After Long Years and Other Stories Part 6

"Yes, my cousins, and once I saw them carve, and I would like to learn how, too; but my father and uncle are dead, and my mother never buys me a knife."

The Emperor thrust his hand into his pocket, and after much fumbling and jingling, pulled out a knife with an artistically carved handle. "Will that do?" said he.

The boy flushed, and one could see how beneath his coa.r.s.e, torn shirt his heart beat with joy.

"Yes," stammered the boy, "it's beautiful."

"Well, take it and use it diligently," said the Emperor.

The boy took the treasure from the Emperor's hand as carefully as if it were red hot and might burn his fingers.

"I thank you many times!" was all that he could say; but in his dark eyes there beamed a fire of joy whose sparks of love and grat.i.tude electrified the Emperor.

"Would you like to go to your cousins in Nurnberg, and help them in plate-engraving! There's plenty of work there."

"I would like to go to Durer in Nurnberg, but I don't want to be a plate-engraver. I would rather cut figures that look natural."

"That's right," said the Emperor, "you will be a man, indeed; always hold to that which is natural and you will not fail."

At that moment the Emperor drew a leather bag from his velvet riding jacket and gave it to the boy.

"Be careful of it. Save the golden florins within; give them to no one.

Remember, the Emperor has ordered that they be used toward your education. Study well, and when you are full-grown and able to travel, then go to Durer, in Nurnberg. Convey to him my greetings; say to him that, as I, while in his studio one day, held the ladder for him lest he fall, so should he now hold the ladder of fame for you, that you may be able to climb to the very top of it. Will you promise me all that, my boy?"

"Yes, your majesty!" cried Hans, inspired, and, seizing the Emperor's right hand, he shook it heartily and kissed it. Then the Emperor pa.s.sed on, while the boy stood there in a dream. Marie still held tightly to her ap.r.o.n.

Just at that moment a servant appeared who had been in search of Marie.

The children ran to meet her and related their experience with the Emperor. The servant called all the townsfolk together to see the knife and the contents of the bag, but wise Hans kept the bag closed.

The next day the Emperor rode off; but for many days to come his talk with Hans was the town topic. "Surely, it is no wonder," said the envious ones. "Hans always was a bold boy and knew how to talk up for himself, so why shouldn't he know how to talk to the Emperor?" This speech was decidedly undeserved; but Hans was too young to understand their meanness. He was absorbed in the Emperor's greatness and kindliness.

CHAPTER II

UNDER THE EMPEROR'S BUSH

Years pa.s.sed. Hans Le Fevre lost his mother and Marie hers; and closer and closer did the bond of companionship draw these children.

In the evening, when her father was busy with a committee-meeting and the housekeeper was gossiping with the neighbors, Hans and Marie would climb the garden wall. Here they would sit together, while Hans cut beautiful toys for her, such as no child of those times had. He would talk with her about all the beautiful pictures and carvings he had lately seen, and of the masters in the art of wood-carving; for now he was attending art lectures and studying hard. Hours were spent in this way; but often, when the opportunity offered, they would run off to the Cathedral and water the rose-bush, which Hans had now christened the "Emperor's Bush."

There they loved best to linger, for there they hoped always that the Emperor would return. And often they would cry out aloud, "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, come again!"

But their voices died away unanswered; for, far from them, the Emperor was concerned with the affairs of State. The children waited for him in vain. The Emperor came no more.

As the time went by, the children grew, and the rose-bush grew also.

Just as if the tender threads of love in their hearts had unconsciously entwined them as one around the roots of the little bush, it kept drawing them to itself, there in the niche of the wall. There they found each other, day after day. The bush was like a true friend, who held their two hands fast in his. But their true friend was not strong enough to hold together what other people wished to separate.

The lovely, highly respected Counselor's daughter was no longer permitted to meet Hans. Her father forbade her one day, saying that Hans was not only poor but was not even a native of the town. His ancestors were Hollanders who had wandered into Breisach. A stranger he was, and a poor stranger at that. He was a sort of Pariah and could not be fitted into their time-honored customs. Then, too, he did not pursue any regular trade. "He expects to be an artist." At that time that was as good as to be a robber, or a tramp or a conjurer.

Whatever Hans did or whatever he worked at, he kept a secret. He had bought the little house in which he dwelt, and since his mother's death had lived there all alone. n.o.body came or went, except a famous sculptor who had quarreled one day with a native in Breisach and been obliged to leave the town. People said that Hans helped him get away. Ever since that time Hans had been in ill-repute with his rich neighbor, the Counselor.

Often Hans met Marie at the "Emperor's Bush," and these little meetings seemed to make them like each other more than they had ever dreamed.

After Hans had missed Marie for many days, he sang a little song beneath her window.

The next day she met Hans at the "Emperor's Bush," and there they promised to be true to each others always. Then, in a moment of ecstasy, Hans cried out, "Would that the Emperor were here!" Just as if he felt that no one but the Emperor was worthy of sharing his great joy.

As the Emperor did not come, Hans cut the initials "M." and "H." in the bark of the rosebush, and above it a little crown. This meant "Marie, Hans and Emperor Maximilian."

The fall pa.s.sed and winter came; and the children now seldom saw each other. Hans sang so frequently beneath Marie's window that her father heard him one night, and in great anger threatened to punish her if she continued her acquaintance with this boy.

One evening Hans and Marie stood for the last time under the rose-bush which they had planted eight years before. He was now a youth of twenty years; she a rosebud of sixteen summers.

It was a lowering day in February. The snow had melted and a light wind shook the bare branches of the bush. With downcast eyes she had related to him all she had been forced to hear concerning him; and big tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Marie," said the boy in deep grief, "I suppose you will finally be made to believe that I am really a bad person?"

Then she looked full upon him, and a light smile played over her features as she said: "No, Hans, never, never. No one can make me doubt you. They do not understand you, but I do. You have taught me (what the others do not know) everything that is good and great and n.o.ble. You have made me what I am; just as your artistic hands have cut beautiful forms out of dead wood." She took his big, brown hands and gently pressed them to her lips. "I believe in you, for you worship the Supreme with your art; and the man who does that, in word or deed, cannot be wicked."

"And will you always remain true, Marie, till I have perfected myself and my art, and can return to claim you?"

"Yes, Hans, I will wait for you; and should I die before you return, it is here under this rosebush, where we have spent so many happy hours, that I wish to be buried. You must return here to rest, when wearied by your troubles; and every rose-leaf that falls upon you will be a good wish from me."

Her tears fell silently, and their hearts were sorely tried by the grief of parting.

"Don't cry," said Hans, "all will yet be well. I am going to Durer, as the Emperor bade me. I will learn all that I can; and when I feel I know something, I will seek the Emperor, wherever he may be, tell him my desires, and beg him to intercede for me with your father."

"Oh, yes, the Emperor--if he were only here, he would help us."

"Perhaps he will come again," said Hans. "We will pray that he be sent to us, or I to him."

They sank upon their knees in the cold, soft winter gra.s.s; and it seemed to them as if a miracle would be performed, and the rose-bush be changed into the Emperor.

There--what was that? The big clock on the church struck slowly, solemnly, sadly--

The two looked up. "What is it, do you suppose? A fire--enemies, perhaps? I sense a great calamity," said she.

Just at that moment people were coming toward the church. Hans hurried up to them, to find out what was the trouble, while Marie waited.

"Where have you been, that you don't know? Why, yonder in the market place the notice was read--'the Emperor is dead!'" they cried.

"The Emperor is dead?"

There stood Hans, paralyzed. All his hopes seemed shattered. As soon as quiet reigned again, he returned to Marie, and seated himself on a bench. Leaning his head in uncontrollable grief against the slender stem of the rose-bush, he moaned aloud: "Oh, my Emperor, my dear, good Emperor, why did you leave me?" Lightly Marie touched his shoulder in sympathy.

The last rays of the setting sun had now departed. The last tones of the dirge had died away. Everything was still and deserted, as if there could never again be spring.