A Word Only A Word, Volume 3.

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A WORD, ONLY A WORD

By Georg Ebers

Volume 3.

CHAPTER XIV.

For the first time in his life Ulrich had witnessed the death of a human
being.

How often he had laughed at the fool, or thought his words absurd and
wicked;--but the dead man inspired him with respect, and the thought of
the old jester's corpse exerted a far deeper and more lasting influence
upon him, than his father's supposed death. Hitherto he had only been
able to imagine him as he had looked in life, but now the vision of him
stretched at full length, stark and pale like the dead Pellicanus, often
rose before his mind.

The artist was a silent man, and understood how to think and speak in
lines and colors, better than in words. He only became eloquent and
animated, when the conversation turned upon subjects connected with his
art.

At Toulouse he purchased three new horses, and engaged the same number of
French servants, then went to a jeweller and bought many articles. At
the inn he put the chains and rings he had obtained, into pretty little
boxes, and wrote on them in neat Gothic characters with special care:
"Helena, Anna, Minerva, Europa and Lucia;" one name on each.

Ulrich watched him and remarked that those were not his children's names.

Moor looked up, and answered smiling: "These are only young artists, six
sisters, each one of whom is as dear to me as if she were my own
daughter. I hope we shall find them in Madrid, one of them, Sophonisba,
at any rate."

"But there are only five boxes," observed the boy, "and you haven't
written Sophonisba on any of them."

"She is to have something better," replied his patron smiling. "My
portrait, which I began to paint yesterday, will be finished here. Hand
me the mirror, the maul-stick, and the colors."

The picture was a superb likeness, absolutely faultless. The pure brow
curved in lofty arches at the temples, the small eyes looked as clear and
bright as they did in the mirror, the firm mouth shaded by a thin
moustache, seemed as if it were just parting to utter a friendly word.
The close-shaven beard on the cheeks and chin rested closely upon the
white ruff, which seemed to have just come from under the laundresses'
smoothing-iron.

How rapidly and firmly the master guided his brush! And Sophonisba, whom
Moor distinguished by such a gift, how was he to imagine her? The other
five sisters too! For their sakes he first anticipated with pleasure the
arrival at Madrid.

In Bayonne the artist left the baggage-wagon behind. His luggage was put
on mules, and when the party of travellers started, it formed an imposing
caravan.

Ulrich expressed his surprise at such expenditure, and Moor answered
kindly: "Pellicanus says: 'Among fools one must be a fool.' We enter
Spain as the king's guests, and courtiers have weak eyes, and only notice
people who give themselves airs."

At Fuenterrabia, the first Spanish city they reached, the artist received
many honors, and a splendid troop of cavalry escorted him thence to
Madrid.

Moor came as a guest to King Philip's capital for the third time, and was
received there with all the tokens of respect usually paid only to great
noblemen.

His old quarters in the treasury of the Alcazar, the palace of the kings
of Castile, were again assigned to him. They consisted of a studio and
suite of apartments, which by the monarch's special command, had been
fitted up for him with royal magnificence.

Ulrich could not control his amazement. How poor and petty everything
that a short time before, at Castle Rappolstein, had awakened his wonder
and admiration now appeared.

During the first few days the artist's reception-room resembled a bee-
hive; for aristocratic men and women, civil and ecclesiastical
dignitaries passed in and out, pages and lackeys brought flowers, baskets
of fruits, and other gifts. Every one attached to the court knew in what
high favor the artist was held by His Majesty, and therefore hastened to
win his good-will by attentions and presents. Every hour there was
something new and astonishing to be seen, but the artist himself most
awakened the boy's surprise.

The unassuming man, who on the journey had associated as familiarly with
the poor invalids he had picked up by the wayside, the tavern-keepers,
and soldiers of his escort, as if he were one of themselves, now seemed a
very different person. True, he still dressed in black, but instead of
cloth and silk, he wore velvet and satin, while two gold chains glittered
beneath his ruff. He treated the greatest nobles as if he were doing
them a favor by receiving them, and he himself were a person of
unapproachable rank.

On the first day Philip and his queen Isabella of Valois, had sent for
him and adorned him with a costly new chain.

On this occasion Ulrich saw the king. Dressed as a page he followed
Moor, carrying the picture the latter intended for a gift to his royal
host.

At the time of their entrance into the great reception-hall, the monarch
was sitting motionless, gazing into vacancy, as if all the persons
gathered around him had no existence for him. His head was thrown far
back, pressing down the stiff ruff, on which it seemed to rest as if it
were a platter. The fair-haired man's well-cut features wore the rigid,
lifeless expression of a mask. The mouth and nostrils were slightly
contracted, as if they shrank from breathing the same air with other
human beings.

The monarch's face remained unmoved, while receiving the Pope's legates
and the ambassadors from the republic of Venice. When Moor was led
before him, a faint smile was visible beneath the soft, drooping
moustache and close-shaven beard on the cheeks and chin; the prince's
dull eyes also gained some little animation.

The day after the reception a bell rang in the studio, which was cleared
of all present as quickly as possible, for it announced the approach of
the king, who appeared entirely alone and spent two whole hours with
Moor.

All these marks of distinction might have turned a weaker brain, but
Moor received them calmly, and as soon as he was alone with Ulrich or
Sophonisba, appeared no less unassuming and kindly, than at Emmendingen
and on the journey through France.

A week after taking possession of the apartments in the treasury, the
servants received orders to refuse admittance to every one, without
distinction of rank or person, informing them that the artist was engaged
in working for His Majesty.

Sophonisba Anguisciola was the only person whom Moor never refused to
see. He had greeted the strange girl on his arrival, as a father meets
his child.

Ulrich had been present when the artist gave her his portrait, and saw
her, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, cover her face with her hands
and burst into loud sobs.

During Moor's first visit to Madrid, the young girl had come from Cremona
to the king's court with her father and five sisters, and since then the
task of supporting all six had rested on her shoulders.

Old Cavaliere Anguisciola was a nobleman of aristocratic family, who had
squandered his large patrimony, and now, as he was fond of saying, lived
day by day "by trusting God." A large portion of his oldest daughter's
earnings he wasted at the gaming table with dissolute nobles, relying
with happy confidence upon the talent displayed also by his younger
children, and on what he called "trust in God." The gay, clever Italian
was everywhere a welcome guest, and while Sophonisba toiled early and
late, often without knowing how she was to obtain suitable food and
clothing for her sisters and herself, his life was a series of banquets
and festivals. Yet the noble girl retained the joyous courage inherited
from her father, nay, more--even in necessity she did not cease to take a
lofty view of art, and never permitted anything to leave her studio till
she considered it finished.

At first Moor watched her silently, then he invited her to work in his
studio, and avail herself of his advice and assistance.

So she had become his pupil, his friend.

Soon the young girl had no secrets from him, and the glimpses of her
domestic life thus afforded touched him and brought her nearer and nearer
to his heart.

The old Cavaliere praised the lucky accident, and was ready to show
himself obliging, when Moor offered to let him and his daughters occupy
a house he had purchased, that it might be kept in a habitable condition,
and when the artist had induced the king to grant Sophonisba a larger
annual salary, the father instantly bought a second horse.

The young girl, in return for so many benefits, was gratefully devoted to
the artist, but she would have loved him even without them. His society
was her greatest pleasure. To be allowed to stay and paint with him,
become absorbed in conversation about art, its problems, means and
purposes, afforded her the highest, purest happiness.

When she had discharged the duties imposed upon her by her attendance
upon the queen, her heart drew her to the man she loved and honored.
When she left him, it always seemed as if she had been in church, as if
her soul had been steeped in purity and was effulgent. Moor had hoped to
find her sisters with her in Madrid, but the old Cavaliere had taken them
away with him to Italy. His "trust in God" was rewarded, for he had
inherited a large fortune. What should he do longer in Madrid! To
entertain the stiff, grave Spaniards and move them to laughter, was a far
less pleasing occupation than to make merry with gay companions and be
entertained himself at home.

Sophonisba was provided for, and the beautiful, gay, famous maid of honor
would have no lack of suitors. Against his daughter's wish, he had given
to the richest and most aristocratic among them, the Sicilian baron
Don Fabrizio di Moncada, the hope of gaining her hand. "Conquer the
fortress! When it yields--you can hold it," were his last words; but
the citadel remained impregnable, though the besieger could bring into
the field as allies a knightly, aristocratic bearing, an unsullied
character, a handsome, manly figure, winning manners, and great wealth.

Ulrich felt a little disappointed not to find the five young girls, of
whom he had dreamed, in Madrid; it would have been pleasant to have some
pretty companions in the work now to begin.

Adjoining the studio was a smaller apartment, separated from the former
room by a corridor, that could be closed, and by a heavy curtain. Here a
table, at which the five girls might easily have found room, was placed
in a favorable light for Ulrich. He was to draw from plastic models, and
there was no lack of these in the Alcazar, for here rose a high, three-
story wing, to which when wearied by the intrigues of statecraft and the
restraints of court etiquette, King Philip gladly retired, yielding
himself to the only genial impulse of his gloomy soul, and enjoyed the
noble forms of art.

In the round hall on the lower floor countless plans, sketches, drawings
and works of art were kept in walnut chests of excellent workmanship.
Above this beautifully ornamented apartment--was the library, and in the
third story the large hall containing the masterpieces of Titian.

The restless statesman, Philip, was no less eager to collect and obtain
new and beautiful works by the great Venetian, than to defend and
increase his own power and that of the Church. But these treasures were
kept jealously guarded, accessible to no human being except himself and
his artists.

Philip was all and all to himself; caring nothing for others, he did not
deem it necessary, that they should share his pleasures. If anything
outside the Church occupied a place in his regard, it was the artist,
and therefore he did not grudge him what he denied to others.

Not only in the upper story, but in the lower ones also antique and
modern busts and statues were arranged in appropriate places, and Moor
was at liberty to choose from among them, for the king permitted him to
do what was granted to no one else.

He often summoned him to the Titian Hall, and still more frequently rang
the bell and entered the connecting corridor, accessible to himself
alone, which led from the rooms devoted to art and science to the
treasury and studio, where he spent hours with Moor. Ulrich eagerly
devoted himself to the work, and his master watched his labor like an
attentive, strict, and faithful teacher; meantime he carefully guarded
against overtaxing the boy, allowed him to accompany him on many a ride,
and advised him to look about the city. At first the lad liked to stroll
through the streets and watch the long, brilliant processions, or timidly
shrink back when closely-muffled men, their figures wholly invisible
except the eyes and feet, bore a corpse along, or glided on mysterious
missions through the streets. The bull-fights might have bewitched him,
but be loved horses, and it grieved him to see the noble animal, wounded
and killed.

He soon wearied of the civil and religious ceremonies, that might be
witnessed nearly every day, and which always exerted the same power of
attraction to the inhabitants of Madrid. Priests swarmed in the Alcazar,
and soldiers belonging to every branch of military service, daily guarded
or marched by the palace.

On the journey he had met plenty of mules with gay plumes and tassels,
oddly-dressed peasants and citizens. Gentlemen in brilliant court
uniforms, princes and princesses he saw daily in the court-yards, on the
stairs, and in the park of the palace.

At Toulouse and in other cities, through which he had passed, life
had been far more busy, active, and gay than in quiet Madrid, where
everything went on as if people were on their way to church, where a
cheerful face was rarely seen, and men and women knew of no sight more
beautiful and attractive, than seeing poor Jews and heretics burned.

Ulrich did not need the city; the Alcazar was a world in itself, and
offered him everything he desired.

He liked to linger in the stables, for there he could distinguish
himself; but it was also delightful to work, for Moor chose models and
designs that pleased the lad, and Sophonisba Anguisciola, who often
painted for hours in the studio by the master's side, came to Ulrich in
the intervals, looked at what he had finished, helped, praised, or
scolded him, and never left him without a jest on her lips.

True, he was often left to himself; for the king sometimes summoned the
artist and then quitted the palace with him for several days, to visit
secluded country houses, and there--the old Hollander had told the lad--
painted under Moor's instructions.

On the whole, there were new, strange, and surprising things enough, to
keep the sensation of "Fortune," alive in Ulrich's heart. Only it was
vexatious that he found it so hard to make himself intelligible to
people, but this too was soon to be remedied, for the pupil obtained two
companions.

CHAPTER XV.

Alonzo Sanchez Coello, a very distinguished Spanish artist, had his
studio in the upper story of the treasury. The king was very friendly to
him, and often took him also on his excursions. The gay, lively artist
clung without envy, and with ardent reverence, to Moor, whose fellow-
pupil he had been in Florence and Venice. During the Netherlander's
first visit to Madrid, he had not disdained to seek counsel and
instruction from his senior, and even now frequently visited his studio,
bringing with him his children Sanchez and Isabella as pupils, and
watched the Master closely while he painted.

At first Ulrich was not specially pleased with his new companions, for in
the strangely visionary life he led, he had depended solely upon himself
and "Fortune," and the figures living in his imagination were the most
enjoyable society to him.

Formerly he had drawn eagerly in the morning, joyously anticipated
Sophonisba's visit, and then gazed out over his paper and dreamed.
How delightful it had been to let his thoughts wander to his heart's
content. This could now be done no longer.

So it happened, that at first he could feel no real confidence in
Sanchez, who was three years his senior, for the latter's thin limbs
and close-cut dark hair made him look exactly like dark-browed Xaver.
Therefore his relations with Isabella were all the more friendly.

She was scarcely fourteen, a dear little creature, with awkward limbs,
and a face so wonderfully changeful in expression, that it could not fail
to be by turns pretty and repellent. She always had beautiful eyes; all
her other features were unformed, and might grow charming or exactly the
reverse. When her work engrossed her attention, she bit her protruded
tongue, and her raven-black hair, usually remarkably smooth, often became
so oddly dishevelled, that she looked like a kobold; when, on the other
hand, she talked pleasantly or jested, no one could help being pleased.

The child was rarely gifted, and her method of working was an exact
contrast to that of the German lad. She progressed slowly, but finally
accomplished something admirable; what Ulrich impetuously began had a
showy, promising aspect, but in the execution the great idea shrivelled,
and the work diminished in merit instead of increasing.

Sanchez Coello remained far behind the other two, but to make amends,
he knew many things of which Ulrich's uncorrupted soul had no suspicion.

Little Isabella had been given by her mother, for a duenna, a watchful,
ill-tempered widow, Senora Catalina, who never left the girl while she
remained with Moor's pupils.

Receiving instruction with others urged Ulrich to rivalry, and also
improved his knowledge of Spanish. But he soon became familiar with the
language in another way, for one day, as he came out of the stables,
a thin man in black, priestly robes, advanced towards him, looked
searchingly into his face, then greeted him as a countryman, declaring
that it made him happy to speak his dear native tongue again. Finally,
he invited the "artist" to visit him. His name was Magister Kochel and
he lodged with the king's almoner, for whom he was acting as clerk.

The pallid man with the withered face, deep-set eyes and peculiar grin,
which always showed the bluish-red gums above the teeth, did not please
the boy, but the thought of being able to talk in his native language
attracted him, and he went to the German's.

He soon thought that by so doing he was accomplishing something good and
useful, for the former offered to teach him to write and speak Spanish.
Ulrich was glad to have escaped from school, and declined this proposal;
but when the German suggested that he should content himself with
speaking the language, assuring him that it could be accomplished without
any difficulty, Ulrich consented and went daily at twilight to the
Magister.

Instruction began at once and was pleasant enough, for Kochel let him
translate merry tales and love stories from French and Italian books,
which he read aloud in German, never scolded him, and after the first
half-hour always laid the volume aside to talk with him.

Moor thought it commendable and right, for Ulrich to take upon himself
the labor and constraint of studying a language, and promised, when the
lessons were over, to give a fitting payment to the Magister, who seemed
to have scanty means of livelihood.

The master ought to have been well disposed towards worthy Kochel, for
the latter was an enthusiastic admirer of his works. He ranked the
Netherlander above Titian and the other great Italian artists, called him
the worthy friend of gods and kings, and encouraged his pupil to imitate
him.

"Industry, industry!" cried the Magister. "Only by industry is the
summit of wealth and fame gained. To be sure, such success demands
sacrifices. How rarely is the good man permitted to enjoy the blessing
of mass. When did he go to church last?"

Ulrich answered these and similar questions frankly and truthfully,
and when Kochel praised the friendship uniting the artist to the king,
calling them Orestes and Pylades, Ulrich, proud of the honor shown his
master, told him how often Philip secretly visited the latter.

At every succeeding interview Kochel asked, as if by chance, in the midst
of a conversation about other things: "Has the king honored you again?"
or "You happy people, it is reported that the king has shown you his face
again."

This "you" flattered Ulrich, for it allowed a ray of the royal favor to
fall upon him also, so he soon informed his countryman, unasked, of every
one of the monarch's visits to the treasury.

Weeks and months elapsed.

Towards the close of his first year's residence in Madrid, Ulrich spoke
Spanish with tolerable fluency, and could easily understand his fellow-
pupils; nay, be had even begun to study Italian.

Sophonisba Anguisciola still spent all her leisure hours in the studio,
painting or conversing with Moor. Various dignitaries and grandees also
went in and out of the studio, and among them frequently appeared, indeed
usually when Sophonisba was present, her faithful admirer Don Fabrizio di
Moncada.

Once Ulrich, without listening, heard Moor through the open door of the
school-room, represent to her, that it was unwise to reject a suitor like
the baron; he was a noble, high-minded gentleman and his love beyond
question.

Her answer was long in coming; at last she rose, saying in an agitated
voice: "We know each other, Master; I know your kind intentions. And
yet, yet! Let me remain what I am, however insignificant that may be.
I like the baron, but what better gifts can marriage bestow, than I
already possess? My love belongs to Art, and you--you are my friend....
My sisters are my children. Have I not gained the right to call them so?
I shall have no lack of duties towards them, when my father has
squandered his inheritance. My noble queen will provide for my future,
and I am necessary to her. My heart is filled--filled to the brim; I do
what I can, and is it not a beautiful thought, that I am permitted to be
something to those I love? Let me remain your Sophonisba, and a free
artist."

"Yes, yes, yes! Remain what you are, girl!" Moor exclaimed, and then for
a long time silence reigned in the studio.

Even before they could understand each other's language, a friendly
intercourse had existed between Isabella and her German fellow-pupil,
for in leisure moments they had sketched each other more than once.

These pictures caused much laughter and often occasional harmless
scuffles between Ulrich and Sanchez, for the latter liked to lay hands
on these portraits and turn them into hideous caricatures.

Isabella often earned the artist's unqualified praise, Ulrich sometimes
received encouraging, sometimes reproving, and sometimes even harsh
words. The latter Moor always addressed to him in German, but they
deeply wounded the lad, haunting him for days.

The "word" still remained obedient to him. Only in matters relating to
art, the power of "fortune" seemed to fail, and deny its service.

When the painter set him difficult tasks, which he could not readily
accomplish, he called upon the "word;" but the more warmly and fervently
he did so, the more surely he receded instead of advancing. When, on the
contrary, he became angered against "fortune," reproached, rejected it,
and relied wholly on himself, he accomplished the hardest things and won
Moor's praise.

He often thought, that he would gladly resign his untroubled, luxurious
life, and all the other gifts of Fortune, if he could only succeed in
accomplishing what Moor desired him to attain in art. He knew and felt
that this was the right goal; but one thing was certain, he could never
attain it with pencil and charcoal. What his soul dreamed, what his
mental vision beheld was colored. Drawing, perpetual drawing, became
burdensome, repulsive, hateful; but with palette and brush in his hand he
could not fail to become an artist, perhaps an artist like Titian.

He already used colors in secret; Sanchez Coello had been the cause of
his making the first trial.

This precocious youth was suing for a fair girl's favor, and made Ulrich
his confidant. One day, when Moor and Sanchez's father had gone with the
king to Toledo, he took him to a balcony in the upper story of the
treasury, directly opposite to the gate-keeper's lodgings, and only
separated by a narrow court-yard from the window, where sat pretty
Carmen, the porter's handsome daughter.

The girl was always to be found here, for her father's room was very
dark, and she was compelled to embroider priestly robes from morning till
night. This pursuit brought in money, which was put to an excellent use
by the old man, who offered sacrifices to his own comfort at the cook-
shop, and enjoyed fish fried in oil with his Zamora wine. The better her
father's appetite was, the more industriously the daughter was obliged
to embroider. Only on great festivals, or when an 'Auto-da-fe' was
proclaimed, was Carmen permitted to leave the palace with her old aunt;
yet she had already found suitors. Nineteen-year-old Sanchez did not
indeed care for her hand, but merely for her love, and when it began to
grow dusk, he stationed himself on the balcony which he had discovered,
made signs to her, and flung flowers or bonbons on her table.

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