Chapter Text
Heart thudding in his chest, Caspar stumbled slightly as his foot hit a rocky patch on the road leading back into town. He was more than a tad out of breath by now and his legs burned from running, unused to the exertion. But he couldn’t stop yet. Not with Master Andreas and so many other people in danger.
The sky above Tassing was increasingly red, the glow of the fire up at the mill sending a blaze of eerie sparks into the night. Caspar found himself hoping the miller’s son, Paul, was alright – he’d liked talking to him about art and how great it was to study with Master Andreas, and thought he had seemed very nice, if also sort of sad. He wished he knew what had happened up there. It couldn’t be good.
As he hit the hill leading up into town, Casper tried his best to summon another burst of speed, panting from the effort. He’d thought about circling back through the woods to reach the abbey – where he was certain Master Andreas must have headed to try to sort things out with the abbot – but time was of the essence. Getting lost in the trees wouldn’t help anybody.
A small crowd – mostly women, and a few children – had gathered in the town center to watch the flames licking the sky, nervously murmuring to each other. Most of them looked as worried as Caspar felt, though there were a few angrier faces, and even one or two that seemed to be getting a grim satisfaction out of watching the mill burn. He ran past them all, all but ignoring the sound of blood rushing in his ears – right up until he nearly collided with another woman on the path ahead of him.
“I’m sorry!” he offered as she startled, apparently too wrapped up in her own thoughts to have heard his thudding footsteps as he approached. He was about to continue onward when her hand snaked out and caught his wrist, causing him to skid to a halt.
“Wait!” she said, with a look that nearly pierced through him. “You’re Andreas’ apprentice, right? Caspar?”
“Yes,” he stammered as his lungs did their best to catch up with his frantic breathing, “I am. Do you know where he is?”
“Up at the abbey, with the rest of the men. But you’re not headed there are you?”
She shifted the baby she held in crook of her other arm, affixing Caspar with a worried look. He’d met a lot of people these last few days, which made it a little hard to keep from mixing them up, but he remembered who this was – Eva, the wife of the man who’d been murdered after he and Master Andreas had arrived in town.
Caspar swallowed, his chest still heaving. “I-I have to,” he said. “I have to warn him! The duke’s men – they’re going to come in and kill everyone! They’re on their way already!”
Closing his eyes, he tried again to push down the awful memory of the talk he’d heard from the soldiers just outside of town. He’d just wanted to be helpful – to have something useful to tell Master Andreas, so he wouldn’t be upset about Caspar disobeying his orders. He just couldn’t leave him alone. Not when he was in danger. Sneaking around the encampment just outside of Tassing had seemed like a good idea, at the time.
But it had been horrible, hearing the way the soldiers talked about the people of Tassing. Especially the peasants. It was wrong, threatening to burn down the abbey. But it was also wrong to talk about real, human people – who had homes and families and made sure to offer their guests bread even when there wasn’t enough for everyone – like they were just a problem to be stamped out. Like rats.
That had been when he’d started running, hardly even caring if anyone saw him. He had to warn them. He had to find Master Andreas, so he could convince them to let the abbot and the other monks go, so everyone would be okay. If anyone could do it, he could.
“I know,” said Eva, a tremor in her voice. She still hadn’t let go of his arm. “That’s why Andreas went to the abbey with the others. You can’t go up there, though. It’s too dangerous.”
“No, no!” Caspar said, attempting to tug away from her. “You have to let me go to him! What if he needs my help?”
“He said he didn’t want you getting hurt,” she insisted. “You ought to—oh. Oh, God. God protect them all.”
Caspar watched as Eva’s eyes widened in fear, tracing her gaze up the path ahead. A red glow, similar to the one over the burning mill had begun to tinge the sky above the abbey. He felt his heartbeat – which still hadn’t calmed down from all the running – quicken in his chest.
“Please.” He tugged at his arm again with renewed urgency. “It’s—it’s not too late. It can’t be. You have to let me find Master Andreas.”
“Absolutely not.” There was somehow both a greater resolve in Eva’s voice and a shakier one.
“What if he dies?” Caspar said. “What if he dies and I could’ve saved him?”
“Caspar, please,” Eva pleaded. “I understand. My father, brother, and grandfather are up there right now, and I’m worried sick. Especially after… after losing Otto. But I can’t let you run up there and get yourself killed. It’s not what Andreas would want, and you know that.”
“But—”
Before Caspar could continue, Eva’s baby started to wail, his cries piercing the night. Eva began to make gentle cooing noises, rocking him to the best of her ability with one arm.
“It’s alright, Ötz. It’s alright,” she said – to little avail. “I’m sorry, it’s… it’s been hard taking care of him alone these past couple of days.”
Something in Caspar caved a little, seeing the sadness in her eyes. He was still desperate to get to the abbey, but felt awful about worrying a woman who’d already been through so much. It wasn’t fair. Eva should still have her husband, and baby Ötz should still have his dad, and the mill and the abbey shouldn’t be burning, and Eva’s family and Master Andreas shouldn’t be in danger, and...
“Hey,” he said shakily, reaching out his free hand to stroke Ötz’s head. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.”
Ötz’s cries slowed – though not to a stop – as he turned his tiny face to look curiously at Caspar. Eva gave them both a watery smile.
“He likes you,” she said. “Would you like to hold him?”
“I-I can’t. I have to—”
“—Caspar,” Eva said firmly. “I’m stopping you as a friend of Andreas’. But I’m also stopping you as a mother, who would want someone to do the same for her own son. Think about your family. Please.”
Guiltily, Caspar bit his lip. His parents had been proud of him, going off to study in Nuremberg, but they’d also been fretful. Especially his mother. She’d cried in spite of herself when he’d left, saying she couldn’t believe her little boy had gotten so grown up. His younger sisters had cried, too, especially tiny Liesl, who wasn’t quite old enough to understand why he was leaving in the first place.
But Master Andreas and Mistress Sabine are like your other family, a voice in his head supplied. They’ve been so nice to you. Especially Master Andreas. What about him?
A sob tore itself from his throat, and then another, and another. Soon, he was crying like he’d never cried before, shoulders heaving and tears running down his face in rivulets. At some point, Eva’s grip on his arm disappeared, and before he knew it, he felt a bundle being pressed into his arms. Surprised, he tilted his head down to see the similarly distraught face of baby Ötz.
“Shh…” Caspar hiccuped through his own tears, hugging him to his chest. “Don’t cry, Ötz.” He looked back up at Eva. “I’m not being a very good example, am I?”
“You’re doing fine,” she said, sounding sad. “Come inside. I’ll get you something to drink. You look like you could use it.”
Caspar glanced anxiously back at the burning abbey. The red-and-orange glow was spreading, slowly, creeping across the roof of the building as flames shot up into the night. Master Andreas was up there, somewhere. Had he gotten out already? Was he hurt?
He could hardly bear thinking about it.
“Caspar?” Eva was looking at him with concern again. For the first time, he noticed the skin around her eyes was puffy. Before he’d almost run into her, she must’ve been crying too.
“...I’ll come,” he said, reluctantly. His face still felt wet. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
Eva lead him the short distance to her house, unlatching the door and ushering him inside. By the time he took a seat at her table, he felt like he was about to fall over, his knees knocking together with an anxious energy he couldn’t seem to shake. It probably would have been a good idea to hand Ötz back to Eva, just in case. But rocking him gave Caspar something calming to focus on. Especially since it seemed to be working. His cries had stopped almost entirely.
“You’re good with babies,” Eva remarked, fetching two cups and a pitcher. She began pouring them both mugs of beer.
“I’ve got three little sisters. My parents always used to hand me Liesl whenever she was getting extra fussy; they said I was the best at calming her down. Mom says she thinks I’m still her favorite, but I’m not so sure. Now she bites.”
“You should be honored.”
“By the biting?”
“If you’re her favorite. The littlest among us are good judges of character. I remember, when Andreas first came here—” She cut herself off, looking deeply apologetic.
“—it’s alright,” he said, “I don’t mind. I’ve liked hearing about what Master Andreas was like when he was younger from everyone here. Or, well. From almost everyone.”
Eva smiled, pushing one of the cups towards him. “I remember when Andreas first came here, I didn’t know what to make of him. He seemed nice enough, but I’d barely met anyone who’d been outside of Tassing before, and he’d traveled all these distant places, even studied at a university, and there he was, just staying in our house! I was worried he might think we were all simple, or not worth his time. But Ursula took a liking to him right away. Tried to sit right in his lap the first night he ate with us. Clara was mortified, but Andreas just laughed and picked her up. That was when I knew I liked him.”
“Master Andreas is the best,” Caspar said, the words spilling from his mouth before he really even thought about it. “He’s taught me so much. And he and Mistress Sabine have made me feel so welcome in their home.”
Eva gave a small laugh, and Caspar looked at her curiously.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just strange to think of Andreas being married now. Of course it was bound to happen eventually, but I remember when he was here we – well, really the other young women in Tassing, I… I had eyes only for Otto, even back then – but when we got to talking about the men in town we agreed he was perfectly nice, and awfully pretty to look at, but he was, well, Andreas.”
“What… what do you mean?”
Waving her hand in a sort of wiggly gesture as she took a drink from her mug, Eva waited until she’d set it back down on the table to continue. “Strange. Harmless enough. Always a little distracted. And with those skinny artist’s arms, that could hardly lift a—Oh, but I shouldn’t say that to you! Besides, it’s clear enough you’ll make a wonderful father someday.”
Caspar blushed, unsure what to make of that.
“He’s a good man, though,” Eva continued. “Better than many, that’s for sure. That’s what’s really important.”
“I was so nervous when I first met him,” Caspar admitted, “I mean, I was excited, too. After seeing his art in the cathedral in Nuremberg, I knew I wanted to study with him more than anything. It was all I could talk about for weeks. But when my dad finally secured my apprenticeship and it all started feeling real, I got kind of stressed. What if it turned out he was a terrible person, or thought I didn’t have any potential? I was going to live with a total stranger, miles and miles away from home!”
“You’d never even met him?” Eva asked. Her eyes had widened in surprise.
He shook his head. “They arranged it all through letters. I knew more about his handwriting than I did about him. As a person, at least.”
“...Caspar, how old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
Eva leaned back in her chair. “Oh, that’s a little older than I thought. I always get it wrong with boys; my brother was so much bigger at your age. But he’s bigger than all the other men now, too. I remember when we were kids—I remember—”
She paused, putting a hand to her mouth and choking back a sob of her own. Clumsily, she reached for her own cup and took a long swig.
“You don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much,” said Caspar, again noticing the puffy rings of red around Eva’s eyes. His probably looked similar by now. Or even worse.
“No. No. It’s alright. I remember when we were kids, Jorg used to throw me into the pond down by the waterfall. He’d get me all the way to the far end, it was like I weighed nothing. I always did my best to splash him back, once he’d tossed me in. It was….” she trailed off, gazing into the distance. Probably towards the window. “...I’m sorry, you were saying something about your apprenticeship?”
Caspar resisted the urge to turn around and try to catch a glimpse of the burning abbey again himself.
“…Oh. Yes, I was,” he said “I was… By the time we arrived in Nuremberg, I was so nervous. Dad was worried about me, I could tell. But then we got to Master Andreas’ home, and the moment he saw me, he smiled and said -- Dad had sent him some of my art, when they were discussing everything -– he said I had a good eye for color and he especially liked the piece I’d done of the Salzkammergut, and he was looking forward to teaching me more. I think he knew I was anxious, but he was so kind about it. And I knew… I knew…”
Hugging little Ötz closer to his chest, Caspar felt his cheeks growing damp again.
“What if they’re not okay?” he said. “Master Andreas and… and Big Jorg, and your dad and grandpa?”
“...I don’t know. I wish I did. Since Otto was killed, I’ve felt like I’m just going through the motions of staying alive. But I know that’s what he’d want me to do – stay alive, I mean. And to take care of Ötz. I’m sure Andreas would want the same for you. To stay alive. To remember what he taught you. To keep making art.”
Caspar sniffled, tears still spilling down his face. He was only vaguely aware of Eva rising from her chair and lifting Ötz from his arms – though not before she made an effort to dry his eyes with her sleeve.
“You’ve been a great help,” she said. “He hasn’t slept this soundly in days.”
Blinking, Caspar looked up to see that Ötz had indeed fallen asleep as he’d been rocking him. He hadn’t even noticed, too wrapped up in his own head.
“Oh. You’re... you’re welcome.”
“Now, drink something,” Eva said, nudging the other cup closer to him.
Reluctantly, Caspar took the mug in both hands and took a long drink, watching as Eva shuffled across the room to place Ötz in his cradle. It was lovingly crafted, with simple carvings of alpine animals along the sides – a squirrel, a deer, a marmot, an ibex.
He was reminded that Otto had been the town carpenter.
When she had laid her baby down to sleep, Eva returned to the table – only instead of taking a seat, she knelt on the floor and took Caspar’s hands, one in each of hers. He’d set his beer down by then, and they had been sitting in his lap, twitching with nerves.
“Heavenly Father,” Eva began, “May you keep our loved ones safe. May Dad and Grandpa and Jorg come home to us tonight.”
“And Master Andreas,” Caspar said, taking her cue when she paused.
“May they be protected from harm. May they be watched over by Saint Moritz and Saint Satia—”
“—and Saint Florian,” added Caspar, thinking about the flames licking the night sky above the abbey.
“May we see them all again, safe and sound, and may neither of us have to face the trials and tribulations of this life without them. Amen.”
“Amen.”
Eva opened her eyes, a few tears leaking from the sides, and gave him a tired smile. Pulling a hand from hers, he wiped his own face – somewhat futilely, as he was still crying.
“Get some rest,” Eva said softly, squeezing his other hand, “It’s going to be a long night.”
“There’s no way I’m sleeping tonight,” he said, vehement. “Not until I know Master Andreas is okay.”
“Then don’t sleep. I know I won’t be. But still, rest. You can have the bed, if you like.”
Caspar wanted to refuse – he didn’t need to be treated like a little kid, and besides, Eva was having a terrible week too. An even worse one, so far.
But he was exhausted. Since arriving in Tassing he hadn’t once gotten a full night’s sleep, and his desperate sprint earlier had taken its toll on him. He wasn’t used to running like that, and it wasn’t just his anxiety making his legs feel strange and wobbly. Although it was that, too.
“...Maybe just for a little while,” he said.
Nodding, Eva gave him a tired smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I will. Thank you.” He drained the last of his cup, setting it carefully on the table when he’d finished.
He and Eva both seemed to have exhausted their capacity for conversation, after that, but she still hovered nearby once he’d laid down, sitting in a chair in the bedroom and working on some knitting project that looked to be giving her a lot more trouble than it ought to. He didn’t blame her – he’d never be able to focus on something that fiddly with the way both their hands were still shaking.
Neither of them, he could tell, wanted to be alone.
For his own part, he simply laid down, listening to the click-clack of her needles and fighting his tired eyes, and trying not to think about fire.
***
“Caspar. Caspar, wake up!”
There were hands shaking his shoulder, and urgency enough to the command that he pulled himself into a sitting position almost instantly, though it took a bit longer to blink the grogginess from his eyes. Eva was looking at him tensely, something hard to place in her expression.
“I fell asleep?” he said, frowning. He was disappointed in himself.
“You did. I thought it was best to leave you. But they’ve started bringing people back from the abbey.”
The rest of his tiredness evaporated, just like that. “Did you see Master Andreas? Is he back yet?”
“Eva, are you sure about this?”
Surprised, Caspar’s eyes darted to the bedroom doorway. He hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the room. But Eva’s brother, Big Jorg, stood there, a makeshift bandage wrapped around his head and covering his left eye. It was already bleeding through.
“He deserves to know,” she said. “It’s his choice.”
“Wh-What do you mean?” Caspar said, panic creeping into his voice. Big Jorg was alright – or at least, mostly alright. That had to mean the others were too, right? Eva’s dad and grandpa, and Master Andreas, and… and…
“Caspar,” Eva said gently. “The others were just planning on telling you, but I insisted you might need more closure than that.”
“Only because he looks so bad,” said Big Jorg. “You should warn him about that part.”
“Who looks so bad? What happened?”
“Andreas didn’t make it,” said Eva. “His body was recovered, but the damage is pretty bad. Do you still want to see him?”
Caspar could’ve sworn his heart had stopped beating, or at the very least, plunged into his stomach. Tears welled up in his eyes again, but didn’t quite manage to fall. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t.
“He… he can’t be… he… he can’t be dead,” Caspar said, stammering over the words like if his heavy tongue turned them into a litany, they would become the truth.
“I’m sorry,” said Big Jorg. “He is. I helped dig him out of the rubble myself. Figured it was the least he deserved, for everything he did to help. That, and I always liked him.”
“The– the rubble?”
“He was in the tower of the library when it fell. Trying to save some of the books.”
Books! Caspar felt a hysterical laugh clawing its way up his throat that came out sounding and tasting entirely too bitter. The precarious tears in his eyes finally started to spill, in rivers this time. It wasn’t fair that the thing that got Master Andreas killed sounded entirely too much like him.
It wasn’t fair that it was exactly the sort of thing Caspar had loved him for.
“Caspar?” Eva asked. She’d clearly been crying again, too. Caspar wondered if that meant the rest of her family hadn’t made it either. Or maybe she’d been crying for Master Andreas. Or all of them.
“I want to see him,” he sobbed, trying to sound braver than he felt. He didn’t want to see him, not really. He didn’t want his last memory of his beloved mentor to be so awful. But he had a funny feeling that if he said “No” tonight, he’d end up regretting it for the rest of his life.
Eva squeezed his hand. “I can take you to him,” she said.
“I should find Clara and Ursula again,” said Big Jorg. “See how they’re doing.”
“I’ll join you all soon,” said Eva.
“Y-your dad? And grandpa?” Caspar asked. He could hardly think about anyone other than Master Andreas right now, but if Eva and Big Jorg had lost someone, he ought to be respectful.
“Grandpa’s alright. Jorg managed to protect him. But Dad didn’t make it either,” she confirmed.
“You… you don’t have to come with me then,” Caspar said, taking a heaving breath. He almost choked on it. But it wasn’t fair, making Eva worry about him when her dad had just died. “You should be with your family.”
“And you shouldn’t be alone.” Unshed tears glistened in Eva’s eyes.
Offering him a hand, Eva helped him to his feet. His legs didn’t want to work, even achier than before and wobbling like a newborn foal’s. Once he was standing, she tugged the blanket off the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cloak.
“You don’t—”
“—it’s alright,” Eva said. “It’s alright. Jorg, can you take Ötz with you? I don’t like the idea of leaving him alone.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, walking the short distance to scoop the still-sleeping baby from his cradle and nestling him in the crook of a burly arm. “Nice to see him sleeping. I know he’s been keeping you up.”
“You can thank Caspar for that,” she said.
Big Jorg offered him an appreciative nod, though Caspar didn’t particularly feel like he ought to be thanked for anything right now, standing there sobbing into Eva’s blanket and wobbling on his feet, with the person he’d meant to be a help to dead.
The air was cool, for June, as they stepped outside. Caspar could have sworn he smelled smoke on the breeze, even from the town center. Or maybe it was simply on his mind. In the distance, the abbey still glowed an ominous red, illuminating the night far more than was natural, though the fire up at the mill seemed to have burned itself down to embers.
There were people scattered all over the commons, their forms illuminated by the sparse flickers of torches. Some, like Big Jorg, sported bloodied makeshift bandages. Others knelt over people laid out on the ground, frantically calling out orders. And on the fringes, still others huddled together, apparently consoling each other. The sound of wailing was inescapable—as was the scent of blood.
Big Jorg headed in the direction of the rest of the townsfolk, little Ötz tucked snugly in his arms. But Eva guided Caspar in the other direction, down the road that lead towards the church, the shadows of the buildings growing longer as they walked.
Away from the still-living, and towards the dead.
Eventually, Eva lead him around the back of the house he remembered belonged to Master Andreas’ friend Claus and his little daughter. He could hear voices, as they drew closer, a hushed conversation that cut short as they stepped into the light cast by the dying lantern resting on the ground
“—think he saved any others?”
“I don’t see how we’d find them.”
“Please, Sisters, if you’re going to have this conversation, can it not be over his—”
“—I hardly think it’s disrespectful to talk about what the man was trying to do in his last moments.”
“No, but it’s—Eva! You’re back. We were… oh. You brought him.”
Caspar tugged tighter at the blanket draped over his shoulders, half-tempted to disappear into it entirely as the three people who’d been talking all turned to face him, morphing from dark silhouettes to dimly lit faces. He recognized the one who’d last spoken as Claus, but the other two—both nuns, though one was taller and thinner while the other, who was kneeling on the ground, was shorter and rounder—were much harder to place.
“Where is he?” he asked, choking on a sob. “Where’s Master Andreas?”
“Eva, do you really think it’s wise?”
“He said he wanted to come,” she replied. “And yes, I did warn him.”
“It’s not as bad as it was,” the taller of the two nuns said, softly. “Sister Gertrude’s been cleaning him up some.”
“I know it’s a little pointless,” said the other nun—Sister Gertrude, he assumed. She sounded apologetic. “But it was breaking my heart, looking at him like that, and I thought, ‘Well, if someone’s fetching the boy…’”
“No, it’s kind of you,” said Claus.
“I want to see him,” Caspar insisted, wiping at his tears with his sleeve, in case his crying was one of the reasons they were hesitating. “I want to see Master Andreas.”
Nodding solemnly, Claus stepped forward and picked the lantern up off the ground. For a moment, it lingered near his face, and Caspar saw that his own eyes glistened with the tell-tale dampness of tears. But then he swung it near to where Sister Gertrude knelt on the ground, illuminating the still figure laid out in front of her.
His eyes were closed. That was the first thing Caspar noticed, and couldn’t help but feel grateful for. Injuries were one thing, but he wasn’t sure he could’ve handled seeing the same warm, brown eyes that in life had looked over his work with such attentiveness—and at him with such fondness—dulled and unseeing in death. But even with them shut, and a relatively peaceful expression on Master Andreas’ features, it was painfully clear he was dead.
The right side of his face and body were mostly crushed, reminding Caspar of what Big Jorg had said about needing to dig him out of the rubble of the tower. But even in the places where the fractured bone underneath had pierced the skin, the wounds barely even bled sluggishly. From the bloodied cloth in Sister Gertrude’s hand, some of them must have looked worse before. Now, though, cleaned, they just seemed unnatural. His clothing was charred and caked with ash, and raised, angry burns stood out against the skin of his face and one of his hands, even creeping up his arm where the cloth of his shirt had burned away.
The others were right. He looked awful.
Burying his face in his hands, Caspar felt his legs give out from underneath him, slumping to the ground. Someone—Claus, probably—caught him as he fell, lowering him gently to his knees. Tears slipped through the gaps between his fingers, and his whole frame was wracked with the force of his great, heaving sobs. A comforting hand rubbed circles into his back, but for the most part his world narrowed to the body in front of him, and the aching hole where his heart was supposed to be.
Caspar had only been apprenticed to Master Andreas for a year and a half, but in that time, he had felt like he could see his future stretching out before him. He would study with him another three or four years, likely depart on his own Wanderjahre, and then return to Nuremberg, to work as Master Andreas’ assistant while completing his masterpiece. In truth, he wouldn’t have minded remaining a part of the man’s workshop forever, though he’d miss his family back in Salzburg. Master Andreas’ artwork took his breath away. Even if Caspar succeeded in becoming a master artist himself, he would’ve liked to keep collaborating with him. To create beautiful works together.
Any hope of that was gone now, and with it, any picture of the road ahead. If he returned home, he knew his father would be willing to secure another apprenticeship for him, and his work had already improved enough under Master Andreas’ tutelage that another master would almost certainly accept him. On paper, his career as an artist might only face a short setback. But it wouldn’t be the same. Would another artist be as ready to treat him like family, the way Master Andreas had? Would Caspar even be able to pick up a paintbrush again without mourning?
Master Andreas’ teaching methods had been unconventional and eclectic, dragging Caspar into the woods outside Nuremberg to observe the local animals one day and the next to a nearby doctor’s to sketch cadavers, explaining what he’d learned about the human form while studying medicine. He’d been full of stories from his travels—and his eccentric path towards being an artist—and unusual thoughts about color and gilding inspired by his love of historical manuscripts. Caspar had listened to all of them raptly, delighted to be learning from someone with such a unique approach towards art.
But more than losing a great artist, he had lost a great friend. He’d considered Master Andreas to be a mentor in more than just sketching and painting, despite the man’s occasional comments that he hoped Caspar’s life would turn out better than his own. He’d looked up to him.
He’d loved him.
It seemed like his tears would never stop, and he’d just keep crying forever. Maybe that was what he wanted. To stay rooted to the ground, and never leave. To let the empty feeling in his chest grow bigger and bigger until it swallowed him whole.
The others had fallen silent, occasionally extending a comforting hand his direction, but otherwise let him cry until he felt sick. His sobs turned to hiccups, his hiccups to short, breathless gasps. Eventually, the impossible happened, and he found himself feeling too-wrung out to cry anymore beyond the occasional weak sniffle. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he looked up to see Claus, Eva, Sister Gertrude, and the other, taller nun, whose name he still couldn’t remember, all looking at him sadly, sympathy etched onto their faces.
“S-sorry,” he mumbled, keenly aware of the fact that he wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone tonight. Eva was hardly falling to her knees weeping, even though her dad was dead.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Claus said “I’m sorry I...I...” he stopped, running his free hand down his face and made a choked sound into his palm. “I tried to get him to come with me. But I had Magdalene to worry about and… and I couldn’t get him to leave.”
“If it’s any consolation,” the taller nun said. “Brother Florian thinks he was dead before the tower even fell. From the smoke. Gruesome as it looks, I’ve taken some comfort in the thought he may not have suffered overmuch.”
“...Thank you, Mother Illuminata,” said Claus. “That’s… that is a better thought.”
But he’s still dead, thought Casper, even though he agreed.
“I’m glad there’s someone who cared so deeply for him here with us,” said Sister Gertrude, giving Caspar a melancholy smile as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “It was sad to think… to think all the poor townsfolk who died tonight at least have their families here to mourn them. Andreas was a such a friendly, good-hearted man. I couldn’t bear to think of him laid out somewhere all alone.”
“It was good of you both to make sure he wasn’t forgotten about,” said Claus. “And you as well, Eva. I imagine tonight has been difficult enough for you.”
“I just couldn’t,” Sister Gertrude said, “When I saw them carrying his body—”
“—Oh, his family!” Caspar wailed, a new, awful thought lodging itself in his mind. “What am I supposed to tell his family back in Nuremberg? What am I supposed to tell Mistress Sabine?”
“No one’s sending you back to Nuremberg alone,” Claus said firmly. “Or right away, for that matter. I’ve offered to let you stay at my place until you’re ready to return.”
“Don’t you already have friends staying with you?” he said, wiping at his eyes again.
“Benjamin and Rachel will understand. We’ll make it work. Besides, Eva was telling us all you’re a wonder with babies. They could probably use a hand with little Esther.”
“I’m deeply sorry you’ve ended up getting entangled in all this, Caspar,” said Mother Illuminata, who he had finally placed as one of the nuns in the library what felt like a lifetime ago, when he’d helped Master Andreas pick out a book to buy as a gift for Claus’ daughter. He supposed they’d saved that one from the flames, at least. “Andreas was a friend to Kiersau Abbey, whatever Father Gernot says, and from what I understand, a friend to Tassing, too. It speaks well of him that he could manage both, even during a time of such great division. But that shouldn’t have spelled his death, nor should you have had to lose him here, so far away from both your homes.”
“I was going to help him,” he said. “I—I was going to find him, up at the abbey. If I’d kept on going, he might still be alive!”
“And you might be dead,” said Eva. “Or both of you might be. Trust me Caspar, every night since Otto’s murder I haven’t been able to keep the same kind of questions out of my mind. What if I’d told him to be more careful? What if I’d stopped him from going to Rathaus site?”
“Well I wish you hadn’t stopped me,” he said. He instantly felt awful for it. Eva had been nothing but considerate towards him, even with all her own troubles. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She gave him a mournful smile. “I know you’re hurting. We’re all hurting. But I don’t think you’re going to feel any better dwelling on what-ifs. It hasn’t helped me.”
“That reminds me, you haven’t left Ötz all alone, have you Eva?” asked Claus. She shook her head.
“He’s with Jorg. Who’s with the rest of the family. I...I think I might join them, now, if you’re all here to keep Caspar company. I didn’t want him feeling alone.”
“Of course,” said Sister Gertrude. “We’ll look out for him.”
“Thank… thank you, Eva,” Caspar stuttered out as she turned to go. “For being so kind to me tonight, when you had so many other people to worry about.”
Her face softened, a compassionate look in her eyes even though the tired lines around them remained. “I told you, Caspar. It’s only what I hope someone might do for my own son.”
“Well, Ötz is lucky to have you as his mom.”
“You should come visit him again,” she said with a smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but he knew it was still genuine. “While you’re here.”
He nodded. “I… I will.”
Feeling the weight of a hand on his shoulder as Eva slipped around the corner, Caspar looked up to see Claus giving him a somber look.
“Would you like to come inside?” he asked.
Caspar shook his head. “If… if it’s alright, I think I’d like to stay out here with Master Andreas a little longer. Unless… Unless…”
“No. We can stay out here as long as you need.”
Nodding, Caspar placed his hands on the ground, crawling the short distance to Master Andreas’ body. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes again, but figured it didn’t really matter if he cried on him at this point. Reaching out slowly and carefully – almost reverently – he took man’s hand in his own. It was cool to the touch. Pushing down a choked sob, he leaned in closer, until their foreheads were touching.
“Hello, Master Andreas,” he said, ignoring the way his voice broke on the words. “And goodbye, too, I suppose. I wanted to say thank you. For everything you taught me, and...and for everything I know you would’ve, if you could. If we’d had more time. And I hope… I hope…”
He had to stop to cry for a moment, watching as his tears dripped from his face onto his mentor’s cheeks, almost as if they both were grieving.
“You were always so kind to me, and clever, and… and funny,” he said. “But I could tell you were sad, too, even though you tried to hide it. Sad enough that I was worried about you, sometimes. I never really asked why. It didn’t feel like my place. But I hope that… I hope that now, you’ll at least be at peace from whatever was hurting you. I’m the one who’s going to be sad now. But it’s...it’s okay. I’ll carry it for both of us. I’m still so glad I got to know you. That you let me learn from you. And I promise… I promise it won’t keep me from making art. I think that might be the most important thing you taught me, even though I didn’t realize it until now. That even if you’re hurting, you can still make art.”
Rocking back onto his heels, Caspar looked up to see that Claus, Mother Illuminata, and Sister Gertrude were all gazing at him with tears glistening in their own eyes.
“I think Andreas was very fortunate to know you, Caspar of Salzburg,” said Mother Illuminata.
Wordlessly, he nodded his thanks to her before slipping a hand into the pouch at his belt and pulling out the sketchbook and charcoal he carried with him at all times.
“You never know what might inspire you,” Master Andreas had always insisted.
Caspar wasn’t feeling particularly inspired right now. Quite the opposite in fact. The kindness of strangers and the anguish of losing loved ones were all knotted up inside his hollow-feeling chest, disparate parts of a confusing thesis he was pretty sure he’d spend the rest of life trying and failing to unravel. But he didn’t know what else to do, or how else he was supposed to mourn. He couldn’t leave Master Andreas alone. Not yet. Not when he still had the chance to draw beside him one last time
Hands shaking, with the others looking on curiously, Caspar began the first piece in his sketchbook he’d never get the chance to show his mentor, occasionally rubbing at his face with his sleeve to keep tears from splattering on the paper as he started sketching the outlines of flames.
***
[Text taken from “Art in a Land of Schism: Voices of the German Renaissance,” NYU Press]
Another lesser-known 16th century Austrian painter whose works are a veritable trove of deep, raw emotion is Caspar Ziegler (1511-1575), who remains most renowned for his skill in chiaroscuro, his pieces all exhibiting a strong interplay between light and shadow. Unusually for the time, he trained his daughter Andrea Ziegler Koppensteiner (1539-1590) as an artist as well; she finished his work in the Salzburg cathedral when he died before it could be completed. Both have gone relatively unsung in the history of art, though there has been a renewed appreciation for their works over the past several decades, particularly as feminist scholars have taken an interest both father and daughter’s regular correspondence with the famous Prague-based printer Magdalene Drucker Zimmerman (1523-1589).
Ziegler’s paintings show a distinctive tenderness towards the human condition, often depicting scenes of grief and mourning, the birth of children, the deaths of martyrs, and acts of sacrifice and devotion. His “Lot’s Wife Mourns” has long been considered the most significant of his paintings, in large part due to its idiosyncracy. In contrast to other famous portrayals of Lot and his family escaping the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah by German Renaissance painters – such as Albrecht Dürer’s “Lot and his Daughters” and Lucas Cranach the Elder’s similarly-titled work – in which the titular subjects are generally shown in the foreground, escaping or even celebrating their survival with the last member of their family already turned into a pillar of salt behind them, there is a unique, almost heretical sympathy to the victims in Ziegler’s painting, where the focus is instead on Lot’s doomed wife. Paused in a moment of fatal hesitation, her feet are shown frozen in place, already turned to salt. But the transformation is not complete, an expression of utter grief and loss on her features as she looks back on the burning cities a final time, the fire of God’s retribution reflected in her eyes.