During Maximilian of Bavaria's occupation of the Upper Palatinate, Kilian had collaborated, quite enthusiastically, with the Bavarians. Quite remuneratively, too. Part of that remuneration had consisted of the property of his late, and much older, half-brother, Johann Stephan Richter.
Johann Stephan was most certainly dead, after all. He had died long before the war started. It had been a tragedy that his widow, son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren had disappeared without a trace in the turmoil of the war. Truly, a tragedy. Kilian had told everybody so. However, he had pointed out to anyone who would listen, given the nature of mercenary forces, one could only assume the worst, so one could only be grateful for the blessing that they had not died heretics.
As for Johann Stephan's other children—they were irredentist Calvinists, every one of them. They had gone into exile, all four of Kilian's nieces, their husbands, and their children.
Clearly, he had been the only proper heir, and Duke Maximilian's officials had proved to be quite cooperative. Kilian had filed a petition requesting that his nephew Anton's family be declared dead; the authorities had issued the declaration. Legally, without the slightest doubt, Veronica was dead, as were the rest of them.
Therefore, Kilian had found the furor over the Battle of Wismar distressing. It had upset his digestion quite a lot. It appeared that his nephew's family was alive. Well, his nephew Anton certainly was dead, killed the day that mercenaries had raided his shop in Amberg. According to the newspapers, no one knew what had become of his wife. That was the only moderately good news in the whole thing—not that, at the time, Kilian had not done his very best to ensure that no one found out what had happened to the woman. He had more than sufficient reasons to be sure that she, too, was dead.
Young Hans was dead now. Spectacularly dead. Good riddance. But Hans' sisters were alive. So was that shrew Veronica, who was on her way to the Upper Palatinate this very minute.
And the Bavarians were long gone. Probably all gone to hell.
He needed a lawyer. His mind went at once to Augustin Arndt in Amberg, who had served him so well in getting title to the properties in the first place.
* * * *
Amberg, Upper Palatinate
At breakfast in the Amberg Collegium, Jakob Balde asked his fellow Jesuits not "Why are they coming?" but, rather, "Why are we here?"
The Amberg Jesuits asked one another that question fairly often these days. They were not suffering from existential Angst. They were quite sincerely bewildered.
During the Bavarian occupation, in 1629 and 1630, Duke Maximilian had taken a whole section of the city of Amberg by the power of eminent domain, razed the existing buildings, and turned the land over to the Jesuits for the building of a huge Collegium. The construction had begun with every expectation of success. There were many Bavarian bureaucrats in the Upper Palatinate who would send their sons to be educated there. The quality of the education would act as a magnet to city councillors and rural nobility alike; within a generation, the re-Catholicization of the rulers would be accomplished and a loyal band of alumni would extend the Catholic Reformation further among the population.
Now, however, the Bavarians were gone. Although there were still some Catholics in the town and the territory, they had lost most of their political influence and many were fighting for their property against claims by Protestant exiles. The Collegium was half-finished, undersubscribed, and nearly bankrupt. They wondered why Duke Ernst had not finished the job and thrown them out. Or, if he happened to be feeling less nice about it, thrown them into prison.
Instead, they were here. Not only those who had been in Amberg when the Swede conquered the Upper Palatinate, but those who had been thrown out of Sulzbach by Count Wolfgang Wilhelm's brothers.
So why were the Jesuits still there?
* * * *
Duke Ernst also sometimes asked himself that question. But, until he made up his mind whether or not he was going to experiment with "religious toleration" at Karl Ludwig's more or less permanent expense, he was keeping his options open. That involved letting the Jesuits stay until such time as they might realize that their cause was hopeless, pack their bags, and go.
* * * *
Balde was the youngest. He had arrived from Munich for the opening of the school in the fall of 1632, all of five weeks before the Swedes came thundering into the Upper Palatinate after Alte Veste. He had been here ever since. With so few students, he had a great deal of time to write. So he wrote poetry, in modern Latin. That was his metier. And did research.
So this morning he added a postscript to the usual question. "It seems possible that we may not be here for much longer."
"Duke Ernst has decided to expel us?"
"Not as far as I know. But I have been reading the real estate records of the eminent domain proceedings."
The others looked at him blankly.
"We are eating breakfast on the very site that was once the print shop of a man named Johann Stephan Richter."
He waved the newspaper at the others. "The rest of the building is on the land of others, but this dining hall, right here, marks the location of the business of Johann Stephan Richter. Whose widow is this Veronica Dreeson. Who, we are told, is coming to Amberg to settle her husband's estate."
Balde, although a Jesuit for a decade already, was only thirty. Young enough to laugh about things.
"Not that she will have much use for a half-built collegium on a muddy construction site."
* * * *
Magdeburg, USE
Well—there was one capital that accepted the announced reasons for the journey. His own. Mike Stearns was rather enjoying the reports coming out of the diplomatic pouches, which so clearly demonstrated that the rest of the world did not understand that Veronica Dreeson was a walking embodiment of the Law of Unintended Consequences. Which was a universal. Nor that Mary Simpson embodied the Principle of Single-Minded Fund-Raising. Which was possibly, but not probably, uniquely up-time. Combining the two of them, however, had a remarkably synergistic effect.
He hoped that they had a successful trip.
Chapter 15
Rosa Mystica
Rome, Italy
Easter would be on April 16 in this year of 1634. The penitential routines of Lent were already upon them. The Golden Rose, the Rose of Virtue, had been blessed and dedicated, as always, on Laetare, the fourth Sunday in Lent.
Laetare. If you looked at it another way, it was the third Sunday before Easter: the Sunday during Lent when the penitential purple was replaced by rose-colored vestments, signaling hope and joy. The Sunday during Lent when the Mass opened with the command, "Rejoice." Laetare: rejoice that there is love after hate, joy after sorrow, and fullness after famine.
When the jeweler to the curia had delivered this year's rose, Cardinal Antonio Barberini the younger had looked at it, phrases from Isaiah floating through his mind There shall come forth a rod out of the root of Jesse. And: A flower shall rise up out of his root.
"Lo! How a rose e'er blooming." The hymn of Marian devotion had been sung in the Germanies for well over a century, at least. Some of the printed versions had more than twenty verses. In Antonio's view, Michael Praetorius's modern arrangement from his 1609 Musae Sionae was the most magnificent setting of the tune:
Das Roeslein, das ich meine,
Davon Jesias sagt,
Ist Maria, die reine,
Die uns das Bluemlein bracht;
Aus Gottes ew'gem Rat
Hat sie ein Kind geboren
Und blieb ein' reine Magd.
The rose that I am thinking of,
Of which Isaiah speaks.
Is Mary, the pure,
Who bore the little flower.
By God's eternal counsel,
She bore a child
And yet remained a virgin.
The rose was truly golden—an ornament of the purest gold that could be made to hold the shape the artisans gave it—a thorny branch with leaves and severa
l flowers. The largest rose sprang from the top of the stem; the others clustered around it. There was also a ruby at the center of the rose, its color reminding the observer of Christ's blood. Depending upon the state of the Curia's exchequer, the rose blessed in any given year might be larger or smaller, more or less bejeweled with diamonds, but always beautifully made. If no one was deemed worthy to receive it, it was kept in Rome. The blessing ceremony occurred every year, but the same rose was re-used until it was given away. Then a new one was made.
Originally, the rose had been given to men and women, cities and monasteries, persons and institutions, without distinction. Since the beginning of the century, the rose had been sent only to queens and princesses. A militant church had started to bestow blessed swords on kings and princes. The duty of carrying the rose and giving it to recipients who were not in Rome at the time of the ceremony fell to cardinal legates, to nuncios, and to other high church officials.
Now, nearly a month later, Cardinal Francesco asked, "Who's getting it this year?"
"The Austrian archduchess, Maria Anna," Antonio the younger answered. "Uncle Maffeo recognizes quite clearly that marrying Maximilian of Bavaria represents a service to the church that is far beyond the ordinary call of duty."
Everybody else in the room stared at him.
Part IV
May, 1634
There Hath Past Away
a Glory from the Earth
Chapter 16
Quaestiones Diplomaticae
Vienna
"Half of Don Fernando's tercios only? And only as far as Grol?" Maria Anna raised her eyebrows. "That's in Gelderland. Eastern Gelderland, but they still haven't moved very far toward the Elbe."
"The chancery can safely rely on the reports it has received—as far as they go. It is hard to disguise troop movements. In the nature of things, large bodies of armed men on their way from one place to another are easy to see. Not to mention to hear. And to smell."
Doña Mencia's late father had been a soldier as well as governor of the Canary Islands. Her brother, Cardinal Bedmar, had been a soldier as well before turning to an ecclesiastical career.
"Particularly in a country as densely populated as the Netherlands," she continued. "Just as we knew very rapidly that Admiral Simpson had moved the king of Sweden's ironclads down the Elbe and passed Hamburg successfully. I am sure Don Fernando knew about it several days sooner than the news reached Vienna. It just was not something that the USE could hide. So he moved his troops toward the theater of war."
"But not into it. I need to know more." Maria Anna turned around impatiently. "Not just what Papa chooses to tell me. When he has time. Of course, he's very busy now."
Doña Mencia nodded. Important-looking men, dressed all in black, with solemn faces, had been hurrying in and out of the emperor's audience chamber for a week.
"And Father Lamormaini won't tell me anything at all."
Cecelia Renata propped her feet up on a hassock. "Why do we need to know more?"
Maria Anna frowned. "Why hasn't he sent them beyond Grol? Is it really because the archbishop of Cologne is refusing reasonable terms for letting him pass through Muenster...?"
Her voice trailed off and then picked up again. "I know that it's Ingolstadt that has to be Uncle Max's main concern right now, but..."
She was thinking on her feet. "The archbishop..."
"Nota bene." Cecelia Renata made a face. "Our uncle Ferdinand, as distinguished from our papa Ferdinand and our brother Ferdinand and our nephew Ferdinand. And those are just the ones who are still alive. It doesn't count our great-uncle Ferdinand, our great-grandfather Ferdinand, or the original Isabella's husband Ferdinand of Aragon, way back when they caused all these problems with the up-timers to start with by sending Columbus off to America."
"...is Uncle Max's brother," Maria Anna continued, sturdily ignoring the interruption. "Uncle Max is the head of the Catholic League. So Uncle Ferdinand should be a pillar of support for the League of Ostend in northwestern Germany. It's unlikely that he would refuse to cooperate with Don Fernando without Bavaria's tacit consent, at the very least. One of the best things for Bavaria, I would think—"
She looked at Doña Mencia quizzically, "—would be a huge victory for the League of Ostend in the North, so the Swede would have to pull Banér and Horn out of the south with their armies. Away from Ingolstadt. Away from Swabia. So why won't the archbishop grant passage to Don Fernando's troops?"
Cecelia Renata digressed again. "Given how badly Uncle Ferdinand wants to become a cardinal, it's unlikely that he would refuse to cooperate without Urban VIII's tacit consent, either. Not unless he's arrogant enough to think he can make the pope angry and still end up wearing a red hat."
"He is well known for his contentiousness and prickly pride," Doña Mencia commented mildly.
"In any case..." Maria Anna looked down at her sister. "Given that I will very soon be the duchess of Bavaria, I need to understand what is happening." She paused. "That's need, not just want, Sissy."
"We could buy some newspapers," Cecelia Renata suggested. "They might have more information. Especially if we can find some that Papa's censors haven't approved of."
"How are we going to manage that? Do you know how to buy a newspaper? Or where? Neither of us can scarcely wander out into the streets alone looking for one."
Doña Mencia leaned back. She had her own confidential sources of information in the Netherlands, but she wanted to see if the archduchesses could make satisfactory progress without her help.
* * * *
"It came to me while I was standing there for a fitting," Maria Anna said to Doña Mencia a while later. "That I didn't know how to buy a newspaper and neither did Sissy, since merchants usually bring the things we might want to purchase to us. But Susanna Allegretti probably does, and she's able to move about in the city. I thought about asking her to stay behind a few moments when Frau Stecher was ready to leave, but that would just have made more trouble for her. So if you could tell your maid Guiomar to find Susanna and ask her to get us some newspapers? When she has the chance, of course. She won't be staying with us in Bavaria. She's employed by the imperial court. She will have to come back and work with Frau Stecher for a year or two more. So I don't want to get her in a lot of trouble."
Maria Anna reached through the slit in her skirt for the pocket that was tied around her waist. "Here's some money. Will that be enough? What do newspapers cost?"
"It should be enough." Doña Mencia thought it would be quite a bit more than enough, but then she had never personally purchased a newspaper, either. She had bought books, though. Right in the shops that sold them, rather than having them delivered. But that was many years ago, when she was visiting her brother Alphonso in Venice.
* * * *
"Your Ladyship?"
Doña Mencia blinked. The May sun reflecting from the rosy brick walls of the empress' private garden had led her—misled her?—into a brief nap on the marble bench. She looked around quickly. Maria Anna was safe on the other side of the enclosure, digging in the dirt next to the empress and dropping flower seeds into the trenches she made.
"Your Ladyship?"
"Yes, Susanna."
The girl held out several items rolled up like ancient scrolls. "I have the newspapers."
"Ah. Oh, yes. Thank you."
"And the change."
"I think...." Doña Mencia glanced at the empress. "I think it would be better if you brought them to the archduchess' apartments privately. There is a formal dinner this evening. So—tomorrow morning, please, right after breakfast.
* * * *
"Salt water isn't good for the seeds, you know," Eleonora Gonzaga said gently.
Maria Anna put her spade down. "I know, Mama. I didn't mean to drip on them. I just thought, all of a sudden, that this would be the first time that I won't be with you here, in the summer, to see our flowers bloom."
* * * *
Susanna Allegretti stood quietly
in Archduchess Maria Anna's bedroom, her face blank. She wasn't wincing. That, she assured herself, meant that she was getting better at being a court seamstress. She wanted to wince. The two archduchesses had newspapers spread out all over the tapestry coverlet on the bed. Smearing ink on it. Undoubtedly smearing ink on it.
She had gotten some of the newspapers she had brought them at the Thurn und Taxis post office. But the others, the uncensored ones, she'd obtained through unofficial sources—two apprentices of the cloth factor who had provided costumes for the play they put on before Lent. Those, especially, had smeared all ink over her fingers. Not, luckily, on her clothing, although it was on the inside of the tote bag she had used to carry them back to the palace. As soon as she could, she would have to turn the bag inside out and clean it if she didn't want to ruin other things.
The archduchesses weren't even thinking that someone would have to clean that tapestry coverlet.
Why would they? It would be a maid or laundress who cleaned it, not either of them.
If it could be cleaned at all. That ink had boiled linseed oil in it and was nasty stuff to get off.
She opened her mouth nervously and then closed it firmly. It wasn't her place to ask two archduchesses of Austria to take the newspapers off the coverlet.
It wouldn't do any good to put the newspapers on the floor, anyway. It was covered with a Turkey carpet, just as expensive and just as hard to clean.
* * * *
"There's nothing in the papers about the negotiations between Don Fernando and the archbishop." Maria Anna twisted her mouth with annoyance. "Well, nothing except guesses. What they call these 'opinion pieces.'"
"Duke Bernhard has not sent his troops to the Elbe to join with the rest of the French army, either. Like Don Fernando, he has moved out some of his units. Three cavalry regiments. Some distance. But only part way north from Swabia, along the left bank of the Rhine toward Mainz." Cecelia Renata looked up. "How do the newspapers get all this information so fast, now?"