The Fiery Angel Read Free Page A

then that the thought came to me to travel back to German lands, not with the object of settling peacefully in our almost sleepy township, but with the worldly desire to parade my successes in front of father, who could not but think of me as the ne’er-do-weel who robbed him. I shall not conceal, however, the fact that I was also filled with a burning longing and weariness for home, that I had never thought to feel for my native mountains, on whose slopes, embittered, I used to wander with my arbalist, and that I passionately wanted to see my dear mother, as well as the friend whom I had left behind, and whom I hoped to find still alive. Even then, however, I was firmly decided that, after having visited the home village and re-established connection with the family, I should return to New Spain, which I regarded as my second fatherland.
    In the early spring of the year ’34, I sailed away in a ship of the Welzers from the port Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz, and after a stormy and difficult journey we arrived in the wealthy city of Antwerpen. Several weeks of my time were spent in accomplishing the various commissions I had undertaken to fulfil, and it was only in the month of August that, at last, I could set out upon the journey to the Rhine lands. From that moment, properly, begins my narrative.

Chapter the First
How I first met Renata and how she related to me her Whole Life
    F ROM the Netherlands I decided to go overland, and I chose the route through Köln, for I wanted to see once more that city in which I had known so many pleasant hours. For thirty Spanish escudos I bought an excellent horse, capable without strain of carrying both me and my baggage, but, fearing robbers, I tried to assume the appearance of a simple sailor. I exchanged the gay and relatively sumptuous dress in which I had strutted about in luxurious Brabant for the outfit of an ordinary seaman, dark brown in colour and with breeches tied below the knee. But I retained my reliable long sword; for I placed no less faith in it than in Saint Gertruda, patroness of all land travellers. I set aside a small sum in silver joachimsthalers for my expenses on the journey, and my savings I sewed in the lining of a broad belt in golden pistoles.
    After a pleasant five days’ journeying in the company of casual strangers, for I travelled without undue haste, I crossed the Maas at Venloo. I will not conceal the fact that when I reached the regions where German dresses began to flicker past me, and my hearing was assailed by the glib—oh, so familiar—speech of home, I was seized by emotions perhaps unworthy of a full-grown man! Leaving Venloo early, I reckoned to reach Neuss by the evening, and accordingly I took leave of my road companions at Viersen, for they purposed visiting Gladbach on the way, and turned, already alone, on to the Düsseldorf highway. As there was need to hasten I began to urge on my horse, but stumbling, it injured its ankle against a stone—and this insignificant occurrence gave rise, as direct cause, to the long series of remarkable happenings that it became my fate to live through after that day. But I had long observed that it is only insignificant happenings that prove the first links of those chains of heavy trial which, unseen and unheard, life sometimes forges for us.
    On a lame horse I could advance but slowly, and I was still far outside the town when it became difficult to see in the grey twilight, and from the grass there rose a pungent mist. I was riding at that time through a thick beech forest, and was foreseeing not without misgivings a night spent in a place totally unknown to me, when suddenly, rounding a bend, I espied, in a small clearing at the very edge of the road, a little wooden house, all asquint, lonely, and as if it had lost its way. The gate was closely shut and locked, the lower windows more like large arrow-slits, but under the roof there dangled on a rope a half-broken bottle, indicating that here was a