Chapter XXXI: The Offer of Cæsar

I slept with tolerable soundness, but awoke with a start very early, just when a bar of gray light was thrusting in at my little window and making the blackness of the cell barely visible. Outside my door some turnkey went past with his heavy keys jangling. The events of the past day and my present helpless predicament all surged back to me in a flash. The pallet had been very hard. My ribs ached, and I felt little refreshed by my slumber. Nevertheless, in the darkness I was fain to lie meditating on all things unpleasant until the gloom had changed to twilight, the twilight to clear daylight. Then I perceived that while I slept my tattered doublet and cloak had been removed, and replaced by others of elegant material and tailoring, suitable for the walking dress of a nobleman; and there was even a sword laid upon them, although it was a poor mean thing for a weapon, with a rare chased hilt, but a blade not fit to slay a toad. In short, I was led to augur that the present phase of my captivity was not likely to continue very long.

This impression was heightened by the demeanor of the jailor, who soon entered with my breakfast. He was brusque enough, answering my questions with nods and monosyllables; but the food he brought was far superior to the prison fare of the past day, and I was glad to eat heartily. On putting on my new clothes, I observed that their whole cut and fashion was Italian, and that everything about my apparel suggestive of Germany had been carefully removed from the cell. My curiosity was thus distinctly heightened, but I was fain to nurse it in solitary patience through a good interval of the morning, till at last I heard a distinct trumpeting, as if without the fortress, and a clangor of arms, and shouting of officers “to turn out their men.” This was followed by a thundering salute from several culverins, and more confused shouting. It required little discernment on my part to conclude that a princely personage had been entering the castle, and I conjectured (it soon appeared rightly) that I was confined in one of the half fortresses, half summer-houses on the Rhine, possessed by the Bishop of Worms and now at the temporary disposal of the Emperor. The tumult and uproar died presently, and I was becoming sufficiently impatient and moody, when the cell was again opened, and my jailor beckoned me forth with more civility than on former visits.

“Will my gracious Lord follow me?” and I was fain to trudge at his heels down a number of bat-dark corridors and vaulted passages, until at last we passed a doorway guarded by a mustachioed Spanish pikeman, when presto! I was in another world! Rich carpets were under our feet. The walls were hung with intricate tapestries; I caught the sniff of spring flowers from some garden. Wide windows, flung clear open, let in the ample April sunlight and the balmy breeze that blew across the Rhine. The turnkey led me up to a smooth-faced valet in brown livery, saluted, turned on his heel, and was gone to his own part of the castle, leaving me to follow my new guide, who with a bow and flourish worthy of a Parisian led me through several chambers, only to halt finally at another door and announce in sonorous Italian, “His Excellency the Conte di Palaestro.”

“Let him enter,” returned a voice which I at once recognized as Forli’s, and I was instantly in the presence of the Cardinal.

The prelate rose with his most condescending smile to greet me, would not let me kiss his hand, and insisted that I sit beside him upon the broad couch by the windows. Below us in admirable vista spread the muddy Rhine and the green Palatinate country to eastward. The manner of Forli was more than bland. A stranger would have believed this the meeting of an affectionate uncle and a highly dutiful nephew, a picture truly edifying and touching.

Forli surveyed me carefully, noting with approval the fit of my clothes and my general carriage.

“Admirably done. This Tuscan broadcloth makes another man of you. Marianna was very sure the dark blue would become you rarely, and she was right. What taste the girl has! She could qualify as a feminine Petronius, the Arbiter Elegantiae of the court of Nero. You recall the allusion, of course?”

“Most decidedly. You are extremely apt. Marianna is all you say,” I rejoined in a tone that might have carried a trifle of sarcasm.

“I knew you would applaud her choice. Poor maid, she has found your attitude so unflinching! but after all I said to her, ‘Remember Gualtiero is half a German, and the evil blood is bound to show itself at times; besides the poor fellow is bewitched. We will dispose of the wizard, and remove his victim to Italy. Then your heart will very promptly be mended.’”

I felt the muscles of my forehead begin to twitch, but I am sure Forli saw nothing.

“Well, Eminenza,” spoke I, “I am too long honored by your close acquaintance not to feel myself a lamb before a leopard in dealing with your high decisions concerning me; yet even apart from the wisdom of your course, even apart from the question whether Luther be wizard or apostle, you must at least remember I call myself a cavaliere, a man of honor; and my honor is sorely touched by having been thus seized for bearing like a caged starling from Worms to Rome. I do your Eminence only justice when I say that either I must be fairly convinced my return to Italy is not against my honor, or I will make every effort to escape from your custody, however honorable.”

Forli eyed me very shrewdly; his smile was benignant, but altogether inscrutable.

“To Italy you shall go, Gualtiero,” said he, at length, “will-you, nill-you; but I think you will not find it contrary to your honor.”

“Your Eminence may well summon up all your justly famous eloquence to convince me; all your orators’ precepts from Quintilian and Tacitus. I have been with Martin Luther now these two and more years. I have heard all the arguments which Rome can bring against him. I have weighed carefully the possible cost of supporting his cause. I will not anger your Eminence by words in his behalf which you will call weak sentiment and bathos; but far as the eastern and western seas our minds now stand asunder. You will never win me.”

“I shall not try,” and still he smiled on.

“I fear I divine your meaning,” I rejoined; “you believe Madonna Marianna will prove the more eloquent orator. Great are her gifts; but they are not for me. Spare us both another painful scene. She likewise will prove powerless.”

“Our advocate will not be Marianna,” said Forli, with that smile which only deepened.

“Who, then, Eminenza?”

“Charles the Fifth--Holy Roman Emperor.”

And then I was shaken for a truth, and the cardinal grinned amiably at my surprise. “_Per deos immortales_, Gualtiero, you need not be amazed! You have really become quite a man in the world. At every court men are guessing at your motives. At Rome they say it is because you did not get the red hat. Let that pass. Certain it is, all our Vatican party are saying ‘it is your Palaestro who has swept the Elector of Saxony and so many North German princes and Free Cities into the Lutheran net. _He_ it is who has made it so difficult to burn _il heretico_ without convulsing all Germany.’ It was partly on your account I quitted Paris so suddenly and came to Worms. Do not then wonder that His Majesty knows all about you, and sends for you.”

“But by every power, Eminenza,” cried I, aroused, indeed, “for what purpose does the Emperor send for me, unless indeed I be such a dangerous public firebrand I must be forever smothered in a dungeon.”

“Hardly that; you shall discover directly. You are to have immediate audience.”

“With the Emperor?”

“Even so. Doubtless you heard the cannon booming when he came out from Worms.”

He paused to help himself to some strong waters from a silver decanter. I was glad of the respite. More clearly than ever I knew I was facing some mortal crisis. I bowed my head as if resting, but it was to seek also a strength beyond strength of man. Hardly had Forli refreshed himself when a Spanish gentleman, immaculately clad from cap to heels in gray, bowed himself into the room.

“I have the honor to transmit the Emperor’s commands,” spoke he in French, but accompanying with a profound Castilian reverence, “that the Conte di Palaestro wait on him immediately.”

Forli rose, waving me a kind of god-speed with his hand.

“Be sensible, Gualtiero,” he enjoined; “do not be swayed by silly sentiment. I will have Marianna meet you when you quit His Majesty.”

* * * * *

I was in the presence of the man who had it in his certain power to order my execution, to fling me into unending prison, to consign me to exile: Charles of Hapsburg. I had seen him at the Diet, but only from a distance, and my thoughts had all been for Luther. Now we were face to face.

He was seated at a low desk covered with papers, in a small room conspicuous by its plainness. A gorgeously dressed courtier kept the door; a sprucely dressed secretary stood at his elbow to supply any documents needed out of several capacious leathern portfolios, but the Emperor was dressed in dead black, with almost monkish simplicity. From the heavy golden chain at his neck, as sole ornament dangled a copper medal of some patron saint. When I was announced, he glanced up, nodded a very brief recognition, then went on writing. I was able to survey his person at leisure. Here was a young man just of age, of middle stature, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, with a high, intellectual forehead. His nose was decidedly aquiline. The whole aspect of his countenance was pale, grave, melancholy, yet withal commanding. The eyes were blue and keen, the hair blond, almost reddish. I instantly recognized the projecting lower jaw, with its thick heavy lip, the true family mark of the princely Hapsburgs. The lower part of his face was veiled by a very thin beard. Barring the light hair there was nothing German about him. “A Spaniard at his heart,” thought I, and I believe history will testify I was right.

He continued writing until I had become tense and uneasy with the waiting; then I saw him fold the paper with his own hands and give it to the waiting secretary. Very deliberately then he pushed back his leaden inkstand and fastened his eyes on me. His gaze was deep, inscrutable; it was impossible to call it either hostile or friendly.

“The Conte di Palaestro?” asked he in Italian. I bowed. “Do you speak French?” he continued in that tongue. “I prefer it.”

“I am fortunate, your Majesty, in having passing command of the language.”

“Good, then. We may converse.”

“I attend the Emperor’s pleasure.”

He did not reply immediately, but continued his cold, passionless scrutiny. The interval was not agreeable, but I strove to endure with composure. At last he spoke again in a slow, monotonous tone; all intellect, but no fire.

“You have made no small name for yourself, Conte di Palaestro, or Graf von Regenstein--whichever title you prefer. It is thanks partly to you that so many princes refuse to set their names to a decree of the Diet condemning Luther. It was a heavy thing for a nobleman of your youth, and of an honorable yet hardly princely rank, to attempt what you have done. This Luther is causing me and my councillors many anxious hours.”

“Your Majesty overpraises my influence,” I replied, “the princes of Germany are their own masters. In arguing the cause of Luther I have but argued as one of your loyal subjects. The arousing wrath of your people of every sort and condition against the evil deeds of the Papalists has done the rest.”

“I have not summoned you to hear one more defence of Luther.”

“I am most humbly waiting your gracious pleasure, Sire,” spoke I, at once anxious and curious.

He beckoned to the secretary, and whispered a request. Forth from one of the portfolios came a document covered with writing. Charles spread it on the desk.

“Here, Conte di Palaestro, is all I can learn about you. My agents at the different princely courts of Germany and Italy have compiled it. Your ancestry, estates, education, prospects, habits, friendships, in short everything relating to you and your life are herein set forth. Can you imagine wherefore I have singled you out, amid all my innumerable cares, for this intense curiosity?”

“I cannot divine, your Majesty.”

Charles gave a single wave of his hand. Instantly the secretary and attendant courtiers moved toward the door. I was about to follow when he checked me by a glance of the eye. We were quite alone ere he spoke again. Then he resumed in the former slow, passionless voice.

“Conte di Palaestro, this Luther you have seen fit to befriend has caused me sore disquietude. And wherefore? Not because he is not a heretic. The Church has spoken against him. That for me is enough.” He crossed himself with deliberate piety. “We Hapsburgs are ever loyal sons of the Church. But wherefore is Luther strong? Because while uttering his heresy he has also voiced the wrath that is nursed through all Christendom against the sins and worldliness of Rome. Not that Luther is so strong, but that Rome is so open to attack; that is what makes good sons of the Church, even as I, tremble at the days before us. Do you understand?”

“I follow the Emperor’s argument.”

“A hundred and forty years ago was the Great Schism; a pope at Avignon and a Pope at Rome anathematizing one another; Christendom shuddered. The Church was rent in twain. The Hussite heresy rose. Then later at the great Council of Constance, the schism was healed. Hus was sent to the fire. The Church seemed even as before; but wise men wagged their heads, ‘A second schism will not be healed so easily. Let the Vatican repent of its sins. Let the Pope and Cardinals be true shepherds of their sheep.’ That was a hundred years ago. How has Rome learned the lesson? Have recent Popes been better or worse than those of the days of the schism?--Innocent VIII, whose deeds made his name a mockery; Alexander VI, mixing his Borgia poisons and plotting with his son Caesare; Julius II, storming a smoking breach in his cuirass; Leo X, chattering Latin poetry and writing me lying letters about seizing hamlets in Italy, when lo! half of Europe is about to revolt against him! What, I say, have these ‘Servants of the Servants of God’ done to avert the day of trouble now come upon them? Answer if you may, Conte di Palaestro.”

As Charles had proceeded his eye had lit up, while his voice rang clearly.

“Nothing, Sire. But your Majesty surely argues in no manner to please the foes of Luther.”

“I am no friend of Luther,” he retorted, growing cold, “mark you that. But of these men of Rome I am become unutterably weary. Leo opposed my election as Emperor. I know the value of his promises to aid me against France. I owe him nothing. I will not spare him. I will save the Church but I will save it by scourging Rome. I have Germany, the Low Countries, Naples, Spain, the Indes,--God has given me power enough,--ha! All the world will thank me. In yonder portfolio are the _gravamina_, the bills of complaints against the exactions and evil doings of the Papalists, and signed by the most orthodox of German princes, men who would hurry Luther to the stake. Now for this task of purging I need a _man_.”

He spoke the last word almost fiercely, and his eyes were upon me.

“Conte di Palaestro, I need a man of good physical presence who will win the imaginations of the unthinking when they look on him; a man who knows Germany, that he may espouse truly the demands of Germany; who knows Italy, that he may meet Italian craft with craft; who is of the learning to win scholars, the breeding to win princes, the experience in manipulating men to surmount obstacles; who has an iron will and is not prone to shrink from difficulties; finally, one whom I may trust to serve me implicitly in return for the honors I will gladly heap upon him.”

Still he looked on me, and I was listening; but he had not finished.

“That man I will send to Italy clothed with the plenitude of my power. He will go to Rome and speak to Pope and Curia as they have never been admonished before. He will command the Vatican to purge itself of the extortions and malefactions which have made the name of Rome a byword and a hissing. Pluralities, first-fruits, nepotism, indulgence hawking, expectatives, every other gross evil, shall cease altogether. Nay, that part of Luther’s doctrine which impartial divines pronounce good and truly Catholic shall be embedded in the doctrine of the Church. My high deputy shall do all these things. If the Vatican hesitate, he shall have behind him every pikeman of Castile, every lanz-knecht of Germany. And _then_ even Rome will hear him.”

He paused, evidently expecting me to say something, and I made shift to remark.

“To find the ambassador the Emperor desires will be hard.”

His eyes cut me through at a glance.

“I have found him. He is here.”

Involuntarily my eyes roved around the room in a kind of maze.

Then Charles spoke again. His tone was passionless and prosaic. “He is yourself. I have studied your career and qualifications closely. You are both German and Italian. Because you are in a measure a dreamer is no disadvantage. You will therefore follow your object the more devotedly. You will have vast obstacles to overcome, but you will surmount them. I will bestow on you, if you wish, a Spanish dukedom, so that you may take rank above all great personages, save reigning princes. You will not at first display armed force at Rome, but armed force shall not fail you when you summon it. I know Leo de’ Medici. He will rage, threaten, but he will not fight. You will win the praise of all good Catholics and of your Emperor.”

For an instant as Charles spoke I felt my senses reeling. I turned hot, then cold. I was thankful I was not pressed for instant reply. When at length he paused I strove desperately to answer calmly.

“Your Majesty has overwhelmed me. What am I to say? Regenstein and Palaestro are noble houses, but we are not princes of the blood.”

“I am satisfied with your nobility,” was the imperturbable answer.

“Your Majesty has omitted one thing. What is to be the disposition of Luther?”

The Emperor frowned. The question, I instantly knew, was unwelcome, but he answered it directly. “Inasmuch as this reformation is to be made _for_ the Church and not against the Church, it is the more needful that I avoid open countenance of heresy. Luther is manifestly guilty of many matters touching not morals merely, but doctrines. He must return to Wittenberg; there the ban of the Empire will be issued against him, he will be seized and punished according to the ancient law touching heretics.”

I stood in silence. Never had I felt my blood tingling more rapidly. My eyes seemed dimmed, though not by tears. Charles was still surveying me coldly, evidently expecting my answer. Realizing that to continue the present situation was impossible, I fell on one knee, and seized the Emperor’s left hand (which he yielded limply) and kissed it, then spoke hurriedly. “Your magnificent generosity, Sire, has deprived me of my reason. Until I regain it how dare I answer. Pardon my prayer for an interval until to-morrow, ere I answer you.”

Charles’s pale face tinged with a faint shade of disappointment, but he beckoned for me to rise.

“You, like your Luther,” he remarked with obvious irony, “take one day to hear, the next to answer. But your prayer is granted. Give me your word to-morrow when I breakfast.”

He touched a silver bell upon the table. Instantly the doors opened, the attendants reëntered. As for me, I must have bowed decently, and departed past them. Surely I walked as men walk in their sleep.

* * * * *

I was prepared to endure threats, dishonor, imprisonment, death for the Cause--but not for this, dear God, not for this! No instant of respite was granted me for the barest reflection. Even on the other side of the cabinet doors a woman came towards me. I knew who she was by the fall and rustle of her dress ere ever I raised my eyes. It was Marianna. She wore a dress of sea green silk, close fitting and exquisite. White flowers shone in her hair. But I have praised her beauty often enough. I will not repeat. While I moved on in my trance, while I saw the grave Spanish courtiers looking at me very respectfully, as the man whom Majesty had honored with such privy audience, I felt her arm being put within my own. She led me back to the chamber above the Rhine where I had quitted Forli.

“Ah! Gualtiero, _mio carissimo_,” she was saying close to my ear, “you have heard the Emperor, you have been offered the great embassy to Rome, you will be the most famous man in the world. They will worship the ground you tread upon,--ah! Gualtiero, Gualtiero.”

“He has offered it, yes, Madonna.” My mien and voice were doubtless vacant and gloomy.

“Offered it? Mother of mercies, and you have not accepted it? You turn mad!”

“I prayed his Majesty for permission to defer my answer until to-morrow.”

She looked on me with eyes flashing at once infinite wrath and equal compassion.

“Till to-morrow? The most imperial proffer ever made in the world? The thing touching which my father came from Paris post-haste, and has conferred with the Emperor two whole nights? Is it you that rave, or do I not hear aright? Have you no words of gratitude to my father, to me whose part has not been small?”

She had one hand upon either of my shoulders, and was trying to catch me, to fascinate, snake-wise, with her glances. A little roughly I put her away.

“Madonna Marianna,” spoke I, striving hard to control my powers, “for all you have done for me, so far as it was done in friendly kindness, I bring full gratitude. The Emperor has consented to await my answer, you and your father cannot show greater importunity than he. But know you this. My errand to Rome, if performed, will be a dreadful one. Your father and his friends will cry out the loudest at my scourge. I shall curry no more favor with His Holiness.”

“We understand, we clearly understand. My father made it most plain to the Emperor he has no personal love for Leo. We know you will never mar _our_ fortunes.”

I held out my hand, beckoning her to cease.

“Madonna, if indeed your devotion is not of word only, do me one favor. Question me not, leave me unurged, unsolicited, this night and during the morning. As a free man, with a free mind and will I must decide the Emperor’s ‘yea’ or ‘nay.’ Therefore no more of this. But tell me if I am a prisoner within this castle. What are the bounds to my liberty?”

“Within the castle you are wholly free. The Emperor has come hither with the Spaniards and Italians of his court to enjoy a few days of respite from the “ja’s” and beer-swilling of your Germans at Worms. The guards have orders to halt you at the gates. Inside go where you will. You were brought here thus secretly that you might break wholly with your heretic friends and your degraded past, that like a new star you might emerge to shine dazzling in your true firmament hereafter. Within this castle, saving a few menials and nuns, there are only men and women of the South. To-night you resume that glorious life broken off when the fiends tempted you to leave dear Italy, the life of laughter and noble mirth, of sunshine amid the roses.”

But again I forbade her words. Prompted by some angel, I asked a question.

“You said there were some German nuns within the castle. How is that?”

“How can I recall the name? An abbess from a strange abbey. She prefers residence here to the crowded town. Her chambers lie not far from these. The abbey of Qued--your German names are so rough! _Santo Dio_, you are white and fainting!”--

“I have been on the rack these days,” I said, clutching a pillar, “you must bear with me. I need food and drink. Go from me, Madonna. Leave me to my own thoughts, or by my father’s soul you are my foe forever.”

My command was obeyed. She swept out of the room. I was too torn myself to consider whether I had wounded her needlessly. Very soon a smooth serving-man in the Forli livery brought in a tray covered with tempting viands. Again I observed that the cookery was truly Italian, the bottle of wine was from the Alban hills. But how could I complete the illusion, when under my eyes from the casement flowed the mighty Rhine, and the very breeze that fanned my cheeks carried the sniff of the giant pines and the budding oaks and beeches of the Black Forest? No, I was in Germany yet, and hard by was Worms, and in Worms was Dr. Luther, who, Charles the Emperor had said, must be “punished according to the ancient law concerning heretics.”

By an effort of self-command I made myself eat and drink. So doing I became calmer. I knew that I had been taken by the devil up into the exceeding high mountain, and shown all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, and all these would be given in return for one little word of mine.

I could behold myself a very Hercules cleansing the Augean stables at Rome. What havoc would I not work among the white-handed Monsignori? I pictured to myself the casting out of their fair inamoratas, their simpering page-boys, the restoration of monkish simplicity at innumerable convents, the banishing of the huge swarm of Papal chamberlains, of the notaries who fattened on unjust litigation, of the general army of purchasers and sellers of ecclesiastical favor. The chaste honest life of the Church in the days of her holy poverty would return. Good men from all over the world would flock to second my efforts, and the performance of the lords of the Vatican would at length comply with their high profession, not weary God and man by the perpetuation of one vast lie. All this seemed within the scope of accomplishment. Was I not young? Was I not conscious of a mighty reserve of talent and energy? Was not the mere fact that the Emperor had chosen me as his instrument a token that I was well fitted to succeed? Did I not know Leo de’ Medici as few others knew him; and could I not even hope to make him my supple ally?

The vision, the possibilities, the questions, at times made my brain reel. Thrice I arose, saying nigh audibly, “I accept, O Emperor.” Thrice I sat. Clearer, ever clearer I knew acceptance of Charles meant the forsaking of Luther, Ilsa, the Cause. And I seemed to hear Dr. Luther’s great voice saying “What doth it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul.”