The Dove in the Eagle's Nest [146]
and thought, and far more of silver than of brown in his thin hair and pointed beard, and with a melancholy thoughtfulness in his clear brown eyes--all well corresponding with the gravity of the dress in which he has been meeting the burghers of Ulm; a black velvet suit--only relieved by his small white lace ruff, and the ribbon and jewel of the Golden Fleece, the only other approach to ornament that he wears being that ring long ago twisted off the Emperor Maximilian's chain. But now, as he has bowed off the chaplain to his study, and excused himself from aiding his two gentlemen-squires in consuming their krug of beer, and hands his mother to her favourite nook in the sunny window, taking his seat by her side, his features assume an expression of repose and relaxation as if here indeed were his true home. He has chosen his seat in full view of a picture that hangs on the wainscoted wall, near his mother--a picture whose pure ethereal tinting, of colour limpid as the rainbow, yet rich as the most glowing flower-beds; and its soft lovely pose, and rounded outlines, prove it to be no produce even of one of the great German artists of the time, but to have been wrought, under an Italian sky, by such a hand as left us the marvellous smile of Mona Lisa. It represents two figures, one unmistakably himself when in the prime of life, his brow and cheeks unfurrowed, and his hair still thick, shining brown, but with the same grave earnestness of the dark eye that came with the early sense of responsibility, and with the first sorrow of his youth. The other figure, one on which the painter evidently loved to dwell, is of a lady, so young that she might almost pass for his daughter, except for the peculiar, tender sweetness that could only become the wife and mother. Fair she is as snow, with scarce a deepening of the rose on cheek, or even lip, fragile and transparent as a spiritual form, and with a light in the blue eyes, and a grace in the soft fugitive smile, that scarce seems to belong to earth; a beauty not exactly of feature, but rather the pathetic loveliness of calm fading away--as if she were already melting into the clear blue sky with the horizon of golden light, that the wondrous power of art has made to harmonize with, but not efface, her blue dress, golden hair, white coif, and fair skin. It is as if she belonged to that sky, and only tarried as unable to detach herself from the clasp of the strong hand round and in which both her hands are twined; and though the light in her face may be from heaven, yet the whole countenance is fixed in one absorbed, almost worshipping gaze of her husband, with a wistful simplicity and innocence on devotion, like the absorption of a loving animal, to whom its master's presence is bliss and sunshine. It is a picture to make light in a dark place, and that sweet face receives a loving glance, nay, an absolutely reverent bend of the knightly head, as the Baron seats himself.
"So it was as we feared, and this Schmalkaldic League did not suit thy sense of loyalty, my son?" she asks, reading his features anxiously.
"No, mother. I ever feared that further pressure would drive our friends beyond the line where begin schism and rebellion; and it seems to me that the moment is come when I must hold me still, or transgress mine own sense of duty. I must endure the displeasure of many I love and respect."
"Surely, my son, they have known you too long and too well not to respect your motives, and know that conscience is first with you."
"Scarce may such confidence be looked for, mother, from the most part, who esteem every man a traitor to the cause if he defend it not precisely in the fashion of their own party. But I hear that the King of France has offered himself as an ally, and that Dr. Luther, together with others of our best divines, have thereby been startled into doubts of the lawfulness of the League."
"And what think you of doing, my son?"
"I shall endeavour to wait until such time as the much-needed General Council may proclaim the ancient truth, and enable
"So it was as we feared, and this Schmalkaldic League did not suit thy sense of loyalty, my son?" she asks, reading his features anxiously.
"No, mother. I ever feared that further pressure would drive our friends beyond the line where begin schism and rebellion; and it seems to me that the moment is come when I must hold me still, or transgress mine own sense of duty. I must endure the displeasure of many I love and respect."
"Surely, my son, they have known you too long and too well not to respect your motives, and know that conscience is first with you."
"Scarce may such confidence be looked for, mother, from the most part, who esteem every man a traitor to the cause if he defend it not precisely in the fashion of their own party. But I hear that the King of France has offered himself as an ally, and that Dr. Luther, together with others of our best divines, have thereby been startled into doubts of the lawfulness of the League."
"And what think you of doing, my son?"
"I shall endeavour to wait until such time as the much-needed General Council may proclaim the ancient truth, and enable