veil rose from the head of the
dark figure, and in the glimmering of the upraised torchlight a spring-like
face bloomed on him, full of all child-like and happy joys, only somewhat paler
than in those days of blooming spring and happy love. Rosetta, you are
here!" exclaimed he convulsively, stretching out his arms towards her.
Then the veil again closed, and the former raven-voice once more
croaked forth: " No, no ! I am not Rosetta. No, I still remain myself, the
witch Baranaga ! the witch Baranaga!" And again unveiling herself, the sorceress
opened her wildly distorted, hideous face to the view. " It was only by
dint of a little art in a mirror, — in the mirror of the full moon it might be
still better obtained; but take that, if you please!" said she, laughing.
"Do you remember at the time the little Rosetta spoke of her
confirmation, and the song from the distant church sounded like the rippling
waves of the sea, how you tumbled from the rope-ladder, and the servants of the
house found you insensible upon the pavement, and woke you from your stupor by
their contemptuous laughter, that the poor little ship's ensign had ventured to
hang on a rope-ladder at the palace of the richest merchant of Livorno, and
even at the chamber-window of his most beautiful daughter? And how you then
angrily sprang up, and with your sword and poniard wounded four or half a dozen
of the jesters, and then flew to a corsair that just crossed by the coast, and thus,
poor dreamer, you were laughed into becoming a pagan Saracen? What have you to
say in answer, Hassan Aga? Can the old witch do nothing else but curse and
howl?"
"If you could tell me," said the renegade, "where you
have stolen that sweet mirror-likeness of Rosetta, which a little while ago
sparkled over your raven cheeks —"
" Oh, that is easy enough!" answered the witch; "I held
my veil against the crescent moon in the direction of Livorno. Then I beheld,
as it might be about three steps before me, Rosetta, strolling on the
sea-shore, with her beautiful, most beloved husband, a renowned painter, who declared
the wave was but a dim mirror for her charms; and as she bent carelessly over
the flower-covered railings, willingly I would have snatched her away by a
magical sentence, the idle little fool; but her husband, the fool, just then
looked up with silent thanks to heaven — or to Him who dwells therein,"
murmured the witch fearfully; "and so, in his gratitude for his beautiful
wife, my words died away. But I caught her image, reflected by the brilliancy of
the moon on the waves, all damp and vapour-like, and laid it upon my face with
a wet cloth. But she had observed something, and was frightened. For this
reason the little face looked somewhat paler than usual, and also because
moonlight and the waves of the sea made it pale, and cold, and salt. In
reality, the beautiful Rosetta blooms as bright and fresh as ever, only not for
you, poor fool! Forget, therefore, everything but the flame of war, which alone
can render your life fresh and vigorous."
"And this flame of war—can you kindle it, monster?" asked
the renegade.
“Kindle it to fame and
victory? Yes, indeed can I, you fool!" cried the witch, angrily.
"Already,
for twice three hundred and sixty-five nights have I prophesied that the
Christian emperor must come here to his own ruin, and to the glory of the
crescent. The people have already listened, full of hope; but you, you
incredulous unbeliever, had still a bitter tooth upon me about Tunis, and would
hear nothing from me— or you might have supposed, since I could prophesy ruin,
I could prophesy also victory. And now has Charles the Fifth, the bravest
soldier in Christendom, arrived. And now—" she sung, —
“Storms will I brew for you,
Clouds will I call for you;
Men, for fear, pale shall grow.
Even as maidens do.
Lightning shall sparkle bright,
And dark grow the night:
Bound by a spell of might,
Sea-nymphs shall dress for you
Beds under waves of dew.
Storm-songs draw near,
Waves dance for fear,
While they in wild embrace
Drag you unto the caves
Which are their dwelling-place.
Beneath the briny waves."
"Good luck to the dancers!" exclaimed the almost bewildered
Hassan Aga. "But, horrible songstress of the storm, and waves, and clouds,
will you tomorrow, at the dawn of day, acquaint my squadron that they should
stand ranged in solemn order, upon the shores of Algiers, with the rest of the
assembled people. For there is not a sailor boy among them who would believe in
what I might relate to them of you, so strange and like a dream is it!"
“I will come, and I will declare it! Rest satisfied: tomorrow, in
the brightest light of the midday, I will come, and I will declare it,"
shouted the witch.
"But yet one condition!" said Hassan Aga; "that you
never dare for the future, even for a single moment, to appear to me as
Rosetta."
"You need not give yourself any trouble about that," croaked
the old creature. "Once for all, I have had enough of that experiment. It
lamed—almost lamed me to death. And know, friend renegade, death is no child's plaything;
at least for such as we are—Hu!"
Trembling and shivering, she crawled into a hollow crevice of the
rocks upon her hands and feet, more like a lizard than a human creature.
Chapter
Third
A clear autumnal sky, free from clouds, shone the next morning on
the landing of the Christian host. With joyful promise, the young sun looked
down upon the beautifully- armed troops, playing on the bright silver cuirasses,
on the brightly-polished barrels of the rifled guns, and on the
golden-decorated hoods and helmets; while variegated plumes of feathers, like
beds of flowers, were blown about in the refreshing breezes; and the
standard-bearers and pikemen raised up and waved variously-coloured flags, like
a festively-decked grove of weapons.
It is true, the Arabs of the desert —as they angrily watched the
beautiful sight, like a swarming crowd of vultures, upon their swift slender
steeds —threw up the dust beneath the neighbouring hills and on the sandy coasts.
But the artillery of the ships and galleys had only to discharge a few
thundering greetings, and the fleet horsemen disappeared again as suddenly as
they had risen from their ocean of sand. It seemed that they were only come in
order to put to the test the power of the landed Christian soldiers by the
futility of their attack and the swiftness of their flight.
Without opposition, the clear rejoicing instruments of war sounded
already like a triumphal procession. In half an hour the imperial squadron was
moving on its way to the city of Algiers, the siege of which, in the different councils
of war, it had been determined should be immediately undertaken.
"So we are here!" said the tall grey-headed Andrea Doria;
"and thus far, I find no objection to such a noble, bold deed. But urge
onwards. Forwards before the autumnal storms disturb us with their dissonant
howlings."
The city, like an amphitheatre with the glittering cupolas of its
magnificent mosques, and the kioskas stretching boldly up to heaven,
interspersed with garden-bowers and groves of pomegranates, presented itself to
their sight in full glory; and the nearer they approached it, the more
embellished and variegated seemed the sea-shore by bright meadows and
plantations, hedged with golden-coloured wire trellis-work. Behind this towered
lofty aloe-trees, like a second hedge of blooming pillars; and still beyond
could be seen beds of flowers, and noble fruit trees, and most singular yet
elegantly formed alcoves.
A more joyous certainty, at the pleasant sight, increased every
moment in the heart of each tried warrior. Many merry words passed to and fro
through the lines of the procession, particularly in the Italian corps. The
Germans, though in a glad humour also, singing songs among themselves — now
merry, now war-songs, now a sweet longing for home — on the whole proceeded a little
more solemnly; but the most solemn, the most silent of all, were the noble,
proud Spaniards. At the head of these now rode their far-famed captain,
Fernando of Toledo, Duke of Alba, upon a high, raven-black, Andalusian steed,
and, as he passed on with the train, quite motionless in his saddle, —haggard
and solemnly grave, with his long beard flowing down over his chin, his commander's
staff pressed close to his thigh,—he looked more like a monument upon the tomb
of some glorious departed hero than a living soldier.
Yet life — yes, strong and vigorous life — was perceptible in the
sparkle of his large dark eyes, and in the low but commanding words and signs
with which he called first to one and then another captain from his troop of foot-soldiers,
and charged them to march close together to the front of the hill behind which
the Arabs had disappeared. But a very small part of the cavalry had yet landed.
He called, therefore, only a few of his esquires around him, rather
as swift messengers on immediate errands than for any particular use in the
main squadron. Now he trotted on before with them to mark a station upon the hill,
in which he thought he could best secure the imperial host from being molested
by the swift sons of the desert. His chosen troop of infantry, at a sign from
him, were pressed into close lines — some light artillery in the middle —
around which were a few scattered soldiers, all the rest keeping step in the
sands of the African desert with as much order as if they marched on the shady
parade at Madrid.
Meanwhile Giannettino Doria, riding near the Genoese foot-soldiers,
some of his German horse-guards with him (the greater part were still in the
ships), shared in the joy of the troops; and kindly inquired of the German
trooper, Walprecht, already known to us from his last night's conversation on
board their vessel:—
"How now, brave soldier! what think you of our
expedition?"
"It pleases me mightily, your grace, since we now feel the
firm ground under the hoofs of the horses, instead of the unruly sea under the
keel of our ship," answered the fresh, fair-headed youth. " I never
consider myself a man, except I feel a horse under me. A dismounted horseman is
only half a man."
“A centaur, I suppose!" said Giannettino, laughing.
And Walprecht answered, though with a misunderstanding of his
words: "Yes, remain here.' But to think of that makes me regret many
things. The rich people to whom belong the beautiful meadows, and the bright
houses and castles in the city yonder, rising on the hill, may have led a
pleasant life enough before we came. Neither into Germany, or into Genoa, have
these happy people ever come to injure us. Therefore, I cannot tell — though at
the same time my doubts do not in the least disturb my dutiful subordination—
why we are come here to destroy their pleasures."
Giannettino Doria laughed, and seemed disinclined to carry the
conversation farther. But a deeply sorrowful voice began the defence of the
expedition that was ungiven on his part. From one of the golden-latticed groves
proceeded sorrowful sighs; and the gloomy voice of a man was also distinctly
heard in the Italian language: " Oh, you who have come from the prosperous
lands, where the sweet language sounds in which I heard you talk, and shout,
and sing, — happy, beautifully armed companions of my home,— break to pieces,
ruin those magnificent castles of the barbarians, and rescue your Christian brethren
from the ill-usage and slavery of the Musselmen! Those whom you can no longer
rescue, you can at least revenge! Behold me, for I am an example that shall urge
you on!"
And, with a last agonising exertion, a tall thin man, of a deadly
pale but noble countenance, his hair and beard dishevelled, as it is never seen
but on imprisoned wild beasts, rose up from behind the golden trellis-work,
firmly clinging to it, like ivy to a broken wall, bleeding from innumerable
wounds between the mangling chains.
Giannettino Doria, with his esquire, looked on shuddering; while
the sorrowful being called to them and the troops that were passing by: "I
am an Italian, like you. I was a happy vinedresser on the sea-shore of
Pausilipo. The sea-dogs, the barbarians, snatched me away —tore me from my wife
and child. What is become of them, God knows, not I! Fifteen years of misery have I lived here, in
chains, like a wild animal in brutish labour, as an ox before the plough and
wagon! The cry of your landing drove the family of my oppressor away from here;
and I was too weary to follow the rest of their scourged beasts, slaves, and
other animals to Algiers. The sweet little children of the house, like little
Cupids, with sharp-pointed arrows, shot at me, as people often do in our
country at ridiculous, strange figures painted on wood. Now rescue! now revenge!"
He sank down dying upon the trunk of an aloe, which, at a sign from
Giannettino Doria, Walprecht had brought to ease him, so that his last breath might
pass, along with his cries of rescue and revenge, undisturbed and unchecked into
the hearts of his comrades.
When at length his voice was silent, Giannettino said to his
squire, Walprecht: " What think you now?"
"Death or victory against these colonies of devils!" answered
the young German; and his cheeks, a little while ago so youthful, had become
pale, deathly pale, as the face of an old man agitated with the deepest
passion.
Chapter
Fourth
The Christian camp was pitched. Some twenty thousand foot-soldiers,
chosen from Duke Alba's band, were stationed on the hill, ranged in many deep
files, as a protection against the Arabs. Upon the left wing, which was
stationed as a vanguard nearer to the city, the Spaniards were encamped, commanded
by the vice-king of Sicily, Don Gonzago, Don Alvaro de Sandez, and the Duke of
Camarino. At the centre were posted the Germans; with them was the emperor
himself. Five hundred gentlemen, as his body-guard, accompanied him, who,
selected from the three great nations of the army, had each desired to be a
sharer in so great an honour. At the right wing were stationed the Italian
troops, under Camillo, Colonna, Spinola, and Giannettino Doria.
Soon proceeded forth from the city the gloomy sound of trumpets,
and kettle drums, and other instruments mingled loudly together, and the wild
battle-cry of the barbarians, giving evidence that the enemy were far too haughty
to allow themselves to be surrounded without opposition, and much too proud to
doubt in the least their victory over the infantry of the Christians, who were almost
entirely destitute of cavalry.
A cloud of dust was raised above the gates, through which sparkled
many shining weapons. Swift as the wind the Moorish and Arab riders drew on,
hewing down the Spanish advance-guards, and those of the soldiers who had ventured
out of the camp to seek the means of subsistence and other necessaries for the
army. The shouting barbarians swarmed about the Christians, as if they expected
to tread them to pieces under their horses' hoofs.
But having quickly discharged their first fire, the three warlike
nations stood filed together in a close quadrangle, beginning their murderous
attack with the harquebusses, muskets, and other weapons of artillery, and
continuing it in cold blood, till the confused sally ended just as rashly and
wildly as it had begun. Many dead riders, with their steeds, lay stretched out
upon the plain, —silent witnesses of the enemy's defeat. The Saracen host, nevertheless,
not pursued by the horsemen, had dragged almost all their wounded back to the
city.
The Emperor Charles on his steed still kept his place in the midst
of the victorious troops that were again pressing into their camp; near him was
the greyheaded Andrea
Doria.
Emperor Charles V
"Now, my noble, paternal friend," said the prince to him,
full of martial ardour, "what think you of the first opening of the
combat? Think you that Algiers will hold out to us a longer resistance than
Tunis did six years ago?"
Andrea, his glance solemnly directed to the clouds, slowly
answered: " Above yonder is it determined!"
And the pious emperor bowed low his helmeted head, encircled with a
golden crown, in humble acquiescence, saying: "You know, father Doria,
that not only what is sent down from the eternal throne above is good — it is
most certainly the very best that could happen."
"My most honoured master," said the Doge of Genoa, his
eyes sparkling with enthusiasm; "in the greatness of your thoughts you
have oftentimes outflown me, but never more beautifully than now; for this
time, I had only fixed my eyes and thoughts upon the visible firmament. Signs
of an approaching storm seem to me to be rising in the air, and as yet scarcely
a tenth part of your six thousand horsemen are disembarked, while of your heavy
artillery not one single barrel is on shore; and the land force is altogether
without means of subsistence in "these regions, which are cultivated with
only useless vegetation, so that they depend entirely on supplies from the
ships. Permit me, as your faithful admiral, to take my place again upon the
ship, in order that I may hasten the disembarkation of the forces, as well as
make preparations against the storm hanging over us. Meanwhile there will rage
on shore another kind of storm. I hope again, at the right hour, to take my
place of honour by the side of my imperial lord and protector."
"You are brave as you are wise," answered the emperor Charles
with friendly respect; "and I tell you, father Andrea, why I depend so
firmly upon the success of our noble undertaking: it is because God has placed at
my side such a helper and adviser as yourself. Let us follow as God calls us.
Where the spirit leads, there certainly is opened the true path for honour and
victory."
The Doge of Genoa bent down gratefully to his imperial friend; then
he walked slowly to the strand, deeply thinking and revolving great things in
his widely-experienced heart.
Meanwhile the emperor Charles called the herald of the empire, and
commanded the stately messenger, accompanied by a trumpeter, to proceed to
Algiers, and to require a conference with the wild renegade, Hassan Aga.
"Here," said he, handing him a roll of parchment, "you have the
generous conditions which I consent to grant the wretch, in case he yields, and
gives up immediately the city and harbour; for if he agrees, it seems of such
infinite value to spare the blood of subjects — of Christians. Believe me,
valiant herald," added the emperor Charles with a moved voice, "to
send you thus into that horde of robbers, and into the power of their apostate
chief, gives me sorrow enough. God knows, I would willingly, and with all my
heart, tread the dangerous path myself; but God knows also that I may
not."
And the commissioned one, bowing with calm solemnity, said:
"My imperial commander has called me a herald, and I hope to prove myself
worthy of the name, both in life and death."
And turning his horse towards the stronghold of the pirates, he
rode forward with slow and stately step over the blood - sprinkled ground — a
trumpeter before him, blowing at regular intervals, which, among civilised
nations, is the customary greeting of a truce.
At the same time the emperor, having accomplished his duty as he
desired, leapt from his saddle, and went — the last of all his soldiers — into
his tent.
Chapter
Fifth
Meanwhile Andrea Doria had reached the sea-shore, and was in the
act of stepping into the boat which was to conduct him to the admiral's ship,
when he saw another boat near the land, out of which sprang Don Felix Carrero, nobly
equipped: the young Spaniard approached the commander of the squadron with a
respectful salutation.
He received him kindly, yet at the same time gravely, inquiring of
him what weighty and most important event had occurred to call the commander of
ten galleys upon shore.
Don Felix Carrero started at this greeting; but soon recovered
himself, and answered: "In the first place, I am not here without the
knowledge of the Spanish captain, Don Mendoza; and in the second, my noble
admiral probably asks me not so much, — ' Why so soon on land?' as, ' Why so
late?' An hour ago did he not see from the admiral's ship its mighty leader
depart? and do I not see even now your feet clad in rider's boots and knight's
spurs? And, sire, your noble steed, from which you have just dismounted, shews
plainly by
its
matted hair how vigorously it has struggled in this day's fight."
Andrea Doria looked on the fiery young Spaniard with a strange
smile, wherein lay some slightly contemptuous superiority, which was, however,
at the same time, softened by a most pleasing expression of paternal kindness.
Then the rash Carrero involuntarily cast down his boldly flashing
eyes.
After a short silence, Andrea Doria said: "Young comrade, half
a century at least has passed since any one has called my eighty years'
experience into question, as to why I did this, or why I left the other undone.
Indeed, I had the good luck, even in the thirtieth year of my life, to arrive
at some stability of judgment; and therefore I do not imagine that I shall now,
before my perhaps very near passage into eternity, lose, just at the last, that
mostcostly of all earthly goods. It is for this reason that your rebuke does
not greatly disturb me, dear Don Felix Carrero; so much the less since it comes
from you; for, indeed, not only do I love and honour your wonderful nation in
general, but you in particular I love and honour above all others. Therefore,
listen, and judge.
“The admiral's place is often at the side of his commander-in-chief,
partly to receive orders directly from him, and as directly give back
information to him; to see with his own eyes the movements of the land-army,
and to make resolutions beforehand suitable to any probable change of circumstances.
Neither at this or at any other time could such reasons as these call the
commander of the transport ships from his post."
Admiral Andrea Doria
With some resentment upon his noble features, Don Felix answered:
"Nevertheless, the commander of the transport ships does not for this
reason, thank Heaven, cease to be a Castilian knight, if the favouring stars have
permitted him to be born as such, and if no unworthiness of his own has bereft
him of that inestimable jewel. But a Castilian knight keeps his word; and I
have given mine some time ago to that incomparable beauty, the Donna Lisandra,
— I need only repeat her name to mark her as an object of respectful admiration
to the whole world—yes, to her, who as my wedded bride has followed me hither
with the noble courage of a Queen Zenobia, have I pledged my word, in three
days at the longest after our arrival, to accompany her to the shore, at the west
of the doomed barbarian city, that she may be a close witness of the deeds
which I, upon this continent, in this imperishable and ever-famed warlike
expedition, hope to accomplish. To choose out a place where I think I can with
safety conduct the beautiful umpire of the army, under the protection of a few
faithful followers, I have landed on the shore which, at a later time, I have
determined either to redden with mine or the enemy's blood; for in the ranks of
the foremost foot-squadrons, which was offered to me at the beginning of the
battle, will I fight. Sorely I grieve that I have missed the engagement that has
just taken place; yet I had to give some necessary orders for the unloading of
the heavy artillery on board my galleys; now, all that can be finished by any
one —"
"By any one?" answered Andrea Doria, shaking his head.
"I hope you will be that one, Don Felix Carrero, for to you this important
duty properly belongs; and that, at any rate, you will not leave the deck of your
frigate, and the other galleys of which you have charge, till the whole of the
valuable cargo entrusted to you stands safely on the shore. Then, possibly, it
may be granted you, Don Felix Carrero, to satisfy your thirst for battle upon
these African coasts. Till then, honour and duty forbid you to move one step
from your galleys. And now allow yourself to be rowed back to them without
losing a moment. No answer, I beg of you! Your admiral commands you, as you
love your own honour and duty!"
With these words, the Genoese doge stepped into the boat.
Pale from noble indignation, Don Felix walked back to his, and
leapt into it, turning the helm towards the deserted ship, without being able
to utter one syllable from his lips, sealed with passion. The bark flew over
the sea back again to Carrero's magnificent galley; upon the deck of which stood Signora
Lisandra, clothed in a rich satin drapery of the deepest and most beautiful
colours, holding in her wondrously beautiful arms a polished and ornamented lute;
to its loudly awakened tones she sang the following words to her bridegroom:
"Bravest captain, noble knight,
Hast thou found a glorious spot
Where thy love, thy bride may stand,
By the battle harmed not,
To behold the glorious fight?
Haste! I long to go!I stand
As for triumph decked, to see
Mohammed's power in ruins laid,
For thine and the Christians’ victory !"
Felix felt not only the words but the music also rouse anew the
rage that was burning in his soul; but softening his heart before the sounds of
his lady's lute, he sang to her the following words:
“A cold old man forbade our landing;
He, proud ruler of the flood,
A Neptune white, with snowy beard,
On the Moorish borders stood.
Noble lady, lay thou by
The glorious signs of victory;
Put off the glorious ornaments.
Less bright how far than the form
that wears them!
Lay thee down in gentle slumber,
Servile tasks to me belong;
Rest thy beauteous head in slumber,
Till a noble stirring song
Wakes thee from the world of dreams-
Wakes thee to behold the fight."
And
Donna Lisandra sang, in answer.
"I will sleep, and I will dream.
But adorned with noble pomp;
For a solemn vow I made,
Never more, were it a year—
A hundred, or a thousand years, —
My glorious gems to lay aside.
When once I was apparelled thus.
Till before Algiers' gates
The eagle of our host should stand,
And bid our conquering army halt!”
Chapter Sixth
The sun had already begun to sink to the west when the herald of
the German empire, who had been sent to Algiers, again entered the presence of
the Emperor Charles V. He sat in his magnificent tent, crowded with chiefs and
captains, where, according to ancient custom, the herald struck his bright
golden staff upon the ground with a long, widely-stretched arm, as if he were
planting a young tree, and then began to speak thus: "Divine greeting, and
divine prosperity from above, and my humble subject's duty, to my most gracious
emperor, lord, and master! What I have to communicate to your imperial majesty
from the pirate's stronghold of Algiers is bold insolence, diabolical madness,
and obstinacy, to be bowed in no other way than by fire and sword. If it is not
contrary to the will of your imperial majesty, I, the herald of the holy,
glorious empire of Germany, stand ready to declare what I said and heard."
"Rise, and declare it to us, warily and with truth," said
the emperor, kindly.
And the herald spoke as follows: "Arrived before the heathen
robbers' nest, and at the call of the trumpet admitted to their presence with
the apparent acknowledgment of an honourable herald, I still can only ascribe
it to the protection of the Almighty Lord of all hosts that I arrived at the
Mohammedan market-place (that they call the Bazaar) without being cut to
pieces, and returned from it again in safety. The success of which marvelous return
is considerably more to be wondered at than the success of the safe arrival.
And yet this also seems far more like a divine miracle than an undertaking
accomplished under mere human protection, though that be the highest, even the
protection of the most mighty emperor himself The whole way as we went through
the city the rabble insulted us with coarse words, sometimes also cast stones,
at the trumpeter as well as at me, which were but too well aimed; also from the
windows and balconies of considerable houses were poured revilings and insulting
words; and even by most gorgeously dressed persons — yes, I do not lie — were
stones cast on us. My serious remonstrances were of no avail, but rather
increased than decreased their insults. Notwithstanding, I finally arrived at
the bazaar in safety, and found Hassan Aga, after the Turkish fashion, seated
in state upon a throne formed of costly carpets and cushions, as our jugglers
exhibit themselves in comedies, in coloured calico and gold paper. Hassan Aga
himself received me very harshly, requiring to know why I was sent hither, and who
had sent me, in such a supremely insolent manner, that I should not have dared
to declare the same, if it had not been the express command of the most high emperor."
The Emperor Charles answered, smiling: "It is well, brave
herald. We absolve you and ourselves from those uncourteous titles. What else
may have proceeded from the mouth of the renegade? Proceed! I would hear Hassan
Aga's final resolution."
"As for the rest," said the herald, " it may sound pardonable
enough; for the renegade suddenly restrained his snarlings and menaces, as if
to his poor lost soul there returned a memory of those better days, when he
still would have paid honour to the blessed Christians, and with that also an
awful feeling of innocent respect at the greeting of an imperial herald. But
something sprang up out of the midst of the crowd like a she-wolf enchanted into
a human form, dashing up and down between the people and the ranks of soldiers
like a poisonous horse-fly, in a way that it was impossible to describe, or to
give any adequate notion of. Thus far I can relate with certainty, that the
people seemed mad at the howling witch as at the stinging of horse-flies, and
the wicked renegade still more mad than any one. I and the bold trumpeter, in
the firm belief that our last hour was come, encouraged each other with a few
honourable words, to suffer as good Christians what might be inflicted on us by
Heaven, and as steadfast German soldiers, to look joyfully on everything, even
in death. Then we prayed silently, fervently, and deeply, till dizziness
overcame our brain; and the people seemed to be nothing more than mad puppets,
swarming about in a mountebank's booth. But they became silent by degrees: it
might be that in their wild frenzy they had raged till they were weary; or
possibly the above marvelous apparition might have stopped them, feeling that
it was permitted the tumult should go 'so far and no farther.'
“But the assembly grew ever more and more silent almost like
running water from a pond that is drying in the sun, which at first, swelled by
torrents of rain, had overleapt its banks with a great rushing sound. Then at
last (whether the above-mentioned witch remained or not, I was in too great
confusion to ascertain) speech returned to Hassan Aga, and, in truth, in the
most heathenish and coarse manner. But he nevertheless commanded that we should be dismissed, in order that I
might inform my noble lord that he gave your imperial majesty his word that you
would have no more occasion to rejoice in the present undertaking than
heretofore the two bold Spaniards, Don Ugo de Moncade and Don Diego de Bera, could
have boasted of theirs upon the same place of combat; and so they let us out,
it is true, but not as became our dignity and office, accompanying us with
hideous yells, and with stones that they cast upon us as we went. But we
proceeded with calm, majestic steps, free from the least haste, as unbecoming
the ambassadors of your noble majesty. And we comforted each other with the
assurance, that He who drew us out of our first great peril would likewise
continue to protect us, and truly with perfect right, for here I stand unharmed
before your imperial majesty, the trumpeter also, my companion in misfortune and
honour, stands behind me unharmed, and our good steeds likewise have met with
no hurt in the insane tumult of that heathenish crowd."
The Emperor Charles V made a gracious inclination of his
head towards the two ambassadors, and said, deeply moved: "I beg of you
earnestly, faithful and worthy messengers, to refresh yourselves after your well-withstood injuries and danger. Truly, not sparingly shall
you be rewarded, if God continues my life and my kingly power."
Then rising from his lofty throne, his hand on his sword, he looked
with sparkling eyes upon his chiefs and captains as they stood around in motley
groups. Each one, according to the order of his arms which he was accustomed to
wear, like a clap of thunder, shouted the imperial words through the circle:
"Algiers, the bold defier of all true people and united Christendom, must fall."
"Fall" was echoed again by many hundred voices.
"To your posts, my brave soldiers; they are known to you!"
cried the emperor. "To-morrow shall the pirates' city be besieged from
three mighty batteries; later, when all our heavy artillery is on land, we will
attack with twelve. Not much longer shall this brood of heathens scoff at us,
I, the emperor, promise you. To your posts!" he again shouted, in the tone
of a commander, and left the tent.
Joyful at the noisy warlike rattle of the weapons, all pressed out
of the imperial tent; while heavy rain poured dawn from the darkening
night-clouds.
"It will lay the sand of the desert!" said many happy shouting
voices, in the German, Spanish, and Italian languages.
Giannettino Doria, in the stately crowd, again met with Baron
Marbach, the knight of the German order, and asked him, with his young heart
swelling high,— "Now, baron, in what light do you view the world and our
warlike expedition? Did you not join in the brave echo, when the emperor said,
'Algiers must fall!'—the fall that sounded
as if from one mouth?"
"Fall? yes!" answered the baron, gloomily, just like another
echo. "Fall! yes, indeed! But do you as certainly know who it is that
shall fall?"
Chapter Seventh
It was
about mid-day, and high in the heavens would have sparkled the hot southern
sun, only his glowing rays could not pierce through the dense grey covering of
clouds which, like a wide and thick carpet, stretched over land and sea,
streaming down endless torrents of rain upon Algiers and its environs, as far
as the clearest eye could penetrate.
Actively did the soldiers of the Emperor Charles work at
the rising foundation of the three batteries whose flames were to pierce the
stronghold of the pirates, and already from the distant hills sent forth a few
solitary greetings of death over the heads of the workmen. But the sand of the
ground, that was wetted quite through, caked together in huge lumps, and then
again breaking asunder, checked and hindered the progress of the work; so that
the workmen sank, now here, now there, up to their knees in the damp soil, or
slipped out to try and reach a firmer footing. At every step, before and to the
side, each person was obliged to hold firmly on his neighbour. The labour and
trouble of this business overpowered the strength of almost all the soldiers,
who worked at it in turn.
The young trooper out of Giannettino Doria's bodyguard, Walprecht,
whom we have already made acquaintance with on board ship at the beginning of
our history, now without his horse, and, instead of his sword, vigorously handling
the spade, said joyfully to one of his fellow soldiers, who was almost lying
under his work:
" Now, Lupold, what would the merry wenches in Genoa, and our
noble young ladies of the Maine and Rhine say, if they saw you — generally such
a merry companion, and so active in the dance and sports — so overcome in a
warlike business? Ah, Lupold, recover yourself, or I will tell them about it, I
promise you, and make all your gestures so piteously absurd, that their laughter
will not cease for a whole evening long.”
" That foolish mirth," answered Lupold peeyishly, sinking
the spade into the ground, and exhausted, supporting himself upon it, in so far
as the wet sand clinging about his feet would permit — "that foolish
woman's mirth, and the wit from you, I would pardon from my
heart,
if it was come already, and I was well out of this dog's life."
“You!” said Walprecht, warningly, and for one moment also lingering
in his work. “Bethink yourself comrade! So easily vexed! Scarcely would the
lowest German lancer murmur at such a cause; how much less, then, a trooper in
the body-guard of the noble Giannettino Doria!"
But the other answered, still discontentedly, "Well, let it be
so! Have you ever before in your life seen me discontented, when it was my
business to break in or to train horses, or to curry them, or even to put a fine
polish on my saddling-tackle, and whatever else constitutes the duty of a good
trooper? For as a trooper I was hired into the body-guard of my master, Giannettino
Doria, and that with perfect love and desire; but not as a sapper. That is verily
only a boor's work, and I am a soldier, and moreover a horse-soldier."
"Where
have the five hundred young gentlemen placed themselves, who serve his imperial
majesty as horse-guards?" asked Walprecht.
"Well,
but," returned Lupld, "they do it of their own accord; and though I hold them to be far richer and more noble,
yet, as horse-guards, they are in no way better than you or I."
"But
wait a moment. Who there, on your left, is working so diligently with his
spade? Do you know him?" said Walprecht.
"A
little," said the other. “He is an Italian nobleman out of that guard, and
called Monte — no ; what it he called? Monte-Cuc —yes, Cuc — Oli, heaven knows what
he is called! but I know him very well, and that he is indeed a stout-hearted
trooper."
"And,"
asked Walprecht, "who is he a little further on?"
"That
is a Spaniard out of the same troop," was Lupold's answer; "a proud,
bold swordsman, who would throw away all his fortune if a poor devil that he
pitied asked him for it, but who would fight against a hundred devils from hell
for a piece of buttered bread, if they tried to take it from him by force. He is
a child of very considerable parents, and I think his name is Corduan —or some
other such fine name. Yes, and truly, near him also digs the young nobleman,
Gerd of Glemningen, another of the imperial horse-guards, whose father is the feoffee
of my father. Now I understand why you asked me, Walprecht."
“Are you worse off than they are?" asked the other. "You
allowed before that you were not so noble."
"But consider," stammered Lupold with confusion, trying
to excuse himself — "these young noblemen do it quite unbidden, for their
own will and pleasure; but such as we—"
Walprecht angrily interrupted him with these words: "Then, is not
the command of a noble warrior more than the will and pleasure of a German
trooper?"
"Forwards, comrade!" cried Lupold. "Work, in order
that we may outdo the young noblemen!" And hastily and vigorously they
both again placed their spades into the bulwarks, with their eagerness doubly
making up for the time that they had lost in talking.
But there suddenly was heard a sharp fire from the right wing,
where the Italians stood; also from the left wing, entrusted to the Spaniards.
At the same time, the horde of pirates sent so powerful a discharge of shot against
the centre, where the Germans were posted, that for a moment the rainy clouds,
at least immediately over the combatants, seemed pressed together, and the sun shed
his beams over the field of battle, but only faintly and gloomily. In this
light — more horrible than the dim obscurity— was seen the Baron Marbach
leaping towards them, or rather only trotting; for, however much he endeavoured
to urge his horse to a swifter speed, the deep mire of the soaked ground, and
also the fatigue of the former combat, prevented the otherwise faster motion of
the noble animal. Wildly flew the white mantle of his German order about the
knight, as well from his impatient movements as from the rising hurricane.
"He brings some news, but nothing of good!" passed in a
whisper through the files of sappers. All looked as if paralysed towards the
newcomer; while the falling of the shot right and left, particularly from the
Italian side, gave evidence, by its direction, that the sallying enemy was
advancing rapidly.
Then was distinctly heard the call of the baron: "Away with
your hatchets and spades! To arms! — to arms! The dismounted riders back to
their horses! All back to the centre of the army! — the heathens are there.
They press hard upon both wings, but your emperor still hopes for victory from
his collected Germans Do you hear?
Victory! — very soon will it be with you! But now back — back —speedily back!
Leave your hatchets and spades! Quickly back to the headquarters! Then again
forwards to victory! The emperor relies upon his Germans!"
This call, full of animation, but certainly somewhat strange and
disjointed, perhaps might have had upon other than German soldiers rather a
confusing than an enlivening effect: here it proved far otherwise. Already the
friendly sounds of their native language — which, in the army, composed of
three nations, was but seldom heard by the German squadron — shed a joy over
the otherwise unwelcome message; and, more than all, the sentence — "The emperor relies upon his Germans!”
Walprecht and Lupold, on their horses again, joined a party of
other German troopers out of Andrea's bodyguard, and Walprecht cried out
joyfully: "Well, as it has turned out, it is all for the best that our
master gave us this work to do, as now we are to fight once more, at the side
of our German countrymen."
But Lupold answered, shaking his head: "At the side of our
German countrymen! Dear brother, you were before more prudent than I was; but
this time there is occasion for me to shake my head at you. In whose service
and pay, then, are we?—yes, in whose oath? And hark at the thundering and the
crackling in the foreign squadrons! Whose throat is the knife now piercing ?
and more —whose body-guards are we?"
"Thunder and Doria, you are right!" cried Walprecht. "Away
with the spades! — out with the falchions! To the assistance of our bold young
master, Giannettino! "
With these words they galloped over to the right, where the
Italians were stationed. There the combat raged wild and boisterous. The Moors
and Arabs, accustomed to their strange African soil, and observing that the
rain had wet the gunpowder, so that the arms of the Christians missed fire more
often than discharged properly, pressed ever more fiercely forwards, flinging,
with their peculiar strength and dexterity, spears and arrows into the enemy's
files, — stones also of such fearful sharpness and weight, that every limb they
struck was shattered or maimed. Even at the beginning of the combat, the
barbarians, rushing on with their mighty falchions, had broken through the
companies of the Italian foot-soldiers, and entirely hewn them down, as they
stood, or rather slipped or sunk, upon the soaked and sandy ground.
Like a grove of pines crushed by a hurricane, or like a
wildly-heaped funeral-pile, the mangled corpses lay one above another, staring
horror into the hearts of their still living companions. It is true their files
continued to hold together, though they were irretrievably weakened; but this
resistance was owing less to their tactics and good discipline, than to the
fear of falling alone into the hands of the victoriously-raging Moors and
Arabs. The bold Italian chieftains, Camillo, Colonna, and Spinola, kept their
men firm, to the utmost of their power, by the example of a noble contempt for
death, and by now encouraging, now nobly-chiding acclamations. The retreat began
slowly and orderly; but, nevertheless, it was a retreat.
Vainly did the faithful German troopers seek in the crowd for their
young lord and master, Giannettino Doria. They had caught sight of him for a
moment among the three companies that were massacred; then he vanished and
disappeared without the slightest trace.
All seemed lost here. But still, high upon his snowy white Spaniard's
steed, was seen the Emperor Charles; his glittering two-bladed German
knight-sword in his right hand, turning it right and left as it were a
commander's staff; and it might well be seen, in the midst of such great
danger, that a less sharp commander's scepter would not protect the imperial
master of the host.
Emperor Charles V
Then it happened that two Italian foot-soldiers broke forth into a
mutinous cry, shouting "Down to the sea! Away to the strand! Upon the
ships alone is there any protection for us! Preservation for us from the fire
of the pirates' shots! Away to the strand!"
And while the two ungovernable men shouted their mad words boldly
and loudly, many thought it was a command from the officers — a command which
in their hearts they were willing enough to obey — and numbers turned in the
direction pointed out.
In vain did the captain of the company seek for the two mutineers
to bring them to silence by threats. Become bolder at length by many occasional
murmurs in their files, they stepped forth before the company, throwing away
their muskets, .and drawing their short swords, shouting, " Henceforth,
comrades, we are your officers. Away to the ships! March!"
The enraged captain, thrusting his sword against the frenzied men,
unexpectedly found himself attacked from behind by one of their accomplices,
and disarmed. Already the squadron had set itself in motion towards the
seashore. Then the Emperor Charles sprang up to it, accompanied only by a few
of his noble bodyguard (the other five hundred he had sent away through the
field of battle, at various points, divided into little squadrons, to stop the
retreat); and with an angry commanding voice, he cried " Halt! Where do
you go?"
All stood a moment; but quickly encouraged by the boldness that had
once broken loose, both the ringleaders (two of the lowest and most dissolute
of the dregs of the people) answered him, " To the seashore, my lord! We are
going down to the seashore. That is the only gate open to you for escape! We
counsel you for the best."
And they approached with quick steps, as if they would have seized
the white horse of the emperor by the bridle, in order to lead his master with
them after their own pleasure.
Yet
before his life-guards could prevent this insolent attack, the sharp
commander's blade of the emperor struck both the mutineers, and they sank down
in their blood. He who had been the captain of the company, panic-struck,
sprang back again alone and timidly into the crowd.
But the emperor said, now halting straight before the first
company, "Captain, there lies your blade at your feet. Take it up, and let
it not be so improvidently wrested from you a second time. The worst pair out
of your files have died an infinitely more noble death than they deserved; for
death from a soldier's hand is a most undeserved crown of honour for a rebel.
But the poison of mutiny has spread shame over the whole troop. You, captain,
are also guilty; for without neglect of the gardener, the garden is not
overgrown with weeds. Up, altogether, to wipe away this stain from you — up!
Halberdiers, prepare your weapons for the attack! Musketeers, load afresh! If
henceforth, on this gloriously hard-fought day, the company remain nearest to
the enemy, so shall they also, from henceforth, be the nearest to my heart.
Drummer and fifer, do your part! The treason is washed away from the company of
the Captain Tibaldo. To the enemy, and forwards ! March !"
And forwards pressed, in perfect order, the troop, inspired strangely
by the words of the emperor. With firm steps and flourishing of drums, they
proceeded on their way, followed by those of the company who were nearest them;
and thus their revived courage spread through the united Italian squadron. And
then, as it often happened in bygone days—and the old Romans, trying to explain
it, said that the wing of their heathen goddess Victory was turned—then pressed
a fearful apprehension into the soul of the Mohammedans, not over-courageous
even now, that their as yet dormant adversaries had gained an unknown something;
an apprehension which even the careless gambler is not a stranger to if the
so-called fortune turns over from him to his adversary; how much more to be
felt, then, in a noble combat, where fortune also is an inspiration!
But vainly may verbal or written words endeavour to express that
which is inexpressible. Enough that it has existed. The medley of the Moors and
Arabs recoiled. The squadron of the Italians took a firm and joyful stand.
"Now away to my Germans!" cried the Emperor Charles, and
calling to his noble bodyguard to reassemble about him, he trotted after the
firmly-ordered centre where the Germans were pressed together like an unconquerable
wall of fortification. Opposite were innumerable strong troops of the enemy on
horse and foot; but beyond reach of the artillery, and without having as yet
joined in the attack. The firm halting of the German squadron seemed to
astonish them, or had brought them to the determination rather to tarry until the
Spaniards and Italians at the wings should be entirely discomfited, in order
then, with their full unweakened force from all sides, to fall on their enemy
in the centre. Only a few cannon-shots fell here and there, seldomest from the
side of the Germans; for they rightly determined to save the small quantity of
powder already landed, to use at the most decisive moment. As they saw the
winged file of their master approach, they cried out joyfully and with a voice
of thunder, "Long live our most gracious emperor Charles V!"
and the whole battle-crowd, perceiving the approach of their noble commander,
took up the word and shouted it again and again.
Kindly thanking and greeting them, the emperor rode slowly to the
first rank, often repeating the words, "To you, my brave Germans, I grant
today a chief part of the victory! Now go forwards, with my most high person immediately
at your head!"
Joyously flamed the noble German blue eyes, and rightly glowed the
fresh German countenances; and as the general now rode before their front, the
captains of the German files, forming a circle around him, thundered still more
loudly out of the troops to heaven, "Long live our most gracious emperor
Charles!"
The heathen adversaries seemed to tremble at this sound, as if it
were already a shout of victory. At least there was evident a strange moving to
and fro in their squadron, without any distinct or definite intention; also quick
assembling of their leaders and then separating again, and numerous swift
riders hurrying away to both wings of their host.
The Emperor Charles looked at them a long time with the sharp and
eager glance of a commander. Then he despatched some of his noble bodyguard to
the strand, entrusting them with a sealed paper for the admiral Andrea Doria,
with the command of the strictest haste, and the knowledge by what signal they
could immediately call in a boat from the admiral's ship to their relief. The messengers
sprang away, using their utmost strength to vie in speed with the Arab
messengers.
Brightly smiling, the Emperor Charles for some moments looked
through the circle on the surrounding colonels, then turning his eyes upon the
Baron of Marbach, he said, "Well, now, my experienced knight of the German
order; you are by no means always friendly to my hopes, but—I know it—much more
often accustomed to chide than to encourage; what think you of the present
position of affairs?"
"I admire the high gifts of the commander, and the wise
knowledge of war that my imperial lord possesses," answered Marbach,
bowing gravely, but with eyes glowing with enthusiasm.
"Do you, then, understand me and my measures so perfectly?"
smiled the emperor, with an almost imperceptible tincture of disdain.
And the knight returned, suddenly icy-cold, with a firmer voice:
"I hope so indeed—with certainty: yes."
"Now let me hear them, lord of Marbach," said the emperor.
Casting a look round, the baron asked, "Before all these
witnesses?"
"There are none among them from whom I hold more secrets than
from you," was the calm reply.
And the German lord, deeply wounded in his inmost heart, yet on
that account—as from a mortal wound—growing more cool outwardly, only that his
large eyes sparkled like stars through a thunder-cloud, said, "Well, my
great emperor, seeing that the time of the year, weather, and the soil of the
ground, are against his bold undertaking, his most noble friend (but sometimes
also his most noble enemy), the Baron Marbach, hopes that he has subdued his
own great heart, and has just sent a command
to the admiral, Andrea Doria, for the re-embarkation of the army. The collected
German corps is sufficient to cover the retreat of the Italian and Spanish squadrons,
and has already inspired the barbarians with sufficient respect to be able
worthily to follow, as a rearguard, without too great a hazard."
"It seems, my baron," said the emperor, "that you see
the objects as they present themselves in strangely polished mirrors—quite
correctly as far as they go, but only just shewing the head. Not with a command
of reembarkation are my messengers despatched to the great admiral; but rather
for the disembarkation of all the artillery, all the horses, and all the means
of subsistence destined for the land-army. Also, not for a rearguard will I
employ my German squadron, but rather for a vanguard in the general attack,
which shall begin, I intend, as soon as the bodyguards that are despatched to
the left wing bring me information how it fares with my "Spanish
squadrons."
And if the answer is returned, that they fare badly?" asked
the Baron Marbach, drily.
“Then shall the attack of the Germans be somewhat modified, but
only still more bold," returned the emperor; adding, with a louder voice,
"for mark you, brave colonels and captains, Algiers will your emperor
vanquish, or before Algiers will he die!"
A deep silence at these words overspread the assembly — a warlike,
noble silence, in which gravely mingled apprehensions of death, as well as
proud and beautiful hopes of victory.
It was broken by the voice of one who called in haste, "Where
is the emperor? I bring a message for the emperor! A message of victory I
bring!" Then within the circle, quickly flying open for him, leading his
nimble Polish steed close before the emperor, entered the young Baron of Lichtenstein,
one of the emperor's noble guards; and his cheeks glowing with joy and thoughts
of battle, he said, "In a good hour has my imperial lord dismissed me. I was
witness to a splendid deed of victory. The bold Spaniards stood on the plain,
assaulted by the whole of the heathen force, which had thrown itself between
them and the high position of the great Duke Alba. He meanwhile had enough to
do to repel the Arabs, who seemed to rise up out of the sand, whirling from
thence horrible pillars into the air; so that neither from him nor from the
left wing of the chief corps could any resistance be expected. Then Don Alvaro
de Sandez seized the standard—the standard of St. Jago de Compostella—and cried
aloud, 'Give oar saints and me into the power of those heathenish devils, or
crush them to pieces! San Jago and I will venture into hell, in the name of God
and of all the saints!’ And all followed that heard or even saw him, as he
waved the banner, on his horse which far overtopped the crowd; and the bold vice-king
of Sicily, like a sunbeam, hastening through the ranks, led after him those who
tarried. You may still hear their flourishes. —
“Forward, without delay!"
"To the attack, noble knights!" cried the emperor. Today
will the banner of the cross yet triumph upon the walls of Algiers!"
And while the colonels and chiefs left the circle, each springing
to his squadron, the Emperor Charles, towering in the midst and
visible to all, raised his high glittering sword of the cross, and turning to
heaven, cried out to the neighbouring German corps with his powerful commander's
voice, "In the name of God, forwards: march!" And as they pressed on
closer towards him, he cried to them with a serene victory-declaring
countenance, "My friends, soon shall the enemy vomit upon us more horrible
flames, the more fearful the nearer we press to the abominable dragon's nest.
But turn not at their rage. Victory is decreed to us! In God's cause you
combat! for the glory of your old and glorious nation! for the good and the
honour of united Christendom!”
Forwards then went the squadron with a triumphal step, the emperor
in front; opposite them the heathen corps began immediately to turn and give
way. The Italians courageously backed up the Germans; and from the left wing,
already quite near the walls of the city, sounded loudly the victorious call of
the Spaniards and the flourish of their trumpets.
Chapter Eighth
From Don Felix Carrero's magnificent galley, he and his beautiful
beloved looked down upon the warlike contest now going forward on shore — Donna
Lisandra still arrayed in her glittering ornaments: Don Felix sparkling in his
chosen decorated weapons; the silver target on his arm; at his side the great
Spanish rapier, with a beautifully-carved golden hilt; and sparkling out of his
richly embroidered girdle the smaller short sword, with a diamond-cut hilt,
which he generally used with his left hand, and called Daga.
A busy crowd of men moved around the two tall silent figures. For a
short time ago, the great admiral, Andrea Doria, on receiving the imperial
message, had given the signal for the disembarkation of all the land artillery,
horses, stores of powder, and for all the provision destined for the army. Don
Felix, who had been keeping everything in readiness for the landing of the
cannon committed to his charge, now joyfully saw how quickly the work went on
in all the galleys over which he had the command, hoping to feel himself soon
disburdened from the interdict which still held his battle-dreaming soul far
from the African strand, already besprinkled with the blood of heroes and
heathens; but, full of proud melancholy.
The glorious Lisandra stood at his side, till she at last, not
being able longer to restrain her indignant feelings, broke out in these words:
— " Felix ! the inferior gods, to whom a higher power seems to have left
the management of our human fate —elements, accidents, whirlpools of time, and
whatever else they may be called — are hurtful to you and to me. It may be,
because your great father too boldly challenged them at your cradle, in calling
you Felix, the happy; so may they now hazard their wild power to transform you to
Infelix, the unhappy."
"They may," returned the noble, proud youth, while he
looked smiling upon his wonderfully beautiful beloved, and then upon his
glittering sword, that had already oftentimes been sprinkled with glory.
"Till now," he added calmly—"till now, at any rate, their
trouble has not been particularly rewarded."
"Oh," said Lisandra, "I know very well that gifts and
joys are destined for you, Felix, which none of those malicious hobgoblins —
indeed, they are only deserving of this name, not that of gods —may venture to
intermeddle with — my love, Felix, and your heroic courage. But the garlands of
this courage should deck you, and not a single charm out of them should be
lost, if all went right in this world. Yet look!—only look how the attack against
Algiers presses forwards, like the all-absorbing waves of the sea! Oh, you
shall experience it, my knight!
Yet before we land—yet before the business of this day, this
disembarkation of the artillery, is accomplished, that glorious contest will be
decided, and will have enveloped us, with ever flowing-on waves, in the dark
night of forgetfulness."
"The lady has rightly spoken," said a tawny,
weather-beaten boatswain, from the coast of Majorca, while, misunderstanding
Lisandra's words, he suddenly stopped, as he walked to and fro before them; "only
too rightly has the lady spoken," he said again, while, shaking his head, he
now looked up to the firmament, now down over the sea. "Dark night! Do you
not see, Don Carrero, how they already begin to gather, the approaching stormy clouds,
on the firmament that was a little while ago so sunny, so serene? Do you not
mark the flowing-on enveloping waves, how they begin to raise their heads, ever
more foamy? Those are the signs of an approaching fearful tempest, particularly
fearful on this strand, and at this time of the year. God preserve us! the
business of the disembarkation must soon have an end, at least for awhile.
“Would to God we were upon a higher sea! There at least a storm can
be partly warded off, when a man understands his handiwork, like you and me,
signor. But here — God preserve us! for many of us the last hour draws
near."
Crossing himself solemnly, he passed them. Lisandra, with searching
glances, in which there was ever mingled more proud hope than timid fear,
looking at her loved one, felt nevertheless, with inward trembling, that the answer
which the air and sea returned to her silent question was not a joyful one. And
at the same time came another still more fearfully warning answer. The
speaking-trumpet from Andrea Doria's admiral-ship thundered through the dark
and lowering air — "Discontinue the disembarking! All power is useless
against the rising storm!"
The captain sent as a signal down to the distant frigates the same
ill-boding message—"Halt with the disembarking! — the storm comes!"
And the storm whistled and howled, and the day became as night, and frightful claps
of thunder broke over land and sea, and the waves dug loose in the deepest
abyss of the sea the anchor of the ship, and rocked madly about, with invisible
gigantic arms, ships, and barks, and galleys; shattering barks to pieces
against the ships and galleys; and striking galleys and ships against each
other in an equally ruinous crash of destruction.
"Are we lost?" sounded Lisandra's voice as clearly as it
could through the tumult, into the ear of her beloved.
But he, not hearing her in the bellowing of the storm and tumult on
board ship, could only press her to his heart with his left arm, thereby
signifying, "Even in death we are one!" holding at the same time the
captain's pipe with his right hand to his lips, crying out a signal-call, through
the howling of the elements, to the many neighbouring vessels that were already
going down and being wrecked.
Chapter Ninth
The storm of the firmament had driven the storm of war back from
the almost conquered ramparts of Algiers. In piercing lightning and in rattling
thunder, the angry heaven seemed to open over those who had considered
themselves as its warriors, and created a far higher and holier sort of fear
and despondency than mere earthly danger was able to awaken in these otherwise
bold and valiant hearts. The European squadron retreated on all sides, and the Emperor
Charles, formerly braving every threatening danger, convinced that to him it
was decreed to plant the banner of the cross over the ruins of this robber's
stronghold, leading as a commander, and fighting in the tumult as a common
soldier — the Emperor Charles felt awful shudders of mighty thoughts pass
through his great soul. "Thou Almighty in heaven and earth! Thou willest not
this work."
And so he ceased from the attempt of stopping the fugitives, and
encouraging them anew to the attack. Thoughtfully he rode after the retreating
troops, unpursued by the enemy; he himself was the last to reach the camp. But
within the walls of the fortress the heathens wildly rejoiced, as though mad
with their unexpected triumph, and with praises shouted the name of their
sorceress, Baranaga, to the sulphurous stormy clouds, which they imagined had
been drawn together by the demoniacal of this magical woman; and between the
shouts they clattered their tin vessels deafeningly, and shook the bells on
their light lances, adorned with half-moons, and blew out of their shapeless
trumpets and horns a hellish dissonance.
The renegade, Hassan Aga, in abhorrence at this distracted tumult
and crowd, stood alone on the battlements of the tower — where we have already
once before described him —that here he might refresh his wild heart with the
defeat of his enemies, which he hoped to see perfectly from this high station.
Yet soon the clouds of rain came between him and the wished-for sight; soon the
shade of clouds lay over the Christian host; and soon also his ally, the wild
storm wind, raged with such terrible violence, that he feared being
precipitated over the battlements, and fixed his spear into the mossy joints of
the stone floor, striving thus to keep himself firm.
Meanwhile, it seemed to him as though he heard a mournful voice
sighing through the air — "Be faithful! — be faithful!" Already in
dreams he had heard that call before; involuntarily it recurred to him;—yes,
hundreds of times in dreams he had heard those words, and in fright and sorrow
had awaked out of his slumber. Once he had heard them in reality, while he was
yet a boy, when his dying mother was weeping in her last pangs, full of bitter
prophesying anticipations of the danger of her darling's future apostasy.
Now, as he strove to keep his body firm by his spear, rusty with
blood, he also strove to keep firm his agitated mind by haughty pride.
Pshaw!" muttered he between his teeth. "My mother sleeps soundly in
her bed, three ells deep. I myself saw her let down into the earth; I myself
heard the clods of earth rattle against her coffin, and wept over it like a
boy, as vainly as though I were now to howl in emulation within the storm. No,
my mother sleeps under the high raised bed, decked with turf, and made firm by
the stroke of the spade. It was a night-owl, who mistook this stormy, dark
evening hour for midnight —perplexed, foolish owl's hooting— nothing
more."
Then rose before him, out of the midst of the building, a dark,
mysterious creature, and danced in wild evolutions up and down before him.
" Ha!" exclaimed the renegade, with suddenly awakened horror,
"what are you? For an owl you are too gigantically large; and you cannot
be the shade of my softly sleeping mother, you unearthly creature!" added he,
with a milder voice.
And the ghastly appearance stood and croaked: ''I am Baranaga — the
witch Baranaga — and require my reward for the storm, raised by my art, that
has put your strong enemies under your feet."
But the renegade replied: "You have not caused this tempest,
witch; you could not. That could only One do; and with Him such as you can make
no covenant."
" If He is so powerful," murmured the witch, with a
hellish grin, "why did you not remain faithful to Him?"
" Alas!" sighed the renegade out of the fearful anguish of
his soul. All other sound was denied him in that horrible time. It was as
though a dream had carried him back for a moment to the paradise-playing years
of childhood, on a hill blooming and pleasant, when suddenly the ground at his
feet sank away, an unearthly sea of naphtha, with hissing tongues, whizzing and
jumping up, surrounded him; and a black spirit stood near the trembling one,
and exclaimed, "That is hell!"
“Save thyself! save thyself!" sighed a sorrowful voice near
him.
But the witch snarled, laughing: "I do not flinch or retire
for mere words ; and you — whatever you may have in your trembling and
tumultuous soul, poor apostate—you have as yet only given me more words. I will
have payment — my payment."
The renegade, with an effort collecting all his strength, said:
"Well, demand the payment, and take it; and let me be forever freed from
you."
"That can by no means happen," said the witch. "Willing
or not willing, we are now yoked to one and the same master — to the
blood-furrowing plough. But to name the price: that is not my custom. You must propose
something."
"If a thousand zechin content you," said the renegade, "take
them— they are yours."
But the witch answered, wildly laughing, "Fool! you might at
least have begun with a hundred thousand zechin, then there might have been a
little more chance of making a bargain. But do not trouble yourself about your
zechins: I would not have them if you were to offer me a million. I require
what will be neither hardship nor pleasure to you — only the finger of a babe
that has been born into the light of Algiers within the last month. You shudder!
But why? It is not necessary that you yourself cut off the little finger. If
you only say 'yes' to my request, I shall have the little finger brought here,
by certain mysterious spells, quite of itself. No suspicion of it either shall
fall upon you. Yet more, you may hoard your heap of zechin, offered to me as a
reward, which never need be paid, as a prize for the animal or race of demons which
tore away or bit off the little finger of the child. But now, before the moon
again grows bright, we must be more familiar, my friend. For mark me—"
She seemed as though she would whisper something in his ear, and
bent over nearer to him, with her withered arms extended. But he, as in dreamy
horror, struck her from him with convulsive force; and she flew lightly as a
ball over the battlements of the tower, then dashed heavily as lead on the
cliff, and cracked like a fallen thunderbolt over the rocky ground. And the
frightful being howled: "Hu! You
have killed our love! You have broken all her bones! For I am Rosetta! Rosetta!
It was only to have seen through that provoking disguise; and you, weak coward,
have horribly crushed me in."
The voice failed, as that of a dying person; and Hassan Aga leant
hesitatingly over the battlement of the tower. With the last horrible gasp, she
uttered a fearful curse; and then, in a wild howl, her unhappy spirit passed
away.
Yet Hassan Aga, breathing more calmly, said: "Oh! no, no! the
curse of the sorceress, truly that told me certainly that she was not Rosetta.
Rosetta wanders quietly and sweetly by the side of her noble love, on the
blooming, sunny Italian shore; protected and guarded from me, and all other
phantoms of the desolate night, — protected, guarded; Rosetta!"
And a sweeter slumber than the unfortunate Hassan had known for
many, many years fell on him, as he lay behind the battlements of the tower on
the sprouting grass between the stones. He heard no more of the wild cries of
victory, and the clattering of the tins and trumpets, with which the crowds of
barbarians were still raging through the city in mad jubilee.
Chapter Tenth
The same hour passed much more solemnly in the Christian camp —if, indeed,
it could be called a camp —deluged by rain, and storm-floods, and raging waves
of the sea,—a desolate plain, where, a little before, bright tents and well-made
fortifications had begun to be erected, and which now only stood like boggy
ruins, inhabited, or rather restlessly haunted, by wandering spirits.
Next to the sea-shore, as near as the dashing salt waves would
allow of, were assembled a little group of dismounted German knights, belonging
to the bodyguard of the nephew of the noble Doge of Genoa, Giannettino Doria. Many
princes and captains, full of earnest consideration and in weighty business,
passed to and fro, warning the little troop not to give themselves up so
uselessly to the possible danger of the sea-waves, which rose higher every
moment.
But the same answer was always returned, —"We will search land
and sea for our young knight and master, Giannettino Doria. We have till now
learnt nothing. Here he left us, and here he must again appear. And so we fear
neither the sand of the shore, nor the foam of the sea."
To such answers no further question was made; and every one was too
much engaged with his own affairs, and his own immediate duty, to repeat in
this time of confusion the injunction that had been given them. So the bold
German bodyguard remained almost undisturbed, faithfully and sorrowfully
listening and looking over the sea and plains as far as the stormy clouds, and showers
of rain and sea-foam, would allow them. Sometimes the name of their dear lost
master sounded through the howling of the storm, ever without answer; sometimes
one strolled right or left along the strand; but all came back without
intelligence.
The setting sun, as it approached the horizon of the sea, broke
through the clouds; and his last rays, like blood-red arrows, illuminated the
tossing ocean, covered with numberless broken ruins of ships.
And as the faithful troop directed their glances with renewed
perseverance over the waste of water, Walprecht, our well-known young trooper,
suddenly exclaimed, full of sorrow: "Look yonder! But perhaps it is only a
heathen ghost of the wild god Neptune, as I have seen in Italian statues. He
must have a noble troop of horses when he goes swimming forth into the sea. Ah,
would that these were nothing more than Neptune's steeds ! But no, no! they are
really and truly noble horses, cast into the waves out of the wrecks of the
ships! See! there a hundred —it may be five hundred! Certainly they have not
fishes' tails, as Neptune's distorted beasts; for then they would stand much
higher above the mad waves than now. Oh, those beautiful, delicately-formed
horses' heads! not clumsy, broad, and fishy, as Neptune's horses! no!
beautiful, high, noble heads! proudly maned necks, sorrowfully bent, perhaps,
in the uselessly struggling pains of death! Dear companions in war, strive no
more! your endeavours to save yourselves are vain! Ah! that would be no use,
even if they could understand me. Ah! but to rescue one noble champion from the
clutch of death, before he grasps him! Ah! who can help? Only to save one out
of the lordly troop!"
Quickly he cast round his daring blue eyes, to discover if there
was not some possibility of doing so. Finding none, he said: "I can look
no longer, from sorrow." And he veiled himself closely in his mantle, and
turned away. The others, in their kindly
feelings, for the most part, did the same; when one of them again looked at the
sorrowful spectacle.
Lupold, Walprecht's bold companion, asked: "Do they still
swim, the poor noble creatures?"
"Yes, still!" was the mournful answer.
"It is better," sighed Lupold, "that such noble
animals seek not to shew their necessity by complaints or calls for help;
otherwise the heart must burst in our breast."
Then the clouds thickly gathered again over the disappearing sun,
and higher swelled the waves in the increasing darkness; and soon the
unfortunate struggling horses were lost from sight, and soon they sank into
their moist, sedgy, watery graves.
Now came some soldiers from the shore, walking slowly through the
damp upturned sand; on a bier, made of their spears, bearing the body of one
dead, or severely wounded, thickly enveloped in mantles.
"O God!" said the troopers, softly and sorrowfully, one
to another; "then they have at last certainly found our prince, Giannettino,
and are bringing him to us —but how?"
But one of them answered: "No, this is not our Giannettino Doria.
Of him, unfortunately, we have no trace. It is another of our noble comrades
that we bring, the German nobleman. Baron of Marbach, mortally wounded. Give
room, and your mantles for covering for his couch and tent, and your spears for
tent-poles; we will let him rest as well as we can, as it may be the last time,
on this inimical and desolate strand."
In pious brotherly zeal they soon did as their comrades had
desired. The lord of Marbach rested, still and pale, as under a canopy, his
eyes closed, an earnest hero-smile around his lips. His light breathing gave
warning that the high soaring spirit had not yet left his wounded and fainting body.
As they all stood round the noble death-bed, some of them softly
praying, after the good old German custom, some striving to lighten the last
struggles of the knight by their diligent care, a loud voice sounded over the
heads of the warriors, — "Blessed are those who depart from this world."
It seemed to the astonished people as though an angel had descended
from the heavenly halls to guide thither the brave, faithful soul; and the same
thought came into the mind of the dying knight; he cast up his large beaming eyes,
and murmured, gazing up into the clouds inquiringly, "Who blessed
me?"
"A mortal man, as thou art!" returned the voice.
And all now perceived that it was the Emperor Charles the Fifth,
who, on a high horse, halted near the circle, and recognised, with his eagle,
loving glance, who it was that there on the bloody ground was breathing out his
bold true life.
"Marbach! brave Marbach!" said the emperor, deeply moved.
"And the baron, with a heavenly smile, answered: “Welcome!
That is balsam in the death-hour."
"You speak awful words, dear Marbach," said the emperor.
And Marbach said: "Yes, truly; to me also it appears in no way
of small importance. To few, very few men is it permitted to be so nobly cared
for; and to be dismissed, as your majesty has just dismissed me, with a truly
imperial gift from the imperial service, and even from life itself."
And raising himself up with a strength which the beholders expected
not to see in him, he looked eagerly round the circle, exclaiming — "Have
you heard it? The emperor has called me the 'brave Marbach!'"
“Who
calls you other than brave must lie," said Charles the Fifth. "But no
knight dares lie, and still less a Christian emperor."
Marbach looked round thoughtfully, with an absent mind: "If
besides other wounds, I did not also bear with me a death-wound in my almost
bald pate," he began after a while, brightly smiling, "perhaps I
should express myself better; but, dear comrades, you must accept the
intention. It is a beautiful thing, my friends, when a soldier risks his life
joyfully in battle, in assault, in retreat, in pursuit, or whatever else he may
have to do. But it is much more beautiful, when a soldier, of brave heart and
valiant arm, also possesses a prudent foreseeing soul, even in the hour of
action offering counsel, and practising the noble art of war with all wisdom. Comrades,
in both kinds of duty I hope to have done what was possible for me; and I feel
that what was possible was not altogether trifling. But there remains yet
another duty for a soldier, which is the most beautiful of all: trust in God,—
and from that flows fresh hope and vigour of life through all ranks of the
army. To you, dear friends and brethren, I must faithfully and sorrowfully confess,
that in my otherwise honourable career I have often failed in this most
beautiful duty. It was to me then — howbeit, I only see it dearly in the death hour;
for God knows in life I ever did what seemed to me reasonable and for the good
of the army — it happened to me often that my own imagined superior wisdom
stood in my way, towering as the mountain Atlas, so that I neither over it or
round it could see what others had imagined to be great or beautiful. If it had
not been conceived by me, it was to me as though it was not there; and how
prejudicially this has worked on many otherwise brave fellows, and so to the
whole army. Heaven only knows; how prejudicially it has worked to myself, I know,
next to Heaven, the best — or rather the worst. If you look into the history of
the world, contemptuously rejecting what is therein, your own soul in your
bosom will also soon be deformed by the mournful spectacle. Soon your head and
limbs will feel lamed, and what beams from your eyes will no more he your own
inborn fiery spirit, but a sorrowful transformed thing."
He stopped, and then smiling, added : "I can truly call it by
no better term, and in so doing I speak my own sentence; out of our languid
eyes looks a pale, grievous, melancholy, wise-acting little monkey! and, alas!
I have acted much and often with such wise folly."
“You have also often and much helped with firm and earnest
opposition, valiant Marbach!" said the emperor, “and when you helped not,
it was the fault of him who did not take your warnings, and not yours."
“Oh I," said the knight Marbach gently, and kindly shaking his
wounded head, “I have a very mild confessor, and a still more generous one.
Truly, I have never failed in warning, and that is a good thing, when one does
not let the die out of one's own hands. Whether the instruments of fate roll
over the earth, or whether they lie firmly fixed, we must say the best we can
of things that have already happened; valiantly forbearing all the criticism and
especial examination of 'what any one had!' or 'any one has!' trusting and
confiding in God for the present and the future. But I—”
With a light shaking of his
head, as though blaming himself, the Baron of Marbach grew speechless on his death-bed.
A dark troubled shade fell over his hitherto friendly and true-hearted
features.
But the noble knight returned to himself again. Smiling, almost
laughing, he once more raised himself up, and said: "Now, you have truly
heard the confession of the departing Marbach, perhaps a more than usually
candid confession; at least to many prudent men it may appear so. But during my
life I have been a greater lover of plain words than of disguises; and, more
than this, my great emperor has absolved me. Receive, then, all of you, ye brothers
in arms, Marbach's parting blessing! Far from every one of you be murmurings of
wisdom that has come too late, and after-handed prudence! Far from the lowest of
the foot-soldiers and esquires! for it is as bad for the lowest in the army to
trespass as the highest — I mean, for himself and before God. It is certain
that from the summit the pestilential air is wafted more destructively down
into the valleys, than from the valleys up into the heights; and so that God
more particularly considers complaints and murmurs in high places. There are
many below the imperial dignity who might receive my words as a wholesome
medicine. My blessing be with you, comrades, and with—”
He sank back, his countenance growing bright in the slumber of
death; and the Emperor Charles, when the last breath of the dying one was over,
said, with moistening eyes —"Thy dear soul is with God, brave
Marbach!"
Chapter Eleventh
Midnight was past, yet still the fleet pressed onwards, veiled in
the horrible darkness of the sea-storm, and threatened by many dangers, partly
from the separation of the ships one from the other, partly by wrecks on the
hostile, inhospitable shore.
Leaning against the mast of his admiral's ship stood the great
Andrea Doria, his large speaking-trumpet in his hand; from time to time he
raised it to his mouth, and the thundering word of command sounded over the storm
and waves. Some of the captains gave the answering signal from their pipes, but
not all. Many of them were forever silent, and had disappeared with their ships,
naval instruments, and lading. Some might have considered it their duty to save
the ships entrusted to them from the dangerous harbour, by running them for a
while into the Bay of Busia, which lay not far from here. Andrea Doria,
remembering this, called through his trumpet: "I proclaim, for the third
and last time —no one leaves the landing-place without my command. If we live,
we live with the emperor; if we die, we die with the emperor, in God's name!"
And lowering the trumpet, he repeated softly to himself, "in
God's name!" Then murmured more softly, his lips scarcely moving between
his snow-white beard — "Many, oh, many have I seen sorrowfully perish in
this fearful hour! And that dearest one, whom I have not seen perish, has
vanished without a trace in this dark gloomy night of universal sorrow. Oh,
that I could mourn over the corpse of my dear Giannettino! But no! such
happiness is not allowed thee, forsaken old man! Thou gazest inquiringly in
vain through the veil of thy sorrow, and no intelligence canst thou receive;
and the horrible possibility of the pangs of death, or the yet more horrible
life of slavery of thy loved one, pierces thy very brain as a spark from hell.
Unhappy one, what now shall save thee from despair?"
Then suddenly shuddering before the most fearful of all maddening
words, the old man collected all his strength. Looking towards heaven, and
folding his strong hands, he said: "What saves thee? God. The little stars
shine brightly yonder, though the clouds hide them from our sight. Why not the
more glorious eternal sun?"
Then he said, after some thought, earnestly shaking his head:
"Fool that I am — so to prattle in my fond old age in the antechamber,
when the Most Holy is accessible to me. His royal ears are open every hour.
Yes, Lord of lords, I seize, I embrace my heavenly right. To Thee will I speak
! only and alone to Thee!" Lips were silent, his eyes spoke to heaven.
Then there came near to the admiral's ship from the African shore a
light boat, wildly dancing upon the waters, now raised on the foamy summit of
the highest waves, now again disappearing in the gloomy deep green valleys of
the salt waters. Yet it appeared again, and in it the forms of two men—one
sitting at the stern, deeply shrouded, like a motionless, veiled statue; the
other eagerly holding the rudder, while his white hair and beard wildly and strangely
flew about in the storm.
At this strange spectacle there arose a low yet angry whispering
among the sailors of the admiral's ship. "That is the goblin,"
murmured one to the other, "the water-goblin whom sorceress Baranaga — you
have heard the Algerine prisoners who were sent on board of us boast of her
—the goblin she has conjured up from the depths of the sea to destroy us! Do
you see how jeeringly he slips in and out among our broken vessels?"
"Let us destroy the creature, for the fun!" said a
second. "If we all at once directed our cross-bows and fire-arms at him—
"Oho!" broke in a third. "Do you think it is possible
to shoot a goblin?"
''No," answered the other; "yet I thought even he would be
frightened, and that would be some satisfaction. But which of the two may the
goblin be? Or are they both goblins?”
The one who had spoken first now said authoritatively: "No,
no. The veiled one is a soul whose body has been lost in the storm, and the
goblin now carries it about in this boasting way as a sign of victory. But the
one with the wild white beard and hair — only look how firmly and eagerly he
swings the rudder —he is the chief goblin of the waves, and the learned call
him Charon!"
"And you are the chief goblin of fools!" exclaimed a strong
man's voice from the boat. "But as to myself, I am Ruperto Sansogno,
steersman of the galley of the Prince Giannettino Doria, and he whom you
presently shall help me to take from the boat into the admiral's ship is the noble,
brave Giannettino Doria himself, preserved from a thousand dangers."
“Giannettino Doria! he lives
—he lives !" cried the sailors with loud shouts of joy; and while some of
them hastened round to help the young prince from the boat to the ship, others
hastened to their admiral to cause him by their message of joy to weep no
longer.
Andrea Doria still leant against the mast, his large eyes directed
heavenwards; he kindly motioned them away with his hand, and said, with a
scarcely perceptible inclination
of his
head: "Yes, yes, I know it all! I thank you, good people, I have seen it
all." And then he murmured more softly: "O ye ministering angels,
bear my thanks before the throne of the Eternal.”
Meanwhile Giannettino had quickly cast aside the veiling mantle,
and sprung on to the admiral's ship, carefully assisting with his firm,
youthful hand the old steersman, Ruperto Sansogno, not leaving him until he stood
beside him on the deck. Then he hastened to the feet of his uncle, where he
sank on both knees before the grey-headed old man, covering his face with his
mantle.
Adrea Doria caressingly bent over him, and asked, “Are you wounded,
my dear son?"
“I am not wounded," answered the voice of the youth gloomily
from his thick mantle.
“Hide nothing from me, dear nephew," said the old man.
"If you were mortally wounded, I should never cease thanking the
all-merciful God that I again hold you in my arms. Compared with the dark,
uncertain disappearance of him whom I loved above all men, whom I looked upon
as the blooming heir of my fame, my power, and my treasures — Giannettino,
compared with that most horrible disappearance, it would be heavenly joy to see
you softly and happily die in my arms, under my protection, and with my
blessing. Dearest Giannettino, hide nothing from me."
"I am not wounded," groaned the youth, still in the same
position. "Would that I were wounded! To return from such a night without wounds
seems only the herald of a yet more miserable fate.''
“Strange boy!" returned the old man, kindly, shaking his
venerable head. "Surely you have fought with me often enough before now to
know that wounds do not always fall to the lot of the bravest. Many a one keeps
himself in the background, as far from danger as he can, and returns
purple-sprinkled from the field of battle against his will; and the brave
strives not after wounds — it is indifferent to him whether they come or not—he
strives after victory. Rise, my brave Giannettino ; unveil your dear
features."
And Giannettino, loosing his uncle's purple mantle, tremblingly
rose, saying these words: "I pray you, my great foster-father, let no one
in this moment see my countenance but you. You see it is deluged with hot tears,
and I cannot restrain them. A stranger might deem it a womanly weakness. Uncle,
you will not do so. You know the blood of Doria. You know I am not altogether
unworthy that it should flow in my veins. But so noble a Christian armada as this is by land and sea,
commanded by such heroes as the Emperor Charles the Fifth and my great uncle,
to meet with such a fearful and destructive issue — oh, uncle, one image of
sorrow after another, of every various and horrible kind, crowds upon my
afflicted heart in strange, fearful confusion!"
He covered his flowing eyes with both hands, and was silent. Sorrow
had penetrated his soul; his swelling heart wept in every pulse.
Not only the great Andrea Doria's purple mantle, but his uncle's
arms now tenderly surrounded the weeping youth. They both slowly walked to the
admiral's chamber, where a lamp, swinging by a golden chain, cast a wonderful
light, now pale as moonlight, now glowing red. Then Andrea placed his nephew
close to him on a couch, and said: "Giannettino, I also once lived in the
land of youth. That you will say is plain enough, and could not be otherwise.
But it is not so. There are men, Giannettino, who have never been young, in
spite of the calendar. Youth to such people is only a Fata-morgana breath. But
I can assure you, Giannettino, that I was once really and truly young ; and
therefore my heart, after beating for eighty years, has still a sympathy with
the joys and sorrows of youth—a loving, answering sympathy. Relate to me, dear
rescued youth, what has happened to you during the last fearful, sorrowful
hours. I pray you, turn not away from your physician. I shall be able to offer you
comfort; I am sure of that, in God's mercy."
The youth raised his head that was sunk sorrowfully to the ground,
shaking back from his lofty brow the thick black hair, wet with the dew of
heaven and sea-foam, and seizing his uncle with both his hands, he looked at
the old man like a deeply sorrowing child who has been half comforted.
“Say on!" repeated the old man, in a gently commanding tone,
and with earnest, approving gestures, his large dark eyes flaming still more
solemnly; and the youth began:
"At the first onslaught of those demoniacal enemies, our
Italian battalion was pushed back to the yielding, slippery quicksands, and I
saw myself cut off from all my companions, surrounded by raging swarms of Arabs
and Moors. The descending rain and the darkening clouds might partly have led
to this result, but it was yet more owing to the fierceness of the battle, and
the angry ferocity of my own nature. I sprang from my horse and seized a banner,
exclaiming to two or three of the nearest of my companions, 'After me, upon the
enemy!' They followed nobly. Peace be with their brave souls! They all fell under
the lances and scimitars of the heathens. I thoughtlessly hastened with quick
steps over the deceitful ground, hearing unexpected cries of fury from the
destroying Arabs behind the sand-hills, at my companions' flank. The muskets
miscarried, soaked by the continual rain. It was far more from the prodigious
numbers of the enemy than from their skill that our brave Genoese were overpowered,
after a bloody but short resistance. You may be sure that I wished to have been
with them, but there was a wild swarm of enemies between us, and prevented the
attempt. I can die bravely alone, thought I, fixing my banner as firmly as I
could in the sand, and holding it with my left hand, while with my right I grasped
my good sword, ready to protect the honourable signal. "God knows what the
rabble of heathens took me for when I was in this position, alone in the midst
of them! I only know, that whoever approached me retreated in a sort of wild
terror. But ever before my eyes raged the host of enemies. How was I to regain
our squadrons, command them to halt, and again lead them to danger, encouraging
them by example and words? Behind the sand-hills, the rolling sea carried on a mad
sport with the sand. Yet I thought my only hope was to work my way down to the
shore; and resolved to fulfil my duty as captain, I climbed, or rather slid down,
carrying the banner with me. Yet I soon thought I had stepped into my grave, so
treacherous was the ground beneath my feet, so fearfully and awfully the waves
rolled over my head, like towering grave-clothes, and at every ebb spreading
over me a shower of sand.
“Sinking down under so many strange horrors, I still remember what
dreamy words escaped my lips: 'Here graves are easily and quickly made!' I
shuddered at my own words. Then consciousness left me. "I was aroused by
the agonising cry of a sweet woman's voice. With an effort I half-raised myself
from my damp, sandy grave, and saw the wreck of one of our ships floating to
the land, and standing on it—by the light of the awful, almost continuous
lightning —I saw a beautiful, magniflcently-dressed woman, and a knight
kneeling at her feet, who strove to hold her firmly; but whether she fell into
the waves, or whether she rose to heaven with her beautiful garments extending
as angel-wings, my reeling senses could not inform me. Again lethargy came over
me. Powerless and exhausted, I sank back into my damp, sandy bed. 'Only hold
fast the banner!' was my last thought, and I grasped it in my arms with a
strong convulsive effort. Then something thundered in my ear, 'Loose it, you
Christian corpse! you half-stiffen Christian corpse, loose it, or, for sport's
sake, I will hew your obstinate hands from your body!'
“In anguish I felt the banner nearly wrested from my arms, and
roused all my strength to protect this sign of honour. When I unclosed my eyes,
I saw before me the face of a Moor frightfully grinning; his clutch had already
loosened one of my arms, the other still firmly grasped the pole of the banner.
‘Assist me, ye saints!' I cried, and repulsed my grim enemy with all my
strength. But he, laughing in mockery, had already drawn his scimitar to
accomplish his threats. I still held fast; when a huge wave rose, covering and
overwhelming us both. With a shriek the heathen loosed me, and flew up the
sandy hill. I still held fast, but in vain! — the waves dashed, and wrenched
the pole out of my hands, in mighty sport, tearing away the swelling flag,
whilst I, nearly buried, could only half raise myself up. Away floated the
banner into the immeasurable sea; my head grew dizzy.
“But still proud in my misery, I looked up the hill to the fugitive
Moor, exclaiming, 'You, grisly wretch, have not the banner, thank heaven! I
resign it with a willing heart to the waters of my God!' The black infidel
looked in the flashes of the lightning like a spirit of the desert, peering
down from the sand-hill not very far from me! In better days I might have
reached him with a firm arrow from my cross-bow.
“He ran, and sprang on to a neighbouring hill, on which knelt,
surrounded by the moonlight now streaming through the clouds, an
angel-beautiful woman, she who had been
cast
on the shore from the storm of the wreck, but no longer under the protection of
the knight who knelt by her side. No; by her stood, instead, that ghastly Moor,
swinging his scimitar over her, howling wildly: 'Die, you jewel-dressed doll!
The jewels are for me — death for you!'
"Uncle, you may imagine how I extricated myself from the sandy
grave, which before had quite enclosed me. You may imagine how I hastened up
the hill with my last strength, crying, 'Stop, accursed Moor! Here comes one who
is a braver object for your death-blade!' I knew that my sword was left behind
in my sandy grave. What did that signify? I still had sufficient strength to
sacrifice my own life for the threatened angel. Alas, how fatally slow were my
wearied steps! Still looking on the threatened figure, I discovered, O uncle,
that it was Donna Lisandra, the beautiful bride of the brave Spaniard Don Felix
Carrero, who had followed her lover hither, boldly hoping to see him win a
crown of victory, if not a regal crown; and so was she dressed in bridal
magnificence for the triumphal victory of her loved one; now, some hours to go—"
Giannettino sank back,
speechless, more like one dead than living; then he added, in a feeble,
mournful voice: "Yes, now, she is dead! The Moor's scimitar pierced through
her tender breast; such a deed was fit only for a night like this. Is it not
true that she still murmured, praying for her life — that she cried, 'Oh, woe
is me, I was too proud! Oh, woe is me, life is sweet! Oh, let me live, if it
were only to be the ornament of a seraglio!'
“And yet the scimitar of the infidel cut off her lovely tender life;
and I, uncle, was forced to see it, and climbed the hill only a moment too late
to tear from the wolf the fair
gentle
doe. Alas!"
And again innumerable tears flowed from the eyes of the youth, stilling
his voice. Andrea Doria asked, with difficulty restraining his emotion,
"Did the Moor stand to fight with you when you had climbed the hill, my
son? For, weaponless and exhausted as you were, I know you would have attacked him."
"Ha!" cried the youth, aroused again by angry remembrances;
"close to the beautiful murdered one he cowered to plunder her ornaments.
As I approached him, commanding him to stop, he grinned at me sideways as a
tiger over his prey, without pausing from his detestable task; then he mocked
my defenceless condition, saying, with a sneer, 'Hunter without arms, sailor
without rudder, painter without pencil! Such as you have not much power to
command obedience. Would you see how I release this little doll from her
polished jewels? But when I am ready, if you are still here, I will kill you.
Do you hear?'
"But I found my dagger in my girdle, and swung it threateningly
over the monster. Then, with an angry leap, he rushed wildly upon me,
brandishing his scimitars. I slung the dagger; it struck him in the forehead.
The wretch staggered back like a horrible unicorn; the sabre glittered in his
hand, he fell over the declivity, and lay at the bottom crushed to death. But I
knelt down by the beautiful dead lady; yet no — not yet quite dead; a gentle
breath still came from her bleeding breast. 1 looked up to see if there were any
means of help. Near me stood a noble warrior, his hair and garments dripping
with sea-water, and murmuring in a bitter voice:' Sweet crown of most beautiful
women! Of sweet women the most beautiful crown! Was it for this I carried you
from the wreck to the shore, and sank back into the wave rejoicing that you at
least would be saved as an ornament for the whole world? And now you lie
slaughtered, making your couch float with your noble blood —such costly purple
as the mightiest king dares not wear, the purple blood of your own sweet life
and strength!'
"And then recognising me, he took my hand caressingly and
said: 'I saw you with your bold right arm take vengeance on the robber.
Scarcely had I struggled upon the land than you avengingly struck the tiger; the
dying tiger fell by me, and expired at my feet. Ah, Doria, why have you robbed
me of my revenge — of my last gleam of happiness upon earth! Giannettino, the tiger
had not ruined you —but me!'
"He said these last words almost angrily; and, I gradually recognising
him, exclaimed, full of melancholy, 'In what a sorrowful moment are you come,
Don Felix!'
“But he returned, gloomily, 'Infelix! That is my name for the few
short moments I have yet to live in this dark, bloody vale of pilgrimage called
the world. But those Moors shall feel to the very last the revenging arm of
Infelix.' And so he tore his sword from its sheath, and hastened down the hill,
where raged thick crowds of the enemy. I would have followed him, and groped
after the sabre which had glimmered in the darkness in the hand of the dying
Moor, when there sounded in the distance the battle-cry of the unhappy
youth:—'Infelix!'
"But a silvery voice near me murmured, 'Felix!'
“It was Donna Lisandra, returning once more to this earthly
existence at the call of sweet true love. When I knelt near her, asking whether
I could lessen her pains, she murmured very softly, but with the sweetest
accents: 'My pains are nearly over, kind friend. I swim in a sea of purple
blood, but its waves sing to me heavenly lullaby-songs; and soon, very soon,
shall I be landed on the ever-green and ever-blooming shore. But tell me,
did I
dream when I thought I saw standing near me a hateful devil, and then a flaming
angel? It is true the angel was in wrath; but these glorious princes of heaven
are sometimes angry when in combat with this sinful world or the horrible
abyss. Or was it my sweet bridegroom — was it Felix?'
“‘Infelix!’ sounded again the war-cry from the battle amid the
clattering of swords. But she exclaimed, in wonderful emotion: 'No, Felix;
still Felix you remain to me, my own loved bridegroom. Felix, the happy —look,
the gates of victory turn on their silver hinges; the purple hangings are
agitated, lightened by the eternal bright radiance —you Felix, and I Felicia,
forever!' "She sank back smiling, and thus she died: still murmuring with
her last voice, 'Felicia.' Yet it was like a voice of triumph. The clattering
of swords was silent. Felix Carrero must have perished in the fierce battle; or
rather, must have flown to heaven.
“I would have followed him, and seized the Moor's sabre, ready to
rush destructively with it on the heads of his companions for the last struggle,
when there sounded, it seemed to me, out of the foamy sea: 'Giannettino,
Doria's Giannettino! Your great uncle, the deserted hero, waits for you;
bitterly he calls for his Giannettino.'
"I stood as though benumbed and enchanted; soon as though it
was a phantom of your soul, blessing me, and calling me with a heartfelt cry;
that it was your spirit, freed from its body in honourable battle, which came
to conduct me home to the eternal halls! A form with white hair appeared on the
strand, as though rising from the waves; — was it a sea-god's threatening
image? —whatever it might be, I exclaimed to it, Here! Who seeks Doria? — Giannettino
Doria is here!'
“And he landed, and laid aside his boat, and came up the hill, and
spoke to me words of earnest meaning, pressing me with prayers and entreaties
to come away from that scene of horrible destruction; was Ruperto Sansogno, the
steersman of my galley, who faithfully and bravely had sought me in the sea and
storm, and has preserved your nephew, dear father Andrea."
They embraced one another full of unspeakable love and sorrow; and
the tears of the old man rolled down as fast as those of the youth. Yet Andrea
Doria, remembering the beautiful duty of gratitude, opened the cabin-door, calling—"Ruperto
Sansogno, brave preserver of my brave nephew! come hither."
At the same time the fresh young beams of morning burst into the
cabin. And the old man Ruperto Sansogno was seen nimbly approaching, surrounded
by the glowing light —almost like a bright and awakened soul separated from its
earthly life.
Andrea Doria spread his arms to embrace him; the morning's glow
shone round him also. Yet Ruperto remained standing, shaking his head, and looking
sorrowfully at his commander. "What is the matter, my friend?" said
Andrea. "You have saved what is dearest to me in the world; my whole soul is
full of gratitude. What appears to you so wonderful, so blamable in me, that
you stare at me, shaking your head?"
The old steersman could only gradually bring out these words:
"Tears! in the eyes of the great Andrea Doria—tears!"
And the brave man, looking up to heaven, while still some large
tears rolled from his glowing eyes on to his snow-white beard, said: "Yes,
truly, many, very many things must have happened to make Andrea Doria, in his eighty-second
year, learn to weep, after for half a century having sailed over and almost
ruled the seas."
Chapter Twelfth
The Emperor Charles V sat on the strand, the waves of the sea
gradually growing more peaceful in the first beams of his earnest hero-eyes now
directed to the desolation which the wide sea offered to the mournful commander,
now to the sand-fields on the African coast. Instead of a throne, he was now
seated on a blood-sprinkled cuirass, which had been loosened from the body of
some slaughtered man. Instead of a canopy, there floated over him some rent
banners, which his faithful and noble attendants had zealously collected from
the bloody field, in order to shelter his imperial head from the beams of the
rising sun.
Of these brave attendants at least a third part had found their
death on the field of battle. The rest stood round their emperor; the horses of
those who still possessed any were ready bridled—yet men and horses were alike sunk
into gloomy lassitude; the rich, but now torn mantles wildly floated in the
wind, saturated with rain; the plumes of feathers, formerly so proudly waving,
hung down from the helmets; the horses' heads were sunk sadly towards the
ground, and on the ground was fixed the melancholy gaze of their riders.
The deep silence was interrupted by the emperor's chief cook, a
hearty, merry, fat old man, born in the imperial city of Vienna—who came in
this universal depression, as if to recall the image of some former feast-day; walking
with the help of a broken spear, but yet announcing, with bright smiles;
"Your imperial majesty, a morning meal is prepared —certainly only a spare
one. An old faithful servant must implore the imperial majesty's extreme lenity
for once for an extremely scanty meal. But little is better than nothing. Will
it please your imperial majesty to eat?"
A peculiar smile passed over the features of the emperor; he signed
to the master-cook that he should leave him. But the faithful servant was not
to be so easily dismissed. "May your imperial majesty graciously pardon
me," he began; "meat and drink keep body and soul together. That is a
principle and maxim, to which the whole history of the world serves as an
incontrovertible proof. Your imperial majesty is head and heart of this our
powerful armada. Only let your imperial majesty properly eat and drink; then,
no doubt, the whole affair will again be prosperous."
"Ah, yes," said the emperor, with sorrowful, conscious kindness;
"that is the way with all men. If a thing will not move from its place,
everyone thinks that those means have not been tried which he knows best how to
use —the soldier his arms, the husbandman his spade, the merchant his goods,
the learned his pen, the cook his soup ladle. And yet," he added
thoughtfully, "that is for the most part the principle on which human
undertakings are accomplished. Everyone is properly satisfied with his own
tools, and the whole is preserved. Now, good master cook, consider, if the
sword cannot in every case accomplish everything, so neither can the soup-ladle
in every case accomplish everything. If you could prepare a breakfast for all
my poor soldiers, I would go to table as willingly as the happy prosperous
householders in the imperial city of Vienna. But do not desire the householder, when
he is travelling with his family in a foreign land, having lost all his money —
whether by his own fault or not — do not desire him to take the only spare
place at the well-spread table, while there is no room, not even a fallen crumb
of bread, for his little ones. He cannot satisfy himself while the others
hunger. You might say in return, good master cook, as you seem inclined to. Of
what use will it be to the hungry family for their father to remain hungry? I
do not know any logical way of answering you. But, good master cook, it is not
so; the emperor cannot eat while his soldiers fast—go."
And the good servant went away, sorrowfully shrugging his
shoulders. But he gave vent to his grief in a speech to his faithful
companions, and many of the noble attendants and others who stood round the
emperor Charles did the same. And thence gradually spread a stream of
comfort and strength through all the squadrons, which perhaps could not have
been dispensed by the richest distribution of bodily refreshments. Even before
this, no tongue had murmured against this obstinacy of the emperor for
undertaking this campaign at so unseasonable a time of year, nor against his
firm perseverance in the enterprise after it was once begun. But now it seemed
as though it were granted to the bright spirit of the knight Marbach, as a reward
for his pious confession, to look down upon the noble spectacle of an army in
such unspeakable outward misery, and within free from all murmurs and
complaints.
Yet the less these brave soldiers blamed their great commander, the
more the imperial commander blamed himself. Truly only his own great soul
perceived the tragical mystery. Yet many sorrowful reflections of it might be
seen on the countenances of those who watched him sitting motionless on that
bloody cuirass, a waving canopy of torn banners hanging over him. Sometimes a swelling
sigh burst from his noble heart, as though he longed for and ardently desired
sympathy, in order thus to soften a part of his indwelling misery.
Then there came a noble attendant announcing to the emperor," Admiral
Andrea Doria is come to land, and approaches, wishing to appear before the
imperial majesty."
"Thank God!" was the only answer of the Emperor Charles. As
though loosened from a mighty load, he quickly sprang from his seat, eagerly
going to meet the old man. Seizing his hand, and bowing his head before him,
with tears in his eyes, he said, without any restraint, so that many might hear
him, "Dear father, my disobedience to you brings me this heavy
punishment."
Deeply moved, the old prince of the sea answered:—"My gracious
emperor has already often honoured me with the name of father, permitting me to
call him son; so it was when we were in the harbour of Majorca, and I warned
you to desist from this at present too bold enterprise. But your answer was,
'Two and twenty years power for me, and two and eighty years life for you, is
enough to content father and son, and make them satisfied to die.' Well now, my
imperial son, let your noble words bear fruit for us both in this solemn hour.
If we must perish on these barbarous shores, let this little word be the memorial
of us both, 'Vixi.' Truly we have lived, and it shall not soil the memory of
the Emperor Charles V, nor that of his Admiral Andrea Doria, if in this
moment the last sleep comes over us. But let us work as long as it is day. And
see, the Lord God has caused to rise over us the sun of a new day. What does my
imperial master resolve on in this distress?"
But the emperor led the venerable old man away to his tent. There,
without witness, turning to his fatherly counsellor and friend, he said,
"Question against question, dear father. In how far is the embarkation of
the remainder of the army still possible?"
“My imperial son and commander shall himself judge," said
Andrea. "I will begin my dutiful report as clearly as my confusion, which
has not yet subsided, will allow me. Of the twenty-two galleys equipt by me,
eight at least are sunk; probably two more. I have the sorrowful certainty of
the destruction of four other galleys. Of the ships, eight at least are sunk in
the waves, or entirely wrecked on the strand. Of all the troops on board these vessels,
not a hundred living souls are saved; therefore, my imperial commander will not
blame his sailors. For the fifty years that I have ploughed the salt waves, now
as the friend of old ocean, now as his opponent, I have never witnessed such a
tempest, either in the threatening flaming scourge of heaven above, or yet in
the horrible storm of the sea beneath, as in the dreadful hours that have just past.
But what is certainly a crime in the captains is, their running their ships
into the port of Busia; thinking more of the preservation of their ships than
the danger of the naval army, or even of the mightiest temporal prince in
Christendom. Yet I have already sent after them some light sails to call them
back with all earnestness to the fulfilment of their highest duty. What still
remain of my galleys wait the imperial command, and shall be severed plank from
plank before they retreat from this shore, until your imperial majesty,
yourself on board, in the height, and plenitude of your power, shall give
signal to raise the anchor. And in my absence from the fleet, I have a pledge for
the punctual obedience of the rest of the ships, in the presence of my nephew, Giannettino
Doria.”
"Giannettino!" exclaimed the emperor, with quick joyful sympathy;
"he lives?—his German life-guard look anxiously for him. You have him
again safe and sound?"
"God has returned him to me for the approaching Christmas joy,
I think," said Andrea Doria, casting a beaming glance to heaven. And,
father," said the emperor, "God's mercy has also restored to me a younger
brother. Certainly, of such Christmas joy I did not think as we sailed hither.
It will be to me only the dearer, after returning from such threatening
dangers. Scarcely the broad heaven could compass the idle hopes and vain
magnificence with which I sailed here; and now in deep humility I have to
praise God for restoring to me one innocent endangered head.
“Alas!" he added, with the deepest melancholy, "how many
shall I have yet to mourn! How can we save the rest, dear father? What is our
safest plan?”
"Would your imperial majesty come on board the ships?"
asked Andrea. "Not imperial majesty," returned Charles the Fifth, humbly
raising his eyes. "Everything is written above; yet we here below must
counsel how it is to be done. What is the most considerable obstacle,
admiral?"
"Next to the diminished number of transport-ships," said
the admiral Andrea, "the worst will be want of provisions. Even if no
threatening autumn-storm descends from heaven upon us, our provision will not
last for the voyage home. A great part of the ships now become a booty for the
sea were laden with food."
The emperor, after considering some moments, said with decision,
"The horses must serve for food! All the rest of the horses of the whole
army — slay them, cook them, and bring them on board in pieces. O dear father
Andrea, this time offer no objection. A hundred and fifty of the noblest horses
are landed for my stud —they shall be sacrificed first. Yet yesterday my
beautiful white horse bore me so nobly from the battle —he shall be the first
of my horses to suffer. When there is a hill to climb, it is well to have
reached the summit. Good night, my beautiful true white steed! Good night!”
"Rather, good morning," said Andrea Doria, sadly. “Does
not your imperial majesty see how the young day softly rises out of the
waves?"
"Ah, yes. For eternity or for time? It will be proved, father
Andrea Doria," said the emperor.
Chapter Thirteenth
The command was issued to kill all the horses of the army. Our
young friend, the German trooper Walprecht, had led his beloved brown horse a
little from the rest to sacrifice him behind a sand-hill, near to the now again
mirror-like smooth surface of the sea. Here he stood by the side of his good
horse, and spoke to him the following words: "What I have yet for you,
good friend, is a bold well-aimed sword-thrust straight into your true brave
heart, that your death may not be more painful than it need be. And, first, I
have some fodder for you, comrade, though only a miserable piece of bread, wet
through and through with rain."
And as the good animal joyfully received the long needed nourishment,
and sometimes laying his head gratefully, caressingly upon his rider's
shoulder, the thought of what was impending, and drew nearer every moment, was almost
too much for the faithful trooper's heart. "Good steed," said
Walprecht, "if you could only understand that the wonderfully-beautiful
white horse of the imperial majesty has not in the least a better fate—no, a
great deal worse, for you die by your honourable rider's hand; yet the emperor
has not time enough to kill his noble horse with his own knightly hand. And
well — in the name of God, and according to the imperial majesty's express
command.”
"He placed himself a sword's length from his horse, and bared
his good blade. But the noble steed, invigorated by the food, and thinking it
was a mock-fight, which sometimes his merry master sought to teach him, reared up
on his hind legs, and eagerly sprung forwards. "Ah! do you think you are
playing ?" loudly exclaimed Walprecht; and with a sudden blow he plunged his
sword into the horse's heart. He pranced higher and then fell over with clashing
violence and lay, stiff, stretched, and motionless on the ground. "Well
fought, my poor frolicksome boy!" exclaimed the rider, bitterly. And
weeping he sat down by his faithful companion, now looking at his bloody sword,
now at his slaughtered horse.
Meantime there came from the strand, walking with quick steps, the
great Andrea Doria: near him a noble Genoese, to whom the old man was eagerly
imparting his commissions. "Now, I pray you, signor, repeat to me —but let
us continue our way, we have no useless moment to spare—repeat to me the chief
heads of my instructions."
The noble, with humble inclination of the head, began:
"Everything is to be made ready for the shipping of the land-troops. In
your Excellenza's name the word of command immediately goes forth by call of
trumpets to all the ships, that by their honour and duty, by the danger of their
chief, no captain or pilot shall turn the keel from the shore before receiving
a full and complete lading. If the storm which threatens to rise from the south-west
break ever so heavily, it will not release any one from this holiest duty. But
above all, that your Excellenza's remaining galleys give the firmest example,
and that they should rather be dashed to pieces, and wrecked on the strand, than
that one should put out to sea before the intelligence sounds through your
trumpet, 'The emperor is on board.' And it is irrevocably determined that his
majesty and his guard will not leave the shore until the last squadron is shipped.
Your excellency remains attendant on the emperor's person."
"Just so, my brave signor," said Andrea; "and
therefore quickly to boat, and to the admiral's ship."
Now as the quick-winged oars of the boat divided the waves, the old
admiral exclaimed from the depths of his loving soul, "And a father's
greeting and a father's blessing to my dear nephew, Giannettino Doria."
But as the name Giannettino Doria sounded through the air, the
trooper Walprecht raised himself from his seat near his bloody horse, and
humbly presenting himself before Andrea, he said, "Forgive me, illustrious
prince and admiral; is it only in the confusion of sorrow that you call for my
noble young Signor Giannettino through winds and waves? Truly, after all that
has happened here, the best, even his imperial majesty himself, need not be
ashamed of being a little perplexed. Or is it possible" — the youth's strong
voice faltered with little expectation —"that you have really good news of
my young master? Bloody and wet with rain as I am, yet you can easily see that
I belong to the German horse-guard of your illustrious nephew."
"Truly I see you are a brave fellow," returned old
Andrea, kindly; "and very lately I have heard my nephew say, 'If I had not
commanded my bold German troopers to the fortifications, but had kept them with
me, they would never have deserted me in the greatest necessity; and who knows
whether I had not yet been able to give the battle a favourable turn? No one
should divide himself from his guard, when God has granted him so valuable a one
as mine.' So spoke my bold nephew Giannettino."
"My noble prince," exclaimed Walprecht, "in the same
words you give me joy and sorrow. Honourably has Prince Giannettino spoken of
us; but he has been betrayed into danger far from us. For God's sake, Excellency,
does he live? Is he wounded? Is he bleeding to death?"
"He is on board my admiral's ship unwounded," answered Andrea.
"God has wonderfully preserved him to you and to me during the past wild
night."
“We praise thee, Lord God," said Walprecht, with deep emotion,
bending one knee to the ground, his head and hands raised beseechingly towards
heaven; yet soon turning to his slaughtered horse, he said, "Now, sleep in
peace, good brown steed; when I killed you, in obedience to the imperial
majesty's command, I thought the last thing I loved upon earth died with you. For
Signor Giannettino I imagined was dead—he lives. Peace be with you! Not that I
shall not many times weep for you —sometimes when, at evening, the world seems
dull and dreary. But if I must necessarily doom one of you two, without being
able to sacrifice my own blood for you, then 'Live, Signore Giannettino!'"
The venerable admiral remained standing listening, pleased at this
strange discourse of the trooper, and now said kindly, "Let it be my care,
brave German, that you come to your young master in the next boat that leaves the
shore; he will have great joy in greeting you."
“I hope so, noble sir," answered Walprech; "yet especial
joy if I may accompany him back to his great uncle. Permit me, Excellenza, to
call my comrades around you. That is my service before the embarkation; then I shall
know my young lord and master again, and joyfully appear before him. Only let
me accompany you —do not send me away, Excellenza. A good old man such as you cannot
be so harsh to such as me; and if you could, I would not leave you any more
than the lion did the foot-steps of the Archduke Henry, following him like a
faithful dog, as the old song relates, from Palestine to Brunswick. Resolve and
take me willingly!"
“In God's name, dear youth!" said the doge Andrea Doria;
"very few men on the earth have pleased me, but you are one of
those."
Chapter Fourteenth
In the halls of the divan in Algiers, on richly-ornamented cushions,
after the Persian fashion, sat the terrible renegade Hassan Aga. Since his
slumber on the platform of the tower where his people had found him, and from
which they carefully waked him as from a fainting fit, he had been more fearful
of himself than of others — more fearful of his friends than his enemies.
With dull staring pride, his black eyes turned now upon himself,
and now flashed in strange angry glances upon the warriors who surrounded him,
as though he would say, "Who in this circle desires a bloody death? let
him venture to address me!"
But this threat appeared to be quite unnecessary; for on the sunken
brows of all present nothing else was to be read than stupid fear, which,
however much their inward
rage
might torment and vex them, still predominated. All were speechless. Hassan Aga
also was silent —only sometimes his scorn-pressed lips opened through his
monstrous beard with the angry question, "Is there no supplicating messenger
from the Christian emperor before the gates?"
When a dumb denial was returned him for answer, he murmured, half
audibly, "Yet he must —must —certainly must." And again he sank into
fearful silence. He seemed like one vanquished, in whose soul raged the fury of
the most hopeless despair. Message after message came that the army of the Franks
was preparing to embark. Many a vigorous Musselman's arm grasped the sabre;
many glowing Musselmen's eyes were turned inquiringly to the high seat of their
commander. But he either silently shook his head, or said, "They dare not
move from their place. The Emperor Charles must first crave
permission. Before my throne he must first pray mercy for himself and the ruins
of his army. Attend! here come the deputies —perhaps he himself."
After some such burst of arrogant pride, or the returns of short
messages from the gate and halls, all was again silent. At last a messenger
announced that they had found "without, on the rocky stone before the
walls, the mangled corpse of the Moorish sorceress Baranaga — or rather, the crushed
remains of it. A shudder passed through the assembly. But the renegade severely
and coldly asked, "Who has gone beyond the gates without my command? Who has
unbarred the gates without my permission?"
"Sire," stammered the frightened messenger, "your friend
and relation Mulu Abdul wished to make an excursion with twenty Arabs. The
gate-keeper held that for a sufficient reason to unbar the gates."
The renegade motioned him to be silent. Turning to the guard of
black slaves, who stood behind him with drawn sabres, he twice touched his neck
with his hand, and said, "Mulu Abdul; the door-keeper." And four
blacks hastened out noiselessly. Then he turned to the messenger and said,
"Come not before me again with such senseless news. And above all, come as
seldom as possible. From this day your stupid head stands but insecurely on
your slavish shoulders."
Trembling with fear the threatened man hastened from the saloon.
Then Hassan Aga, deeply breathing, said to the assembly. “Now my
breast is lighter. Now I feel my old strength in me, which nothing can resist.
For this Mulu Abdul was to me what none of you are—no, not ten of you together.
Go, one of you. I may not see their two heads; but they shall be hung for a
warning over the rashly unbarred gate. So now I am well again, and kindly as
before.
“No one before me has cause to fear. Weak, enchanted dreams clouded
my head in the night, and pressed into my heart —-childish dreams of my past
life. There stood before me a foolish Christian maiden, formerly beloved by me,
who eagerly beckoned to me, as, in my dreams, I seized my sabre to begin a
second attack upon her emperor. 'Maiden' said I, contemptuously, in my dream,
'is, then, this old Frank emperor thy brother or thy lover?' Then she chanted
an old Christian hymn, which I have often formerly heard sung in the Italian
churches. Then it seemed as though gradually all the Christian voices in the
whole earth, and under the earth, and over the earth, all joined in one
wonderfully, and to me fearfully, loud-swelling chorus. If you, my good people,
had not then awoke me, I should have died from that thundering harmony. But it
has left me dizzy and confused. But ha!—no supplicating messenger from that
proud Christian emperor?"
A deep silence within and without the hall gave answer in the
negative. Then the renegade again rising up in the wildest anger sprang from
the cushions of his throne, as the enraged tiger from his lair, exclaiming,
"Out, out! we ourselves will force an answer from the vanquished! But now
it is too late for any attempt on their part. Too late for negotiations and
prayers. Fire their ships; make their bodies drunk with their own hostile blood
—out!"
A swelling cry of triumph from around answered the newly-awakened
demon of anger; and now his companions again recognised him as their old
commander.
Then, in wild certainty of triumph, out streamed the Saracen hordes
— Moors, Turks, and Arabs —over the bazaar, in horrible thirst for slaughter,
each one prepared to slay the conquered Christian warriors.
Hassan Aga, on a foaming red horse, sprang to their head, and
pressed through the gates after his host, that he might feast his eyes on the
conquered enemies, and order and arrange everything for their entire
destruction. "Hurra! hurra! worms crawling beneath my feet," sometimes
his followers heard him shout in angry triumph. The wonderful Moorish
battlements and defenses of the dazzling gate Babazon opened before the enraged
leader.
The
renegade wildly bowed over his horse's neck; and on both sides pressing the
spurs before the saddle-girths, seemed as though he would dash through the gate
as the storm-wind, when suddenly his red horse started and pranced into the
air; and scarcely could the hardy rider save himself from falling from his
saddle.
Astonished at so unusual a spectacle, his eager followers suddenly
stopped his way. But Hassan Aga urged his horse forwards; he sprang up suddenly
wildly prancing, so that it seemed horse and rider’ must have fallen one over
the other if they went one inch further.
Then slowly and circumspectly the boldest of the whole band of
Arabian horse — Emir Sai’d — rode up to Aga, speaking softly — "Flower of
Saracen chivalry! what storm-wind, or what inimical mist presses on your bold
soul, that you have so entirely forgotten the beautiful and honourable art of
horsemanship Permitting his foaming
steed to rest a moment, while the bewildered animal still snorted and dashed
the ground with his forefeet, the renegade himself grown wild, answered: "Said
Emir, is it of my horsemanship that you should complain, or of the sudden fury
of the mad horse that bears me?"
"Sire," said the emir, "at first, certainly, your
red horse started in a strange manner on his course, and then stood staring
wildly round him. Then, as often as he obediently sprang forward, I clearly saw
how you tore him back by the reins, then tugged him forward, and then again
tore him back, so that your hands and feet have been in opposition; that is
enough to drive the quietest horse to madness. Press both your spurs sharply,
and loosen the reins, and may my head fall if the noble horse does now bear you
away like a storm-cloud- — a spirit of the air.''
"Do you think so, emir?" said the renegade, with a
strangely weakened voice — "do you think so? but I think differently. In
my angry thirst for battle, I did not see at first what scared and terrified my
steed; but when the war-horse started and pranced, then I looked, and my own
soul grew mad and wild. Do you see nothing in the gate, Emir Said? Do you not
see something which, with strange juggling tricks, bars this wide opened gate?
Now it looks like a spider weaving bloody threads, now like a horrible
salamander woven and imprisoned within the spider-web. Hu! it is the detestable
soul of the crushed sorceress, Baranaga. And look! In the brightly adorned
angle of the arch of the gate, under the gallery-roof —there, where like
moonlight gleams the pale Rosetta! Do you not see her beautiful, tender, pale, blooming
rose-form beckoning to me, and calling—'Back! unfortunate one! — back!
Everything may yet be well with you! Unfortunate one! once so dear to me. Back!
—oh, back!' Wise Arab Sai’d, do you see and hear nothing of all this?"
In earnest denial, Sai'd Emir shook his venerable head, yet added,
with a solemn voice — "Though another may not see it, yet it cannot be
said that it is not there. If such spirits are visible to you, Aga — above all,
if they are distinct in the depths of your soul — act according to your
knowledge and conscience. I cannot say yes or no."
And Hassan Aga turned his horse round towards the troops, and
thundered — "Halt!" and his messengers speedily rushed to the gates,
commanding, under pain of death, a quiet retreat; the gates were closed, and
deathlike silence lay over the but even now warlike, rejoicing city of Algiers.
Chapter Fifteenth
The Emperor Charles V stood on the African sea-shore, watching,
like a guardian-angel, the embarkation of his troops; in a solemn attitude, he
leaned upon his drawn sword. At his side was the most trusted of his soul of
all the Spanish princes, Don Alvaro de Sandez; behind him, ranged in a warlike
half-circle, stood in health and vigour what yet remained of the troops of his
noble guards.
Yet nearer the strand was the noble hero, Andrea Doria, surrounded
by Giannettino's horse-guards, but now dismounted, carefully arranging them for
the next embarkation, giving and receiving signals, and commanding them on
board the boats. With sorrowful steps, as is usual in time of retreat, the
troops moved over the strand; and here, perhaps, among all the soldiers of the land-armada,
there was not one who had not lost what was especially dear and precious to him
on this blood and tear-drunken coast. From one or other indistinct sound there
was raised a false alarm, that the enemy was breaking out of the city for a
last attack on their retreat; and this produced, if not disorder, yet too great
a haste, and too great a crowding together of squadrons on the shore. But the
discretion of the commander and captains, supported by the bravery and firm
discipline of the soldiers, prevented this threatening evil from an outbreak.
The majestic presence of the emperor had a mighty effect on all.
Whoever glanced on that tall solemn heroic form, with
golden-crowned helm and dazzling cross-sword, felt himself penetrated with all
the majesty of war. Unconsciously he raised his head prouder and higher, fell
into the step of the noble and solemn march, and eagerly grasped his weapons as
though at some festive procession.
So the Italians passed over; and now the Germans began to move off.
The Spaniards on the left wing, under their great Duke Alba, still turned a
front towards the robber's nest, to guard against pursuit. But now, in the
almost unclouded light of noon-day, there was no movement
to be seen in Algiers; the Moorish city, but now re-echoing with violent
shouts, lay as though entombed, or buried in enchanted slumber. The Emperor
Charles turned to Don Alvaro de Sandez, and smiling said, so as to be heard by
those standing around: "One might scarcely trust these barbarians, except for
their concise proverb — 'Golden bridges to the flying enemy.' If, indeed,"
added he, with a prouder attitude, demeanour, and voice, "a warlike,
honourable retreat, so forced by the elements, must be designated by the name
of flight."
Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, 3rd Duke of Alba
Now also the Spanish battalion began to move away. Only with one
little remaining band, the great archduke stood marshalled on the extreme left
wing, these brave men, holding their honourable posts, keeping watch to the
last over the city of their destructive foes.
The retreating cavalcade of Spaniards came towards the emperor, who
approached Don Alvaro, and in a low voice, only to be heard by him, said:
"I cannot and would not hide it from you, noble Sandez. He alone who reads
the heart knows how dear to me all the squadrons are that are entrusted to my
sceptre; but the Spaniards are particularly dear to me. The Italian lives in a
quick, witty, boldly crafty, bright existence, which sometimes wonderfully
breaks loose, but often more wonderfully conceals itself in apparent lassitude
and rest. They change according to their chameleon impulses; in each moment
they are what they are thoroughly. They are rebels thoroughly, when once the
evil spirit of mutiny penetrates their sharp, finely-formed soul.
“Look at these Germans! The sparks rest in the flint — the firework
bursts out at the sound of steel; yet, though the stone may sparkle, stone
remains ever stone, immovable, true, and firm. As men are able to soften and
melt even the diamond — though by dragon's fire and dragon's blood — so these
rocks of men faint with want of food, and become frantically mad with too much
wine.
“Now, only look at our Spaniards! They are the soldiers of the
soldiers! Earnest in enjoyment, joyfully strong in endurance; rendering obedience,
because it is their pride to obey. With them one might conquer the world — if
the elements did not oppose the mighty thought,'' added he, while his bold swelling
voice sank again to an unconscious melancholy.
Then approached him the great Fernando Toledo, archduke of Alba,
with a proud step, feeling himself stronger, now that the sacrificing of his
noble horse had given him an opportunity of shewing that heroic power dwelt
within his noble heart. Therefore, his commander's staff in his right hand,
bowing in respectful salutation before the imperial majesty, he said: "It
is time to announce to the mighty lord of two hemispheres, that the moment for
the embarkation of the king's person is arrived."
Yet the emperor returned, earnestly: "Your announcement, archduke,
is a mistake, and to me a very incomprehensible one; for I see some troops
still standing firmly on the shore behind me, and truly they appear to me those
under your especial command. Call them forward, and begin their embarkation;
then the moment for mine will be declared to me—but from One above; not from
the soul or lips of a subject."
He cast up sparkling to heaven those beautiful heroic eyes which
had been sunk in melancholy.
The Archduke Alba answered, strangely yet heartily smiling:
"Now may your imperial majesty yourself perceive how so many false and
evil tongues — I know it —have slandered me to my noble prince, as a man of proud,
lofty, irritable, and perhaps disobedient and obstinate nature. Some of these
faults might have otherwise appeared, at an answer so little gracious, returned
at this moment to my dutiful announcement; but God rules in heaven, and princes
upon earth."
"God my master in heaven knows," said the emperor, kindly,
"that my words would least of all offend my most faithful and most
powerful commander on the earth, Archduke Alba; but it has been decided by me,
and not without the advice of my subjects, that I do not leave this unhappy
shore as long as one troop of my army remains here. With my bold body-guard, I
must stay the last on this African shore — or stay forever. The body as well as
the soul belongs entirely to God."
"My emperor's noble soul is always elevated with high thoughts,"
said Archduke Alba. "Were thousands of your troops remaining, I must
speak. Those who are the first in dignity, must also stand nobly to the last in
threatening danger. Now but seven hundred of the chosen old Spaniards are with
me; all the rest are on board, let the imperial monarch allow me and my
soldiers to be his rear-guard--we all desire it."
“The emperor must shew that he also is a true soldier,"
returned Charles kindly. "If, noble duke, you would not longer
delay my embarkation, you will not lose a moment in leading your remaining
troops to the ship."
Full of melancholy, the Archduke Alba bowed; and raising his staff'
of command, he beckoned to his brave troop — "Forwards, march!"
The brave files advanced; and Charles V murmured in their
commander's ear: "I gratefully permit you, my noble Alba, to remain on
shore when these brave men shall be embarked, until I lead you, with my noble guards,
to the galley which shall bear me."
"My emperor knows how to pardon imperially," returned Archduke
Alba, and humbly and gratefully kissed the monarch's hand. At the same time the
seven hundred Spaniards moved off' with joyful steps, shouting loudly, but
solemnly and earnestly, as if singing in chorus, —
"Viva el nuestro emperador!
Mueren por el sus soldados!"
Long live the Emperor!
For him his soldiers die!
Chapter
Sixteenth
In clear sunshine, on the sea-waves, now agitated by favourable breezes,
the imperial fleet sailed from the African shore. Charles V, as he had decreed,
with his bodyguard, and great Alba, and the noble Alvaro de Sandez, were the
last to embark. The command of the imperial galley was, for the present, given
to the Doge of Genoa, Admiral Andrea Doria; so that this ship was honoured with
bearing more heroes than are often found together in so small a compass.
Three hours had their voyage lasted, and still the bright blue heaven
beamed over the clear green sea. “The firmament clothes itself in the colour of
faith, and the sea in the colour of hope," said Don Alvaro, joyfully, to
his thoughtful commander, who sat on the deck under a canopy of sails. "The
elements are again reconciled to your majesty."
"Do you think so?” returned the Emperor Charles. "To me
it does not appear so. But truly it may be a sort of bodily ailment, for I know
nothing about it really, which persuades me that a fearful threatening storm
lurks under this apparent peacefulness. When we have so lately felt the ground
of the firm land of Africa melt and sink under our feet, it is no wonder that
mortal nature does not place very firm trust in the changeable sea. But here
comes one who understands it better, not only than either you or I, but than
all living men, whether on land or sea. Admiral Doria, old ruler of the waters,
what think you of the heaven and of the sea?"
Brightly, but with deep earnestness, the old Andrea returned:
"If I am the ruler of the waters, my most gracious master, in the waves
but lately I have found very rebellious subjects; and if all signs do not
deceive me, in spite of their smooth surface, under their deep hollows they are
now murmuring even worse conspiracies and insurrections than before. May it be
that they have not such evil designs, and they are mounting up there only to
gaze more clearly at the clouds, more animated by sorrow than presumption! If
you have anticipated an approaching sea storm, most gracious emperor, you are
not deceived; and
above
all things, I rejoice that you have the old sailor Andrea for your boatman and
guide through the approaching tumult of winds and waves, which must burst out
in less than half an hour. The signals have been given; every ship in the fleet
has answered them; here on board everything is prepared for a strife with the
elements. Now come what God will."
And soon the sea and heaven confirmed his prophetic warning. The
waves, at first only audible to his listening sense, now howled in cries of
death to every ear and heart. The clouds, at first playing as light, gentle
messengers of joy, like white doves or silver lambs, now pressed closer and
closer together, weaving a grey tapestry before the sun, who, instead of his
golden arrows of joy, only darted blood-red spear-rays through the
ever-blackening clouds; and the beautiful crystal-clear firmament was changed
into threatening, sulphurous blue; and the peaceful green sea raised itself in
more horrible, more foamy grave-crowns, and ever in madder frenzy bellowed its
waves, and ever bolder whistled the icy wind. Now loudly crashed a grim, rattling
thunderbolt; and as sometimes the threatening battle bursts out at the report
of the artillery, so now broke out the war of the elements. Woe to the ships
who met it!
Yet still the admiral Andrea Doria preserved his accustomed bearing,
strong .and firm. "To the bay of Utika!" he thundered through the trumpet,
and his voice sounded over the tossing of the sea and howling of the storm.
"To the bay of Utika, those who have still command over their vessels!
those who have not, if possible, to the open sea!"
"To the bay of Utika?" said the emperor, thoughtfully to
himself. "How strange a command! Yet, if we go not there, we shall
certainly be lost; and if we anchor in Utika--" He was silent for a time,
doubtfully shaking his head; "Guerra agli elementi!" — war of the
elements — the Italian sailors are still accustomed to cry at the breaking-out
of a storm.
Then,
with an earnest glance to the stormy and thundering heaven, he exclaimed aloud:
"If Thou willest it, Thou Almighty One, and what Thou willest, we heartily
submit to."
He loosened the buckle which clasped the golden crown of his steel
helmet to his corslet and cuirass, laid his weapons down by the side of his
ermine-covered seat, and breathing more freely, looked out with his large dark
eyes into the still increasing storm.
Then suddenly, in eager haste, sounded Andrea Doria's cry: "Galley
to the leeward! with all strength, quick to the leeward."
And scarcely had the order gone forth when the fearful cause
revealed itself: a large transport-ship, with its deck thickly covered with
troops, driving sideways, without mast or rudder, must have run against the emperor's
galley, if they had persisted in its course.
"It is they!" exclaimed the great archduke, who stood behind
the emperor's seat, in such a voice of anguish as, perhaps, had never before
proceeded from his firm noble bosom. "They are my seven hundred remaining
Castilians! O my heroic squadron, must I see you perish, without sharing your
destruction?"
"Destruction!" repeated the emperor, shuddering.
"Must this faithful band perish? Admiral Doria!" he called out,
"is there no deliverance to be hoped, Admiral Doria?"
But the old captain approached the emperor's seat, and bowing down,
said, inaudibly to the others: "They are lost! the ship already begins to
sink!" In that fearful moment, the soldiers on board the sinking wreck,
perceiving how near they were to the emperor's galley, shouted the war-cry,
loudly swelling, as before, on the strand:
"Viva el nuestro emperador!
Mueren por el sus soldados!"
Then they brandished their weapons on high, and clashed them
together as in joyful salutation. Then the ruined ship, suddenly and quick as
an arrow, sank down; and the noble band of those who had shouted vanished; and
the mighty structure which bore them vanished; and the foamy waves rolled on
without a trace. The emperor covered his face with his purple mantle. Then
again looking up to Andrea, he said: " Did you hear the parting shout of
that band of heroes, Father Doria?"
"Yes, clearly,'' returned he, with firm determination. ''Also
I, and many other bold warriors, I hope, will one day part from life with the
same salutation:
"Long live our emperor!
For him his soldiers die!"
But the Emperor Charles added sorrowfully, shaking his head:
"It may also be rendered—'Through him his soldiers die.' And in this
enterprise, so obstinately begun and persevered in by me, it certainly might so
be said— yes, through me my soldiers die!" Deeply sighing, he arose from
his seat, took the crowned helm, which lay near him, held it for a time with
both hands towards heaven, and then walking with quick step to the edge of the
vessel, determinately threw the imperial ornament into the sea. Then he walked
back and threw himself on his couch, pleased, as though after some wearisome but
well-wrought work.
A low murmuring passed through the circle of lords and princes who
surrounded him.
Meanwhile Andrea Doria, sorrowfully bending over him, said softly,
in a tone of the tenderest reproach: "How now, my imperial son and master
? despair in a spirit such as yours?"
But the emperor returned aloud: "Despair? no! My trusting soul
knows nothing of that. What I do now I may not declare at this moment to any
one; but patience and trust; soon the time will come when it shall be declared
to the whole world."
Chapter Seventeeth
Tradition tells of holy pledges, by the offering of which the rage
of the storm is abated and the waves of the ocean are appeased. And so they now
appeared to be satisfied when the crown of the Emperor Charles had sunk into
the sea; at least it became calmer around the galley which bore the emperor. Some
hours after, the great Andrea Doria, now rather to be called captain than
admiral, anchored in the bay of Utika his nobly freighted vessel, and the
disembarkation was accomplished without obstacle. As the troops landed, the
Emperor Charles sent them forward to the castle that for many years had been
furnished with a Spanish garrison, there to rest and to refresh themselves. He
had determined not to move from the shore until all of the ship-squadron that
had escaped from this unfortunate voyage were landed. The imperial guard
hastened to seek some shelter for their master; they could find nothing better
than a small, decayed, ruined Roman building, which though it scarcely diminished
the howling storm, yet kept off on one side the pelting rain. The roof of that formerly
hospitable little dwelling had long ago broken in over the carefully arranged,
now jutting ou, stones of the hearth. The Emperor Charles silently took his
seat thereon; and before him, on the rubbish, leant his naked sword-blade, which
in this place looked less like a weapon than a grave cross.
The emperor appeared to think so, as he sat with his eyes firmly
fixed on it; only sometimes sorrowfully yet eagerly gazing out into the bay and
sea, where floated the sails of the dismembered fleet like white sea-birds,
some approaching the hospitable shore, others driven by the storms out into the
trackless, measureless, hostile ocean.
On a projecting wall, next the door of the little house, the great
Andrea Doria had found a resting-place. Near him stood leaning against the wall
Archduke Alba, supporting himself by his mighty rapier like a cherub posted before
some holy edifice, with shield-like protection: behind the emperor stood Don
Alvaro de Sandez in a solemn, earnest attitude, as though he waited on his
noble lord and master in the magnificent chambers of the palace.
Then a young Italian life-guard came before the entrance of the
ruin, saying, with graceful inclination, "Will my invincible emperor
please to remain a while in the narrow shelter which we have procured for him?
There is a better being prepared at a farm not far distant, which, though not
worthy of so noble a guest, is, however, more suitable than the mossy halls of
this ancient and ruined abode."
The emperor returned with a bitter smile, shaking his head,
"Invincible! that seems to me a name that is past. Ask Hassan Aga and the
people of Algiers what they think of the title."
But the young Italian said gaily, "If it please your imperial
majesty to discover the author of our late misfortune, it does not seem to me
the right road would lead to Algiers; I should rather seek a sure direction and
guide to the halls of Aolus, or the grotto of Neptune."
"Ah, young man," said the Emperor Charles, with a brighter
countenance; "you Italians all bear some poetical nature with you: but
perhaps you have quite devoted yourself to the beautiful lore of the
Muses?"
“No, pardon me, gracious master," was the answer. “If I commune
with the Muses, it is as the birds in the wood do—unconsciously, and less guided
by my will than happy leisure."
"Those are not the worst sort of poets," said the
emperor. "Your name?"
" Taddeo Guarini, at your imperial majesty's command."
"Guarini!" repeated the emperor; " a relation of the
famous pastoral poet Guarini?"
"His art does not bloom in my soul," answered the youth;
"but his kindred blood flows through my veins."
"It is a beautiful thing, this gift of the Muses," said the
emperor, turning to Alvaro Sandez; "on so wild and desolate a shore, so
far from all transplanted flowers, they yet wave and breathe their soft air
around us." Then he said to the young Italian, "O Guarini, your
kindred muse, the inventor of the pastoral Idyll, must have taught you that a Roman
emperor could find no where better rest and shelter than in an old Roman
hearth. Go, my brave youth, and tell your companions that the Emperor Charles
the Fifth has found a resting-place."
Astonished, the young Italian went out, and the monarch spoke to
the three faithful friends around him. "Here in Utika, perhaps in this
same hearth, Rome's last citizen, the great Cato, rested for the last time,
when it was clear to him that a Divine Will had destroyed the right for which
he had been striving his whole life. There was no place left him on this
changeable earth. Now, when a Roman emperor comes to Utika, truly it is a mighty
coincidence in the whole history of the world."
"1 do not understand my great emperor," said Alvaro
Sandez, deeply moved.
"God keep such bad thoughts far from my noble master!"
exclaimed Alba, eagerly.
Andrea Doria said peacefully but very solemnly, "The last
citizen of Rome was a heathen; my afflicted emperor is, thank God, a
Christian."
And the Emperor Charles enlivened, looked round and said, "It
is a coincidence, a strange coincidence, however little my three brave
companions may perceive it; and it will be clearly acknowledged in after-days.
But listen now, you three dear faithful men, and faithfully bear witness of
me—the tempter shall never disturb my soul with heathenish thoughts of Cato's
self-chosen death. But what you may have missed on me since the sea-storm, the crown-decked
helm, is quite different: the helm is not my head. That divinely bestowed crown
is very great, yet it is not my divinely bestowed soul, and does not affect it.
Therefore, when a Divine command, deep within, in the mysterious and the most
holy haunts of my soul, where no glance can penetrate but the all-seeing eye of
God, when the command is heard: 'Thou standest on the brink! The weight of the
imperial crown will henceforth destroy thy eternal salvation!'"
He was silent; moved with a momentary shuddering, his eyes fixed as
in questioning inquiry on the cross-form of his sword. The three men around him
were silent, as though petrified. And ever and anon the lessening storm cast
its organ-notes over land and sea. Then in quick joyful steps approached the
ruined edifice the young trooper Walprecht, from Giannettino's German
life-guard. Quite regardless of the others, he came to Andrea Doria, who sat nearest
to the entrance, announcing, in a soldier's manner, “Your noble nephew Doria is
come to land, Excellenza; and see, one can count in the whole fifteen galleys
now riding in the bay! The storm is abating fast; in an hour's time one might
float the safest of the boats; in six hours time two or three others, and in
twelve hours the whole number."
"Thanks, brave fellow!" said the noble old man, joyfully.
"Your master's youthful vigour, imparted to me through your fresh spirit,
refreshes me wonderfully."
“I do not quite understand you, Excellenza," answered Walprecht;
" but, at any rate, I am glad you are merry, or joyful, or at least
cheering up; for truly, what can a man do better than be cheerful? Especially
so long as the storm is not passed, and he will pass for a man; afterwards he may
sit in a corner beating his arms together, and lament what has happened to him
during the bustle; he then may weep a little, as I shall some time for my good
brown horse; but as yet, nothing of this! Hark how the weather gods are still
making music over our heads."
"Quite right, brave fellow!" said Andrea, dispatching him
with some message to Giannettino; and the bold German walked briskly away,
without being conscious of the presence of his emperor.
Then the Emperor Charles rose solemnly from his seat on the hearth,
saying, "Hark how the weather gods are still making music over our heads!
Did not the hearty German trooper say so?"
Andrea Doria assented. "And," continued the emperor,
"the youth also said, that as long as the storm is not over, it does not
become anyone to sit melancholy in a corner, beating his arms together,
especially if he would be deemed a man. Yes, truly, Charles has hitherto lived
as a man, and in the last part of his life he will not cease to demean himself like
a man. The storm still roars, not only here but in the political world, and
Europe requires a crowned head in such a scene. Bold Alba, you look at me
astonished; yet more astonished you may be hereafter. Do you wonder that the
words of a common trooper should make such an impression in your emperor's
soul? My friend, a bird flies over the empty desolate wilderness, and lets fall
two little seeds out of his beak: in two hundred years a wood is grown that
otherwise would not have been there. Or would you have it quicker? A scarcely
visible ball of snow rolls down from the summit of the snow-mountain. Look
three hours after: an overwhelming glacier forces brooks and streams out of
their course, and destroys huts and cottages, leaving no trace behind. But nothing
in the world moves and acts so quickly or so powerfully as the mind of man. Do
not consider me vacillating — my determination is not changed; my Alba should
have known me. But now the Gallic cock will jeer and banter without rest so
soon as he hears of our misfortune. The first galley ready to sail, to Genoa,
Father Andrea; from thence a quick messenger to Milan, to our stadtholder,
Marques del Guasto!
“The next that puts to sea, to Carthagena, with letters to our
royal infant Don Philip; another to Naples, which will take the vice-king on
board in case he lives and is here; otherwise it will take you, Archduke Alba,
and so will require no letter. The others must be quickly written, so up to the
castle. And if there are no pens to write with — as certainly they are seldom
supplied with such things — a strong finger must serve, which is also an
instrument of the Eternal Lord."
Eagerly he caught up his sword that leant against the ruined wall,
and what had appeared as a still and solemn grave-token, sparkled now in the
emperor's hand like a meteor-flame that should shine over the world. God be
praised!" exclaimed the Archduke Alba; "now is our great emperor
himself again, and many enemies shall yet know it in many a noble fight. Yes,
even those robber-hordes, who now rejoice in noise and riot in their heathenish
feast, because the storms and sea have prevented my emperor's great purpose. We
will one day return again to that renegade Hassan Aga, with revenging sword-flame,
and plant the Christian banners of victory over the ruins of Algiers."
"What think you of it, Father Andrea?" asked the emperor,
looking to Doria.
"As God wills," answered the grey-headed old man, turning
his eyes to heaven. "The ways of the Lord are mysterious below; the
purposes of the Most High are accomplished in a way we know not."
The emperor bent humbly; then he said, "My knightly Don Alvaro
Sandez, what think you?"
“Your majesty knows that we have old heroic histories," returned
the Castilian, "which now are begun to be laughed at, because much that is
incomprehensible is mingled with true occurrences. Every one criticizes them
according to his pleasure; but to me there appears in all of them a spirit
which is quite worthy of questioning; and also to the humble, earnest, pious
questioner, many a clear beautiful answer is imparted. Among other such things,
I have conceived that for every undertaking there is only one knight appointed
for the victor, while all others, however bold they may otherwise be, in that
enterprise are overcome, and must be overcome. Algiers seems to me such an
adventure, and your majesty not the chosen knight for it."
"You speak truly, dear Sandez," said the emperor; "I
feel it echoed in the depth of my life and being; and truly if I ever was the
knight chosen to take Algiers, I am so no longer. My too-great confidence in my
own power and pride that God has granted me the direction of so many warlike
people, has been taught me by my Eternal Master in a voice of thunder. In
after-days He will raise a bolder knight for this taking of Algiers, who will have
more trust in God than in his own strength. For the victory must at last be
accomplished to the glory and prosperity of Christians, who are now so
shamefully oppressed there."
"Amen," said Father Andrea.
And the emperor, with his three followers, walked towards the
Castle of Utika. "What afterwards happened belongs not to this story, but
to
the history of the world.