THE MARTYR OF LOVE.
The archers who had travelled in company with young Otto gave a handsome
dinner in compliment to the success of our hero; at which his friend
distinguished himself as usual in the eating and drinking department.
Squintoff, the Rowski bowman, declined to attend; so great was the envy
of the brute at the youthful hero's superiority. As for Otto himself, he
sat on the right hand of the chairman; but it was remarked that he could
not eat. Gentle reader of my page! thou knowest why full well. He was
too much in love to have any appetite; for though I myself when laboring
under that passion, never found my consumption of victuals diminish, yet
remember our Otto was a hero of romance, and they NEVER are hungry when
they're in love.
The next day, the young gentleman proceeded to enroll himself in the
corps of Archers of the Prince of Cleves, and with him came his attached
squire, who vowed he never would leave him. As Otto threw aside his own
elegant dress, and donned the livery of the House of Cleves, the noble
Childe sighed not a little. 'Twas a splendid uniform 'tis true, but
still it WAS a livery, and one of his proud spirit ill bears another's
cognizances. “They are the colors of the Princess, however,” said he,
consoling himself; “and what suffering would I not undergo for HER?” As
for Wolfgang, the squire, it may well be supposed that the good-natured,
low-born fellow had no such scruples; but he was glad enough to
exchange for the pink hose, the yellow jacket, the pea-green cloak, and
orange-tawny hat, with which the Duke's steward supplied him, the homely
patched doublet of green which he had worn for years past.
“Look at you two archers,” said the Prince of Cleves to his guest, the
Rowski of Donnerblitz, as they were strolling on the battlements after
dinner, smoking their cigars as usual. His Highness pointed to our two
young friends, who were mounting guard for the first time. “See yon two
bowmen--mark their bearing! One is the youth who beat thy Squintoff, and
t'other, an I mistake not, won the third prize at the butts. Both wear
the same uniform--the colors of my house--yet wouldst not swear that the
one was but a churl, and the other a noble gentleman?”
“Which looks like the nobleman?” said the Rowski, as black as thunder.
“WHICH? why, young Otto, to be sure,” said the Princess Helen, eagerly.
The young lady was following the pair; but under pretence of disliking
the odor of the cigar, she had refused the Rowski's proffered arm, and
was loitering behind with her parasol.
Her interposition in favor of her young protege only made the black and
jealous Rowski more ill-humored. “How long is it, Sir Prince of Cleves,”
said he, “that the churls who wear your livery permit themselves to wear
the ornaments of noble knights? Who but a noble dare wear ringlets such
as yon springald's? Ho, archer!” roared he, “come, hither, fellow.”
And Otto stood before him. As he came, and presenting arms stood
respectfully before the Prince and his savage guest, he looked for
one moment at the lovely Helen--their eyes met, their hearts beat
simultaneously: and, quick, two little blushes appeared in the cheek of
either. I have seen one ship at sea answering another's signal so.
While they are so regarding each other, let us just remind our readers
of the great estimation in which the hair was held in the North. Only
nobles were permitted to wear it long. When a man disgraced himself, a
shaving was sure to follow. Penalties were inflicted upon villains or
vassals who sported ringlets. See the works of Aurelius Tonsor; Hirsutus
de Nobilitate Capillari; Rolandus de Oleo Macassari; Schnurrbart;
Fresirische Alterthumskunde, &c.
“We must have those ringlets of thine cut, good fellow,” said the Duke
of Cleves good-naturedly, but wishing to spare the feelings of his
gallant recruit. “'Tis against the regulation cut of my archer guard.”
“Cut off my hair!” cried Otto, agonized.
“Ay, and thine ears with it, yokel,” roared Donnerblitz.
“Peace, noble Eulenschreckenstein,” said the Duke with dignity: “let the
Duke of Cleves deal as he will with his own men-at-arms. And you, young
sir, unloose the grip of thy dagger.”
Otto, indeed, had convulsively grasped his snickersnee, with intent
to plunge it into the heart of the Rowski; but his politer feelings
overcame him. “The count need not fear, my lord,” said he: “a lady is
present.” And he took off his orange-tawny cap and bowed low. Ah! what
a pang shot through the heart of Helen, as she thought that those lovely
ringlets must be shorn from that beautiful head!
Otto's mind was, too, in commotion. His feelings as a gentleman--let
us add, his pride as a man--for who is not, let us ask, proud of a
good head of hair?--waged war within his soul. He expostulated with the
Prince. “It was never in my contemplation,” he said, “on taking service,
to undergo the operation of hair-cutting.”
“Thou art free to go or stay, Sir Archer,” said the Prince pettishly.
“I will have no churls imitating noblemen in my service: I will bandy no
conditions with archers of my guard.”
“My resolve is taken,” said Otto, irritated too in his turn.
“I will . . . . ”
“What?” cried Helen, breathless with intense agitation.
“I will STAY,” answered Otto. The poor girl almost fainted with joy. The
Rowski frowned with demoniac fury, and grinding his teeth and cursing in
the horrible German jargon, stalked away. “So be it,” said the Prince of
Cleves, taking his daughter's arm--“and here comes Snipwitz, my barber,
who shall do the business for you.” With this the Prince too moved on,
feeling in his heart not a little compassion for the lad; for Adolf
of Cleves had been handsome in his youth, and distinguished for the
ornament of which he was now depriving his archer.
Snipwitz led the poor lad into a side-room, and there--in a
word--operated upon him. The golden curls--fair curls that his mother
had so often played with!--fell under the shears and round the lad's
knees, until he looked as if he was sitting in a bath of sunbeams.
When the frightful act had been performed, Otto, who entered the little
chamber in the tower ringleted like Apollo, issued from it as cropped as
a charity-boy.
See how melancholy he looks, now that the operation is over!--And no
wonder. He was thinking what would be Helen's opinion of him, now
that one of his chief personal ornaments was gone. “Will she know me?”
thought he; “will she love me after this hideous mutilation?”
Yielding to these gloomy thoughts, and, indeed, rather unwilling to be
seen by his comrades, now that he was so disfigured, the young gentleman
had hidden himself behind one of the buttresses of the wall, a prey to
natural despondency; when he saw something which instantly restored
him to good spirits. He saw the lovely Helen coming towards the chamber
where the odious barber had performed upon him,--coming forward timidly,
looking round her anxiously, blushing with delightful agitation,--and
presently seeing, as she thought, the coast clear, she entered the
apartment. She stooped down, and ah! what was Otto's joy when he saw her
pick up a beautiful golden lock of his hair, press it to her lips, and
then hide it in her bosom! No carnation ever blushed so redly as Helen
did when she came out after performing this feat. Then she hurried
straightway to her own apartments in the castle, and Otto, whose first
impulse was to come out from his hiding-place, and, falling at her
feet, call heaven and earth to witness to his passion, with difficulty
restrained his feelings and let her pass: but the love-stricken
young hero was so delighted with this evident proof of reciprocated
attachment, that all regret at losing his ringlets at once left him,
and he vowed he would sacrifice not only his hair, but his head, if need
were, to do her service.
That very afternoon, no small bustle and conversation took place in
the castle, on account of the sudden departure of the Rowski of
Eulenschreckenstein, with all his train and equipage. He went away in
the greatest wrath, it was said, after a long and loud conversation with
the Prince. As that potentate conducted his guest to the gate, walking
rather demurely and shamefacedly by his side, as he gathered his
attendants in the court, and there mounted his charger, the Rowski
ordered his trumpets to sound, and scornfully flung a largesse of gold
among the servitors and men-at-arms of the House of Cleves, who were
marshalled in the court. “Farewell, Sir Prince,” said he to his host:
“I quit you now suddenly; but remember, it is not my last visit to the
Castle of Cleves.” And ordering his band to play “See the Conquering
Hero comes,” he clattered away through the drawbridge. The Princess
Helen was not present at his departure; and the venerable Prince of
Cleves looked rather moody and chap-fallen when his guest left him.
He visited all the castle defences pretty accurately that night, and
inquired of his officers the state of the ammunition, provisions, &c. He
said nothing; but the Princess Helen's maid did: and everybody knew that
the Rowski had made his proposals, had been rejected, and, getting up in
a violent fury, had called for his people, and sworn by his great gods
that he would not enter the castle again until he rode over the breach,
lance in hand, the conqueror of Cleves and all belonging to it.
No little consternation was spread through the garrison at the news: for
everybody knew the Rowski to be one of the most intrepid and powerful
soldiers in all Germany,--one of the most skilful generals. Generous
to extravagance to his own followers, he was ruthless to the enemy: a
hundred stories were told of the dreadful barbarities exercised by him
in several towns and castles which he had captured and sacked. And poor
Helen had the pain of thinking, that in consequence of her refusal she
was dooming all the men, women, and children of the principality to
indiscriminate and horrible slaughter.
The dreadful surmises regarding a war received in a few days dreadful
confirmation. It was noon, and the worthy Prince of Cleves was taking
his dinner (though the honest warrior had had little appetite for that
meal for some time past), when trumpets were heard at the gate; and
presently the herald of the Rowski of Donnerblitz, clad in a tabard on
which the arms of the Count were blazoned, entered the dining-hall. A
page bore a steel gauntlet on a cushion; Bleu Sanglier had his hat on
his head. The Prince of Cleves put on his own, as the herald came up to
the chair of state where the sovereign sat.
“Silence for Bleu Sanglier,” cried the Prince, gravely. “Say your say,
Sir Herald.”
“In the name of the high and mighty Rowski, Prince of Donnerblitz,
Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein, Count of Krotenwald, Schnauzestadt,
and Galgenhugel, Hereditary Grand Corkscrew of the Holy Roman Empire--to
you, Adolf the Twenty-third, Prince of Cleves, I, Bleu Sanglier, bring
war and defiance. Alone, and lance to lance, or twenty to twenty in
field or in fort, on plain or on mountain, the noble Rowski defies
you. Here, or wherever he shall meet you, he proclaims war to the death
between you and him. In token whereof, here is his glove.” And taking
the steel glove from the page, Bleu Boar flung it clanging on the marble
floor.
The Princess Helen turned deadly pale: but the Prince, with a good
assurance, flung down his own glove, calling upon some one to raise the
Rowski's; which Otto accordingly took up and presented to him, on his
knee.
“Boteler, fill my goblet,” said the Prince to that functionary, who,
clothed in tight black hose, with a white kerchief, and a napkin on his
dexter arm, stood obsequiously by his master's chair. The goblet was
filled with Malvoisie: it held about three quarts; a precious golden
hanap carved by the cunning artificer, Benvenuto the Florentine.
“Drink, Bleu Sanglier,” said the Prince, “and put the goblet in thy
bosom. Wear this chain, furthermore, for my sake.” And so saying, Prince
Adolf flung a precious chain of emeralds round the herald's neck. “An
invitation to battle was ever a welcome call to Adolf of Cleves.”
So saying, and bidding his people take good care of Bleu Sanglier's
retinue, the Prince left the hall with his daughter. All were marvelling
at his dignity, courage, and generosity.
But, though affecting unconcern, the mind of Prince Adolf was far from
tranquil. He was no longer the stalwart knight who, in the reign of
Stanislaus Augustus, had, with his naked fist, beaten a lion to death
in three minutes; and alone had kept the postern of Peterwaradin for two
hours against seven hundred Turkish janissaries, who were assailing it.
Those deeds which had made the heir of Cleves famous were done thirty
years syne. A free liver since he had come into his principality, and of
a lazy turn, he had neglected the athletic exercises which had made him
in youth so famous a champion, and indolence had borne its usual
fruits. He tried his old battle-sword--that famous blade with which,
in Palestine, he had cut an elephant-driver in two pieces, and split
asunder the skull of the elephant which he rode. Adolf of Cleves could
scarcely now lift the weapon over his head. He tried his armor. It was
too tight for him. And the old soldier burst into tears, when he found
he could not buckle it. Such a man was not fit to encounter the terrible
Rowski in single combat.
Nor could he hope to make head against him for any time in the field.
The Prince's territories were small; his vassals proverbially lazy and
peaceable; his treasury empty. The dismallest prospects were before him:
and he passed a sleepless night writing to his friends for succor, and
calculating with his secretary the small amount of the resources which
he could bring to aid him against his advancing and powerful enemy.
Helen's pillow that evening was also unvisited by slumber. She lay awake
thinking of Otto,--thinking of the danger and the ruin her refusal to
marry had brought upon her dear papa. Otto, too, slept not: but HIS
waking thoughts were brilliant and heroic: the noble Childe thought
how he should defend the Princess, and win LOS and honor in the ensuing
combat.