Part 20 (1/2)
Irma had hastened to her appropriate place. The bells were slowly tolling, and the procession moved. At the entrance of the palace chapel, the d.u.c.h.ess took the child from the nurse and carried it up to the altar, where priests, clad in splendid robes, were awaiting it, and where countless lights were burning.
Walpurga followed, feeling as if bereft--not only as if the clothes had been torn from her body, but as if the body had been rent from her soul. The child cried aloud, as if aware of what was taking place, but its voice was drowned by the tones of the organ and choir. The whole church was filled with a mighty volume of sound, which descended from the gallery and was echoed back from the floor beneath, like sullen, muttering thunder. Involuntarily, Walpurga fell on her knees at the altar--there was no need to order her to do so.
Choir, organ and orchestra burst forth with a mighty volume of sound, and Walpurga, overwhelmed with awe and surprise, imagined that the end of the world had come and that the painted angels on the ceiling,--aye, the very pillars, too--were swelling the heavenly harmonies.
Suddenly all was silent again.
The child received its names. One would not suffice: there were eight; a whole section of the calendar had been emptied for its benefit.
But from that moment until she reached her room, Walpurga knew nothing of what had happened.
When she found herself alone with Mademoiselle Kramer, she asked:
”Well, and what am I to call my prince?”
”None of us know. He has three names until he succeeds to the throne, when he himself selects one, under which he reigns, and which is stamped on the coins.”
”I've something to tell you,” said Walpurga, ”and mind you don't forget it. You must send me the first ducat you have stamped with your name and your picture! See! he gives me his hand on it!” cried she, exultingly, when the child stretched out its little hand as if to grasp hers. ”Oh, you dear Sunday child! Let the first lady of the bedchamber say it's superst.i.tion--it's true, for all. I'm a cow and you're a Sunday child, and Sunday children understand the language of the beasts. But that's only once a year--at midnight on Christmas eve. But as you're a prince, I'm sure you can do more than the rest.”
Walpurga was called into the queen's apartment, the dazzling beauty of which suggested a glittering cavern in fairy-land. All was quiet; here nothing was heard of the noisy, bustling crowd overhead. The queen said:
”On that table you will find a roll containing a hundred gold pieces.
It is your christening present from my brother and the other sponsors.
Does it make you happy?”
”Oh, queen! If the lips on these gold pieces could speak, the hundred together couldn't tell you how happy I am. It's too much! Why, you could buy half our village with it! With that much you could buy--”
”Don't excite yourself! Keep calm! Come here, and I'll give you something else, for myself. May this little ring always remind you of me, and may your hand thus be as if it were mine, doing good to the child.”
”Oh my queen! How happy it must make you to be able to speak right out when your heart is full of kind thoughts, and to have it in your power to do so many great and good actions; besides, G.o.d must love you very much, to permit so much good to be done by your hand! I thank you with all my heart! And to Him who has given it all to you, a thousand thanks!”
”Walpurga, your words do me more good than all that the archbishop and the rest of them said. I shall not forget them!”
”I don't know what I've said--but it's all your fault! When I'm with you, I--I hardly know how to say it--but I feel as if I were standing before the holy of holies in the church. Oh, what a heavenly creature you are! You're all heart! I'll tell the child of it, and though it doesn't understand what I say, it'll feel it all. From me it shall get only good thoughts of you! I beg your pardon now, if I should ever offend you, even in thought or do anything out of the way--” She could say no more.
The queen motioned Walpurga to be quiet and held out her hand to her; neither spoke another word. Angels were indeed pa.s.sing through the silent room.
Walpurga went away. It was self-confidence, not boldness, that made her look straight into the faces of the courtiers whom she pa.s.sed by the way. As far as she was concerned, they did not exist.
When she was with the child again, she said:
”Yes, drink in my whole soul! It's all yours! If you don't become a man in whom G.o.d and the world can take delight, you don't deserve a mother like yours!”
Mademoiselle Kramer was amazed at Walpurga's words. But the latter did not care to tell what was pa.s.sing in her mind. There was perfect silence, and yet she sat there, motionless, as if she could still hear the organ and the singing of the angels.
”It isn't this that makes me so happy,” said she, looking at the money once more. ”It must be just this way when one gets to heaven and the Lord says: 'I'm glad you've come!' Oh, if I could only fly there now! I don't know what to do with myself.”
She loosened all her clothes; the world seemed too close and confined to contain her.