This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
By Georg Ebers
The Spanish nature is contagious, thought Hans Eitelfritz, tossing on hiscouch in Ulrich's tent. What a queer fellow the gay young lad hasbecome! Sighs are cheap with him, and every word costs a ducat. He isworthy all honor as a soldier. If they make him Eletto, it will be worthwhile to join the free army.
Ulrich had briefly told the lansquenet, how he had obtained the name of
Navarrete and how he had come from Madrid and Lepanto to the Netherlands.
Then he went to rest, but he could not sleep.
He had found his mother again. He now possessed the best gift Ruth hadasked him to beseech of the "word." The soldier's sweetheart, thefaithless wife, the companion of his rival, whom only yesterday he hadavoided, the fortune-teller, the camp-sibyl, was the woman who had givenhim birth. He, who thought he had preserved his honor stainless, whosehand grasped the sword if another looked askance at him, was the child ofone, at whom every respectable woman had the right to point her finger.All these thoughts darted through his brain; but strangely enough, theymelted like morning mists when the sun rises, before the feeling of joythat he had his mother again.
Her image did not rise before his memory in Zorrillo's tent, but framedby balsams and wall-flowers. His vivid imagination made her twenty yearsyounger, and how beautiful she still was, how winningly she could glanceand smile. Every appreciative word, all the praises of the sibyl'sbeauty, good sense and kindness, which he had heard in the camp, cameback freshly to his mind, and he would fain have started up to throwhimself on her bosom, call her his mother, hear her give him all thesweet, pet names, which sounded so tender from her lips, and feel thecaress of her soft hands. How rich the solitary man felt, howsurpassingly rich! He had been entirely alone, deserted even by hismother! Now he was so no longer, and pleasant dreams blended with hisambitious plans, like golden threads in dark cloth.
When power was once his, he would build her a beautiful, cosy nest withhis share of the booty. She must leave Zorrillo, leave him to-morrow.The little nest should belong to her and him alone, entirely alone, andwhen his soul longed for peace, love, and quiet, he would rest there withher, recall with her the days of his childhood, cherish and care for her,make her forget all her sins and sufferings, and enjoy to the full thehappiness of having her again, calling a loving mother's heart his own.
At every breath he drew he felt freer and gayer. Suddenly there was arustling at the tent-door. He seized his two-handed sword, but did notraise it, for a beloved voice he recognized, called softly: "Ulrich,Ulrich, it is I!"
He started up, hastily threw on his doublet, rushed towards her, claspedher in his arms, and let her stroke his curls, kiss his cheeks and eyes,as in the old happy days. Then he drew her into the tent, whispering"Softly, softly, the snorer yonder is the German."
She followed him, leaned against him, and raised his hand to her lips; hefelt them grow wet with tears. They had not yet said anything to eachother, except how happy, how glad, how thankful they were to have eachother again; then a sentinel passed, and she started up, exclaiminganxiously: "So late, so late; Zorrillo will be waiting!"
"Zorrillo!" cried Ulrich scornfully, "you have been a long time withhim. If they give me the p