THE HEART OF PRINCESS OSRA
By ANTHONY HOPE
Author of "The Prisoner of Zenda"
In Preparation
"PHROSO"
By the Author of this Volume
[Illustration: "'KILL HIM FOR ME, THEN; KILL HIM FOR ME.'"--_Page 239._]
THE HEART OF
PRINCESS OSRA
BY
ANTHONY HOPE
AUTHOR OF
"The Prisoner of Zenda" "The Dolly Dialogues" Etc.
_with numerous full-page illustrations_
BY
H. C. EDWARDS
New York and London
Frederick A. Stokes Company
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1895, 1896
By A. H. Hawkins
Copyright, 1896
By Frederick A. Stokes Company
Copyright, 1895, 1896
By S. S. McClure, Limited
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE.
I. The Happiness of Stephen the Smith 1
II. The Wager of the Marquis de Mérosailles 51
III. The Madness of Lord Harry Culverhouse 79
IV. The Courtesy of Christian the Highwayman 100
V. The Sin of the Bishop of Modenstein 131
VI. The Device of Giraldo the Painter 175
VII. The Indifference of the Miller of Hofbau 201
VIII. The Love of the Prince of Glottenberg 226
IX. The Victory of the Grand Duke of Mittenheim 258
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
"'Kill him for me, then; kill him for me'" _Frontispiece_
"'Take her and be happy'" 11
"Stephen stood on the threshold with his staff in his hand" 37
The physician receives Princess Osra 56
"'Madame, if you will, you can do me a great service'" 101
"With either hand he drew a silver-mounted pistol" 114
"She asked the officer why a throng of people hastened
to the city" 118
"'My lord, where is the Princess?'" 160
"He drove his sword into his body, and the Count gave
back before it" 165
"He walked with his head down and his eyes on the ground" 171
"He took it and drained it" 204
"On either side of it sat the priest of the village and the
Miller of Hofbau" 215
"'Forgive me, forgive me!'" 252
"A young man sprang up, and, with a low bow, drew
aside to let her pass" 259
"'You are the beauty of the world,' he answered smiling" 263
The Heart of Princess Osra.
CHAPTER I.
The Happiness of Stephen the Smith.
"Stephen! Stephen! Stephen!"
The impatient cry was heard through all the narrow gloomy street, where
the old richly-carved house-fronts bowed to meet one another and left
for the eye's comfort only a bare glimpse of blue. It was, men said, the
oldest street in Strelsau, even as the sign of the "Silver Ship" was the
oldest sign known to exist in the city. For when Aaron Lazarus the Jew
came there, seventy years before, he had been the tenth man in unbroken
line that took up the business; and now Stephen Nados, his apprentice
and successor, was the eleventh. Old Lazarus had made a great business
of it, and had spent his savings in buying up the better part of the
street; but since Jews then might hold no property in Strelsau, he had
taken all the deeds in the name of Stephen Nados; and when he came to
die, being unable to carry his houses or his money with him, having no
kindred, and caring not a straw for any man or woman alive save Stephen,
he bade Stephen let the deeds be, and, with a last curse against the
Christians (of whom Stephen was one, and a devout one), he kissed the
young man, and turned his face to the wall and died. Therefore Stephen
was a rich man, and had no need to carry on the business, though it
never entered his mind to do anything else; for half the people who
raised their heads at the sound of the cry were Stephen's tenants, and
paid him rent when he asked for it; a thing he did when he chanced to
remember, and could tear himself away from chasing a goblet or
fashioning a little silver saint; for Stephen loved his craft more than
his rents; therefore, again, he was well liked in the quarter.
"Stephen! Stephen!" cried Prince Henry, impatiently hammering on the
closed door with his whip. "Plague take the man! Is he dead?"
The men in the quarter went on with their work; the women moved idly to
the doors; the girls came out into the street and clustered here and
there, looking at the Prince. For although he was not so handsome as
that scamp Rudolf, his brother, who had just come back from his travels
with half a dozen wild stories spurring after him, yet Henry was a
comely youth, as he sat on his chestnut mare, with his blue eyes full of
impatience, and his chestnut curls fringing his shoulders. So the girls
clustered and looked. Moreover Stephen the smith must come soon, and the
sight of him was worth a moment's waiting; for he buried himself all day
in his workshop, and no laughing challenge could lure him out.
"Though, in truth," said one of the girls, tossing her head, "it's
thankless work to spend a glance on either, for they do not return it.
Now when Rudolf comes----"
She broke off with a laugh, and her comrades joined in it. Rudolf left
no debts of that sort unpaid, however deep he might be in the books of
Stephen Nados and of the others who furnished his daily needs.
Presently Stephen came, unbolting his door with much deliberation, and
greeting Prince Henry with a restrained courtesy. He was not very well
pleased to see his guest, for it was a ticklish moment with the
nose of Saint Peter, and Stephen would have liked to finish the job
uninterrupted. Still, the Prince was a prince, a gentleman, and a
friend, and Stephen would not be uncivil to him.
"You ride early to-day, sir," he observed, patting the chestnut mare.
"I have a good reason," answered Henry. "The Lion rages to-day."
Stephen put up his hand to shelter his eyes from a ray of sunshine that
had evaded the nodding walls and crept in; it lit up his flaxen hair,
which he wore long and in thick waves, and played in his yellow beard;
and he looked very grave. For when the Lion raged, strange and alarming
things might happen in the city of Strelsau. The stories of his last fit
of passion were yet hardly old.
"What has vexed the King?" he asked; for he knew that Prince Henry spoke
of his father, Henry surnamed the Lion, now an old man, yet as fierce as
when he had been young. "Is it your brother again?"
"For a marvel, no. It is myself, Stephen. And he is more furious with me
than he has ever been with Rudolf; aye, even more than he was at all the
stories that followed my brother home."
"And what is the cause of it all, sir, and how is it in my power to
help?"
"That you will find out very soon," said the Prince with a bitter laugh.
"You will be sent for to the palace in an hour, Stephen."
"If it is about the King's ring, the ring is not finished," said
Stephen.
"It is not about the ring. Yet indeed it is, in a way, about a ring. For
you are to be married, Stephen. This very day you are to be married."
"I think not, sir," said Stephen mildly. "For it is a thing that a man
himself hears about if it be true."
"But the King thinks so; Stephen, have you remarked, among my sister
Osra's ladies, a certain dark lady, with black hair and eyes? I cannot
describe her eyes."
"But you can tell me her name, sir," suggested Stephen, who was a
practical man.
"Her name? Oh, her name is Hilda--Hilda von Lauengram."
"Aye, I know the Countess Hilda. I have made a bracelet for her."
"She is the most beautiful creature alive!" cried Prince Henry, in a
sudden rapture and so loudly (being carried away by his passion) that
the girls heard him and wondered of whom he spoke with so great an
enthusiasm.
"To those to whom she seems such," observed Stephen. "But, pray, how am
I concerned in all this, sir?"
The Prince's smile grew more bitter as he answered:
"Why, you are to marry her. It was an idle suggestion of Osra's, made in
jest; my father is pleased to approve of it in earnest."
Then he bent in his saddle and went on in a hurried urgent whisper: "I
love her better than my life, Stephen--better than heaven; and my faith
and word are pledged to her; and last night I was to have fled with
her--for I knew better than to face the old Lion--but Osra found her
making preparations and we were discovered. Then Osra was scornful, and
the King mad, and Rudolf laughed; and when they talked of what was to be
done to her, Osra came in with her laughing suggestion. It caught the
King's angry fancy, and he swore that it should be so. And, since the
Archbishop is away, he has bidden the Bishop of Modenstein be at the
palace at twelve to-day, and you will be brought there also, and you
will be married to her. But, by heavens, I'll have your blood if you
are!" With this sudden outbreak of fury the Prince ended. Yet a moment
later, he put out his hand to the smith, saying: "It's not your fault,
man."
"That's true enough," said the smith; "for I have no desire to marry
her; and it is not fitting that a lady of her birth should mate with a
smith; she is of a great house, and she would hate and despise me."
Prince Henry was about to assent when his eye chanced to fall on Stephen
the smith. Now the smith was a very handsome man--handsomer, many said,
than Prince Rudolf himself, whom no lady could look on without
admiration; he stood six feet and two inches in his flat working shoes;
he was very broad, and could leap higher and hurl a stone farther than
any man in Strelsau. Moreover he looked kind and gentle, yet was reputed
to grow angry at times, and then to be very dangerous. Therefore Prince
Henry, knowing (or thinking that he knew) the caprices of women, and how
they are caught by this and that, was suddenly seized with a terrible
fear that the Countess Hilda might not despise Stephen the smith. Yet he
did not express his fear, but said that it was an impossible thing that
a lady of the Countess's birth (for the House of Lauengram was very
noble) should wed a silversmith, even though he were as fine a fellow as
his good friend Stephen; to which gracious speech Stephen made no reply,
but stood very thoughtful, with his hand on the neck of the chestnut
mare. But at last he said: "In any case it cannot be, for I am bound
already."
"A wife? Have you a wife?" cried the Prince eagerly.
"No; but my heart is bound," said Stephen the smith.
"The King will make little of that. Yet who is she? Is she any of these
girls who stand looking at us?"
"No, she is none of these," answered Stephen, smiling as though such an
idea were very ludicrous.
"And are you pledged to her?"
"I to her, but not she to me."
"But does she love you?"
"I think it most unlikely," said Stephen the smith.
"The Lion will care nothing for this," groaned the Prince despondently.
"They will send for you in half an hour. For heaven's sake spare her,
Stephen!"
"Spare her, sir?"
"Do not consent to marry her, however urgently the King may command
you."
The smith shook his head, smiling still. Prince Henry rode sorrowfully
away, spending not a glance on the bevy of girls who watched him go; and
Stephen, turning into his house, shut the door, and with one great sigh
set to work again on the nose of Saint Peter.
"For anyhow," said he, "a man can work." And after a long pause he
added, "I never thought to tell any one; but if I must, I must."
Now, sure enough, when the clock on the Cathedral wanted a quarter of an
hour of noon, two of the King's Guard came and bade Stephen follow them
with all haste to the palace; and since they were very urgent and no
time was to be lost, he followed them as he was, in his apron, without
washing his hands or getting rid of the dust that hung about him from
his work. However he had finished Saint Peter's nose and all had gone
well with it, so that he went in a contented frame of mind, determined
to tell the whole truth to King Henry the Lion sooner than be forced
into a marriage with the Countess Hilda von Lauengram.
The Lion sat in his great chair; he was a very thin old man, with a face
haggard and deeply lined; his eyes, set far back in his head, glowed and
glowered, and his fingers pulled his sparse white beard. On his right
Prince Rudolf lolled on a low seat, smiling at the play; on his left sat
that wonderfully fair lady, the Princess Osra, then in the first bloom
of her young beauty; and she was smiling scornfully. Prince Henry stood
before his father, and some yards from him was the Countess Hilda,
trembling and tearful, supported by one of her companions; and finally,
since the Archbishop was gone to Rome to get himself a Scarlet Hat, the
Bishop of Modenstein, a young man of noble family, was there, most
richly arrayed in choicest lace and handsomest vestments, ready to
perform the ceremony. Prince Rudolf had beckoned the Bishop near him,
and was jesting with him in an undertone. The Bishop laughed as a man
laughs who knows he should not laugh but cannot well help himself; for
Rudolf owned a pretty wit, although it was sadly unrestrained.
The King's fury, having had a night and a morning to grow cool in, had
now settled into a cold ironical mood, which argued no less resolution
than his first fierce wrath. There was a grim smile on his face as he
addressed the smith, who, having bowed to the company, was standing
between the Countess and Prince Henry.
"The House of Elphberg," said the King, with mocking graciousness, "well
recognises your worth, Stephen, my friend. We are indebted to you----"
"It's a thousand crowns or more from Prince Rudolf alone, sire,"
interrupted Stephen, with a bow to the Prince he named.
"For much faithful service," pursued the King, while Rudolf laughed
again. "I have therefore determined to reward you with the hand of a
lady who is, it may be, above your station, but in no way above your
worth. Behold her! Is she not handsome? On my word, I envy you, smith.
She is beautiful, young, high-born. You are lucky, smith. Nay, no
thanks. It is but what you deserve--and no more than she deserves. Take
her and be happy," and he ended with a snarling laugh, as he waved his
lean veined hand towards the unhappy Countess, and fixed his sneering
eyes on the face of his son Henry, who had turned pale as death, but
neither spoke nor moved.
[Illustration: "'TAKE HER AND BE HAPPY.'"--_Page 11._]
The Bishop of Modenstein--he was of the House of Hentzau, many of which
have been famous in history--lifted up his hands in horror at Rudolf's
last whispered jest, and then, advancing with a bow to the King, asked
if he were now to perform his sacred duties.
"Aye, get on with it," growled the Lion, not heeding the Countess's sobs
or the entreaty in his son's face. And the Princess Osra sat unmoved,
the scornful smile still on her lips; it seemed as though she had no
pity for a brother who could stoop, or for a girl who had dared to soar
too high.
"Wait, wait!" said Stephen the smith. "Does this lady love me, sire?"
"Aye, she loves you enough for the purpose, smith," grinned the King.
"Do not be uneasy."
"May I ask her if she loves me, sire?"
"Why, no, smith. Your King's word must be enough for you."
"And your Majesty says that she loves me?"
"I do say so, smith."
"Then," said Stephen, "I am very sorry for her; for as there's a heaven
above us, sire, I do not love her."
Prince Rudolf laughed; Osra's smile broadened in greater scorn; the
Countess hid her face in her companion's bosom. The old King roared out
a gruff burst. "Good, good!" he chuckled. "But it will come with
marriage, smith; for with marriage love either comes or goes--eh, son
Rudolf?--and since in this case it cannot go, you must not doubt, friend
Stephen, that it will come." And he threw himself back in his chair,
greatly amused that a smith, when offered the hand of a Countess, should
hesitate to take it. He had not thought of so fine a humiliation as this
for the presumptuous girl.
"That might well be, sire," admitted Stephen, "were it not that I most
passionately love another."
"Our affections," said the King, "are unruly things, smith, and must be
kept in subjection; is it not so, son Rudolf?"
"It should be so, sire," answered the merry Prince.
But the Princess Osra, whose eyes had been scanning Stephen's figure,
here broke suddenly into the conversation.
"Are you pledged to her whom you love so passionately?" she asked.
"I have not ventured to tell her of my love, madame," answered he,
bowing low.
"Then there is no harm done," observed Prince Rudolf. "The harm lies in
the telling, not in the loving."
"Tell us something about her," commanded the Princess; and the King, who
loved sport most when it hurt others, chimed in: "Aye, let's hear about
her whom you prefer to this lady. In what shop does she work, smith? Or
does she sell flowers? Or is she a serving-girl? Come, listen, Countess,
and hear about your rival."
Prince Henry took one step forward in uncontrolled anger; but he could
not meet the savage mirth in the old man's eyes, and, sinking into a
chair, spread his hand across his face. But Stephen, regarding the King
with placid good-humour, began to speak of her whom he loved so
passionately. And his voice was soft as he spoke.
"She works in no shop, sire," said he, "nor does she sell flowers, nor
is she a serving-girl; though I would not care if she were. But one day,
when the clouds hung dark over our street, she came riding down it, and
another girl with her. The two stopped before my door, and, seeing them,
I came out----"
"It is more than you do for me," remarked Prince Rudolf.
Stephen smiled, but continued his story. "I came out; and she whom I
love gave me a bracelet to mend. And I, looking at her rather than at
the bracelet, said, 'But already it is perfect.' But she did not hear,
for, when she had given me the bracelet, she rode on again at once and
took no more notice of me than of the flies that were crawling up my
wall. That was the first and is the last time that I have spoken to her
until this day. But she was so beautiful that there and then I swore
that, until I had found means and courage to tell her my love, and until
she had thrice refused it, I would marry no other maiden nor speak a
word of love."
"It seems to me," said Prince Rudolf, "that the oath has some prudence
in it; for if she prove obdurate, friend Stephen, you will then be able
to go elsewhere; many lovers swear more intemperately."
"But they do not keep their oaths," said Stephen, with a shrewd look at
the Prince.
"You had best let him alone, my son," said the old King. "He knows what
all the country knows of its future King."
"Then he may go and hang with all the country," said the Prince
peevishly.
But the Princess Osra leant a little forward towards Stephen, and the
Countess Hilda also looked covertly out from the folds of her friend's
dress at Stephen. And the Princess said:
"Was she then so beautiful, this girl?"
"As the sun in heaven, madame," said the smith.
"As beautiful as my pretty sister?" asked Rudolf in careless jest.
"Yes, as beautiful, sir," answered Stephen.
"Then," said the cruel old King, "very much more beautiful than this
Countess?"
"Of that you must ask your son Henry, sire," said Stephen discreetly.
"Nevertheless," said the King, "you must put up with the Countess. We
cannot all have what we want in this world, can we, son Henry?" and he
chuckled again most maliciously.
"Not, sire, till my lady has thrice refused me," the smith reminded the
King.
"Then she must be quick about it. For we all, and my lord Bishop here,
are waiting. Send for her, Stephen--by heaven, I have a curiosity to see
her!"
"And, by heaven! so have I," added Prince Rudolf with a merry smile.
"And poor Henry here may be cured by the sight."
The Princess Osra leant a little further forward, and said gently:
"Tell us her name, and we will send for her. Indeed I also would like to
see her."
"But if she refuses, I shall be worse off than I am now; and if she says
yes, still I must marry the Countess," objected the smith.
"Nay," said the King, "if she does not refuse you three times, you shall
not marry the Countess, but shall be free to try your fortune with the
girl;" for the smith had put the old Lion in a better temper, and he
thought he was to witness more sport.
"Since your Majesty is so good, I must tell her name," said Stephen,
"though I had rather have declared my love to herself alone."
"It is the pleasantest way," said Prince Rudolf, "but the thing can be
done in the presence of others also."
"You must tell us her name that we may send for her," said the Princess,
her eyes wandering now from the Countess to the smith, and back to the
Countess again.
"Well, then," said Stephen sturdily, "the lady who came riding down the
street and took away my heart with her is called Osra, and her father is
named Henry."
A moment or two passed before they understood what the smith had said.
Then the old King fell into a fit of laughter, half choked by coughing;
Prince Rudolf clapped his hands in merry mockery, and a deep flush
spread over the face of the Princess; while the Countess, her companion,
and the younger Prince seemed too astonished to do anything but stare.
As for Stephen, having said what he had to say, he held his peace--a
thing in him which many men, and women also, would do well to imitate;
and, if they cannot, let them pray for the grace that is needful. Heaven
is omnipotent.
The old King, having recovered from his fit of laughing, looked round on
the smith with infinite amusement, and, turning to his daughter, he
said: "Come, Osra, you have heard the declaration. It remains only for
you to satisfy our good friend's conscience by refusing him three times.
For then he will be free to do our pleasure and make the Countess Hilda
happy."
The heart of women is, as it would seem, a strange thing; for the
Princess Osra, hearing what the smith had said and learning that he had
fallen passionately in love with her on the mere sight of her beauty,
suddenly felt a tenderness for him and a greater admiration than she had
entertained before; and although she harboured no absurd idea of
listening to his madness, or of doing anything in the world but laugh at
it as it deserved, yet there came on her a strange dislike of the
project that she had herself, in sport, suggested: namely, that the
smith should be married immediately to the Countess Hilda by the Lord
Bishop of Modenstein. The fellow, this smith, had an eye for true
beauty, it seemed. It would be hard to tie him down to this dusky,
black-maned girl; for so the Princess described the lady whom her
brother loved, she herself being, like most of the Elphbergs, rather red
than black in color. Accordingly, when the King spoke to her, she said
fretfully:
"Am I to be put to refuse the hand of such a fellow as this? Why, to
refuse him is a stain on my dignity!" And she looked most haughty.
"Yet you must grant him so much because of his oath," said the King.
"Well, then, I refuse him," said she tartly, and she turned her eyes
away from him.
"That is once," said Stephen the smith calmly, and he fixed his eyes on
the Princess's face. She felt his gaze, her eyes were drawn back to his,
and she exclaimed angrily:
"Yes, I refuse him," and again she looked away. But he looked still more
intently at her, waiting for the third refusal.
"It is as easy to say no three times as twice," said the King.
"For a man, sire," murmured Prince Rudolf; for he was very learned in
the perilous knowledge of a woman's whims, and, maybe, read something of
what was passing in his sister's heart. Certainly he looked at her and
laughed, and said to the King:
"Sire, I think this smith is a clever man, for what he really desires is
to wed the Countess, and to do it without disobliging my brother.
Therefore he professes this ridiculous passion, knowing well that Osra
will refuse him, and that he will enjoy the great good fortune of
marrying the Countess against his will. Thus he will obey you and be
free from my brother's anger. In truth, you're a crafty fellow, Master
Stephen!"
"There is no craft, sir," said Stephen. "I have told nothing but the
truth."
But the King swore a loud oath, crying: "Aye, that there is! Rudolf has
hit the mark. Yet I do not grudge him his good luck. Refuse him, Osra,
and make him happy."
But the dark flush came anew on the Princess's face, for now she did not
know whether the smith really loved her or whether he had been making a
jest of her in order to save himself in the eyes of her brother Henry,
and it became very intolerable to her to suppose that the smith desired
the Countess, and had lied in what he said about herself, making a tool
of her. Again, it was hardly more tolerable to give him to the Countess,
in case he truly loved herself; so that her mind was very greatly
disturbed, and she was devoured with eagerness to know the reality of
the smith's feelings towards her; for, although he was only a smith, yet
he was a wonderfully handsome man--in truth, it was curious that she had
not paid attention to his looks before. Thus she was reluctant to refuse
him a third time, when the Bishop of Modenstein stood there, waiting
only for her word to marry him to the Countess; and she rose suddenly
from her seat and walked towards the door of the room, and, when she had
almost reached the door, she turned her head over her shoulder and cast
one smile at Stephen the smith. As she glanced, the blush again mounted
to her face, making her so lovely that her father wondered, and she said
in arch softness: "I'll refuse him the third time some other day; two
denials are enough for one day," and with that she passed through the
door and vanished from their sight.
The King and Rudolf, who had seen the glance that she cast at Stephen,
fell to laughing again, swearing to one another that a woman was a woman
all the world over, whereat the lips of the Bishop twitched.
"But the marriage can't go on," cried Rudolf at last.
"Let it rest for to-day," said the King, whose anger was past. "Let it
rest. The Countess shall be guarded; and, since this young fool" (and he
pointed to his son Henry) "will not wander while she is caged, let him
go where he will. Then as soon as Osra has refused the smith a third
time, we will send for the Bishop."
"And what am I to do, sire?" asked Stephen the smith.
"Why, my son-in-law that would be," chuckled the King, "you may go back
to where you came from till I send for you again."
So Stephen, having thanked the King, went back home, and, sitting down
to the chasing of a cup, became very thoughtful; for it seemed to him
that the Countess had been hardly treated, and that the Prince deserved
happiness, and that the Princess was yet more lovely than his eyes had
found her before.
Thus, in his work and his meditations, the afternoon wore away fast. So
goes time when hand and head are busy.
* * * * *
The Princess Osra walked restlessly up and down the length of her
bed-chamber. Dinner was done and it was eight o'clock, and, the season
being late October, it had grown dark. She had come thither to be alone;
yet, now that she was alone, she could not rest. He was an absurd
fellow--that smith! Yes, she thought him fully as handsome as her
brother Rudolf. But what did Henry find to love in the black-brown
Hilda? She could not understand a man caring for such a colour; a
blackamoor would serve as well! Ah, what had that silly smith meant? It
must have been a trick, as Rudolf said. Yet when he spoke first of her
riding down the street, there was a look in his eyes that a man can
hardly put there of his own will. Did the silly fellow then really----?
Nay, that was absurd; she prayed that it might not be true, for she
would not have the poor fool unhappy. Nay, he was no fool. It was a
trick, then! How dared the insolent knave use her for his tricks? Was
there no other maiden in Strelsau whose name would have served? Must he
lay his tongue to the name of a daughter of the Elphbergs? The fellow
deserved flogging, if it were a trick. Ah, was it a trick? Or was it the
truth? Oh, in heaven's name, which was it? And the Princess tore the
delicate silk of her ivory fan to shreds, and flung the naked sticks
with a clatter on the floor.
"I can't rest till I know," she cried, as she came to a stand before a
long mirror let into the panel of the wall, and saw herself at full
length in it. As she looked a smile came, parting her lips, and she
threw her head back as she said: "I will go and ask the smith what he
meant." And she smiled again at her own face in triumphant daring; for
when she looked, she thought, "I know what he meant! Yet I will hear
from himself what he meant."
Stephen the smith sat alone in his house; his apprentices were gone, and
he himself neither worked nor supped, but sat still and idle by his
hearth. The street was silent also, for it rained and nobody was about.
Then suddenly came a light timid rap at the door; so light was it that
the smith doubted if he had really heard, but it came again and he rose
leisurely and opened the door. Even as he did so a slight tall figure
slipped by him, an arm pulled him back, the door was pushed close again,
and he was alone inside the house with a lady wrapped in a long
riding-cloak, and so veiled that nothing of her face could be seen.
"Welcome, madame," said Stephen the smith; and he drew a chair forward
and bowed to his visitor. He was not wearing his apron now, but was
dressed in a well-cut suit of brown cloth and had put on a pair of silk
stockings. He might have been expecting visitors, so carefully had he
arrayed himself.
"Do you know who I am?" asked the veiled lady.
"Since I was a baby, madame," answered the smith, "I have known the sun
when I saw it, even though clouds dimmed its face."
A corner of the veil was drawn down, and one eye gleamed in frightened
mirth.
"Nobody knows I have come," said Osra. "And you do not know why I have
come."
"Is it to answer me for the third time?" asked he, drawing a step
nearer, yet observing great deference in his manner.
"It is not to answer at all, but to ask. But I am very silly to have
come. What is it to me what you meant?"
"I cannot conceive that it could be anything, madame," said Stephen,
smiling.
"Yet some think her beautiful--my brother Henry, for example."
"We must respect the opinions of Princes," observed the smith.
"Must we share them?" she asked, drawing the veil yet a little aside.
"We can share nothing--we humble folk--with Princes or Princesses,
madame."
"Yet we can make free with their names, though humbler ones would serve
as well."
"No other would have served at all, madame."
"Then you meant it?" she cried in sudden half-serious eagerness.
"Nay, but what, madame?"
"I don't care whether you meant it or not."
"Alas! I know it so well, that I marvel you have come to tell me."
The Princess rose and began to walk up and down as she had in her own
chamber. Stephen stood regarding her as though God had made his eyes for
that one purpose.
"The thing is nothing," she declared petulantly, "but I have a fancy to
ask it. Stephen, was it a trick, or--or was it really so? Come, answer
me! I can't spend much time on it."
"It is not worth a thought to you. If you say no a third time, all will
be well."
"You will marry the Countess?"
"Can I disobey the King, madame?"
"I am very sorry for her," said the Princess. "A lady of her rank should
not be forced to marry a silversmith."
"Indeed I thought so all along. Therefore----"
"You played the trick?" she cried in unmistakable anger.
Stephen made no answer for a time, then he said softly: "If she loves
the Prince and he her, why should they not marry?"
"Because his birth is above hers."
"I am glad, then, that I am of no birth, for I can marry whom I will."
"Are you so happy and so free, Stephen?" sighed the Princess; and there
was no more of the veil left than served to frame the picture of her
face.
"So soon as you have refused me the third time, madame," bowed the
smith.
"Will you not answer me?" cried the Princess; and she smiled no more,
but was as eager as though she were asking some important question.
"Bring the Countess here to-morrow at this time," said Stephen, "and I
will answer."
"You wish, perhaps, to make a comparison between us?" she asked
haughtily.
"I cannot be compelled to answer except on my own terms," said the
smith. "Yet if you will refuse me once again, the thing will be
finished."
"I will refuse you," she cried, "when I please."
"But you will bring the Countess, madame?"
"I am very sorry for her. I have behaved ill to her, Stephen, though I
meant only to jest."
"There is room for amends, madame," said he.
The Princess looked long and curiously in his face, but he met her
glance with a quiet smile.
"It grows late," said he, "and you should not be here longer, madame.
Shall I escort you to the palace?"
"And have every one asking with whom Stephen the smith walks? No, I will
go as I came. You have not answered me, Stephen."
"And you have not refused me, madame."
"Will you answer me to-morrow when I come with the Countess?"
"Yes, I will answer then."
The Princess had drawn near to the door; now Stephen opened it for her
to pass out; and as she crossed the threshold, she said:
"And I will refuse you then--perhaps;" with which she darted swiftly
down the dark, silent, shining street, and was gone; and Stephen, having
closed the door, passed his hand twice over his brow, sighed thrice,
smiled once, and set about the preparation of his supper.
On the next night, as the Cathedral clock struck nine, there arose a
sudden tumult and excitement in the palace. King Henry the Lion was in
such a rage as no man had ever seen him in before; even Rudolf, his son,
did not dare to laugh at him; courtiers, guards, attendants, lackeys,
ran wildly to and fro in immense fear and trepidation. A little later,
and a large company of the King's Guard filed out, and, under the
command of various officers, scattered themselves through the whole of
Strelsau, while five mounted men rode at a gallop to each of the five
gates of the city, bearing commands that the gates should be closed, and
no man, woman, or child be allowed to pass out without an order under
the hand of the King's Marshal. And the King swore by heaven, and by
much else, that he would lay them--that is to say, the persons whose
disappearance caused all this hubbub--by the heels, and that they should
know that there was life in the Lion yet; whereat Prince Rudolf looked
as serious as he could contrive to look--for he was wonderfully
amused--and called for more wine. And the reason of the whole thing was
no other than this, that the room of the Princess Osra was empty, and
the room of the Countess Hilda was empty, and nobody had set eyes on
Henry, the King's son, for the last two hours or more. Now these facts
were, under the circumstances of the case, enough to upset a man of a
temper far more equable than was old King Henry the Lion.
Through all the city went the Guards, knocking at every door, disturbing
some at their suppers, some from their beds, some in the midst of
revelry, some who toiled late for a scanty livelihood. When the doors
were not opened briskly, the Guard without ceremony broke them in; they
ransacked every crevice and cranny of every house, and displayed the
utmost zeal imaginable; nay, one old lady they so terrified that she had
a fit there where she lay in bed, and did not recover for the best part
of a month. And thus, having traversed all the city and set the whole
place in stir and commotion, they came at last to the street where
Stephen lived, and to the sign of the "Silver Ship," where he carried on
the business bequeathed to him by Aaron Lazarus the Jew.
"Rat, tat, tat!" came thundering on the door from the sword-hilt of the
Sergeant in command of the party.
There was no answer; no light shone from the house, for the window was
closely shuttered. Again the Sergeant hammered on the door.
"This pestilent smith is gone to bed," he cried in vexation. "But we
must leave no house unsearched. Come, we must break in the door!" and he
began to examine the door, and found that it was a fine solid door, of
good oak and clamped with iron.
"Phew, we shall have a job with this door!" he sighed. "Why, in the
devil's name, doesn't the fellow answer? Stephen, Stephen! Ho, there!
Stephen!"
Yet no answer came from the inside of the house.
But at this moment another sound struck sharp on the ears of the
Sergeant and his men. It was the noise of flames crackling; from the
house next to Stephen's (which belonged to him, but was inhabited by a
fruit-seller) there welled out smoke in volumes from every window; and
the fruit-seller and his family appeared at the windows calling for aid.
Seeing this, the Sergeant blew very loudly the whistle that he carried
and cried "Fire!" and bade his men run and procure a ladder; for plainly
the fruit-seller's house was on fire, and it was a more urgent matter to
rescue men and women from burning than to find the Countess and the
Prince. Presently the ladder came, and a great crowd of people, roused
by the whistle and the cries of fire, came also; and then the door of
Stephen's house was opened, and Stephen himself, looking out, asked what
was the matter. Being told that the next house was on fire, he turned
very grave--for the house was his--and waited for a moment to watch the
fruit-seller and his family being brought down the ladder, which task
was safely and prosperously accomplished. But the Sergeant said to him:
"The fire may well spread, and if there is anyone in your house, it
would be prudent to get them out."
"That is well thought of," said Stephen approvingly. "I was working late
with three apprentices, and they are still in the house." And he put his
head in at his door and called: "You had better come out, lads, the fire
may spread." But the Sergeant turned away again and busied himself in
putting the fire out.
Then three lads, one being very tall, came out of Stephen's house, clad
in their leather breeches, their aprons, and the close-fitting caps that
apprentices wore; and for a moment they stood watching the fire at the
fruit-seller's. Then, seeing that the fire was burning low--which it did
very quickly--they did not stay till the attention of the Sergeant was
released from it, but, accompanied by Stephen, turned down the street,
and, going along at a brisk rate, rounded the corner and came into the
open space in front of the Cathedral.
"The gates will be shut, I fear," said the tallest apprentice. "How came
the fire, Stephen?"
"It was three or four trusses of hay, sir, and a few crowns to repair
his scorched paint. Shall we go to the gate?"
"Yes, we must try the gate," said Prince Henry, gathering the hand of
the Countess into his; and the third apprentice walked silently by
Stephen's side. Yet once as she went, she said softly:
"So it was no trick, Stephen?"
"No trick, but the truth, madame," said Stephen.
"I do not know," said Osra, "how I am to return to the palace in these
clothes."
"Let us get your brother and the Countess away first," counselled the
smith.
Now when they came to the nearest gate it was shut; but at the moment a
troop of mounted men rode up, having been sent by the King to scour the
country round, in case the fugitives should have escaped already from
the city. And the Commandant of the company bore an order from the
King's Marshal for the opening of the gate. Seeing this, Stephen the
smith went up to him and began to talk to him, the three apprentices
standing close by. The Commandant knew Stephen well, and was pleased to
talk with him while the gates were opened and the troopers filed
through. Stephen kept close by him till the troopers were all through.
Then he turned and spoke to the apprentices, and they nodded assent. The
Commandant checked his horse for an instant when he was half-way through
the gate, and bent down and took Stephen's hand to shake it in farewell.
Stephen took his hand with marvellous friendliness, and held it, and
would not let him go. But the apprentices edged cautiously nearer and
nearer the gate.
"Enough, man, enough!" laughed the Commandant. "We are not parting for
ever."
"I trust not, sir, I trust not," said Stephen earnestly, still holding
his hand.
"Come, let me go. See, the gate-warden wants to shut the gate!"
"True!" said Stephen. "Good-bye then, sir. Hallo, hallo! stop, stop! Oh,
the young rascals!"
For even as Stephen spoke, two of the apprentices had darted through the
half-closed gate, and run swiftly forward into the gloom of the night.
Stephen swore an oath.
"The rogues!" he cried. "They were to have worked all night to finish an
image of Our Lady! And now I shall see no more of them till to-morrow!
They shall pay for their prank then, by heaven they shall!" But the
Commandant laughed.
"I am sorry I can't catch them for you, friend Stephen," said he, "but I
have other fish to fry. Well, boys will be boys. Don't be too hard on
them when they return."
"They must answer for what they do," said Stephen; and the Commandant
rode on and the gates were shut.
Then the Princess Osra said:
"Will they escape, Stephen?"
"They have money in their purses, love in their hearts, and an angry
King behind them. I should travel quickly, madame, if I were so placed."
The Princess looked through the grating of the gate.
"Yes," she said, "they have all those. How happy they must be, Stephen!
But what am I to do?"
Stephen made no answer and they walked back in silence to his house. It
may be that they were wondering whether Prince Henry and the Countess
would escape. Yet it may be that they thought of something else. When
they reached the house, Stephen bade the Princess go into the inner room
and resume her own dress that she might return to the palace, and that
it might not be known where she had been nor how she had aided her
brother to evade the King's prohibition; and when she, still strangely
silent, went in as he bade her, he took his great staff in his hand, and
stood on the threshold of the house, his head nearly touching the lintel
and his shoulders filling almost all the space between door-post and
door-post.
[Illustration: "STEPHEN STOOD ON THE THRESHOLD WITH HIS STAFF IN HIS
HAND."--_Page 37._]
When he had stood there a little while, the same Sergeant of the Guard,
recollecting (now that the fire at the fruit-seller's was out) that he
had never searched the house of the smith, came again with his four men,
and told Stephen to stand aside and allow him to enter the house.
"For I must search it," he said, "or my orders will not be performed."
"Those whom you seek are not here," said Stephen.
"That I must see for myself," answered the Sergeant. "Come, smith, stand
aside."
When the Princess heard the voices outside, she put her head round the
door of the inner room, and cried in great alarm to Stephen:
"They must not come in, Stephen. At any cost they must not come in!"
"Do not be afraid, madame, they shall not come in," said he.
"I heard a voice in the house," exclaimed the Sergeant.
"It is nothing uncommon to hear in a house," said Stephen, and he
grasped more firmly his great staff.
"Will you make way for us?" demanded the Sergeant. "For the last time,
will you make way?"
Stephen's eyes kindled; for though he was a man of peace, yet his
strength was great and he loved sometimes to use it; and above all, he
loved to use it now at the bidding and in protection of his dear
Princess. So he answered the Sergeant from between set teeth:
"Over my dead body you can come in."
Then the Sergeant drew his sword and his men set their halberds in rest,
and the Sergeant, crying, "In the King's name!" came at Stephen with
drawn sword and struck fiercely at him. But Stephen let the great staff
drop on the Sergeant's shoulder, and the Sergeant's arm fell powerless
by his side. Thereupon the Guards cried aloud, and people began to come
out of their houses, seeing that there was a fight at Stephen's door.
And Stephen's eyes gleamed, and when the Guards thrust at him, he struck
at them, and two of them he stretched senseless on the ground; for his
height and reach were such that he struck them before they could come
near enough to touch him, and having no firearms they could not bring
him down.
The Princess, now fully dressed in her own garments, came out into the
outer room, and stood there looking at Stephen. Her bosom rose and fell,
and her eyes grew dim as she looked; and growing very eager, and being
very much moved, she kept murmuring to herself, "I have not said no
thrice!" And she spent no thought on the Countess or her brother, nor on
how she was to return undetected to the palace, but saw only the figure
of Stephen on the threshold, and heard only the cries of the Guards who
assaulted him. It seemed to her a brave thing to have such a man to
fight for her, and to offer his life to save her shame.
Old King Henry was not a patient man, and when he had waited two hours
without news of son, daughter, or Countess, he flew into a mighty
passion and sent one for his horse, and another for Rudolf's horse, and
a third for Rudolf himself; and he drank a draught of wine, and called
to Rudolf to accompany him, that they might see for themselves what the
lazy hounds of Guards were doing, that they had not yet come up with the
quarry. Prince Rudolf laughed and yawned and wished his brother at the
devil, but mounted his horse and rode with the King. Thus they traversed
the city, riding swiftly, the old King furiously upbraiding every
officer and soldier whom he met; then they rode to the gate; and all the
gate-wardens said that nobody had gone out, save that one gate-warden
admitted that two apprentices of Stephen the silversmith had contrived
to slip out when the gates were open to let the troopers pass. But the
King made nothing of it, and, turning with his son, rode up the street
where Stephen lived. Here they came suddenly into the midst of a crowd,
that filled all the roadway, and would hardly let the horses move even
at a foot's pace. The King cried out angrily, "What is this tumult?"
Then the people knew him, and, since common folk are always anxious to
serve and commend themselves to the great, a score began all at once to
tell him what had happened, some starting with the fire, some going
straight to the fight; and the King could not make head or tail of the
babel of voices and different stories. And Prince Rudolf dropped his
reins and sat on his horse laughing. But the King, his patience being
clean gone, drew his sword and cried fiercely, "Make way!" and set his
spurs to his horse, not recking whether he hurt any man in life or limb.
Thus he gained a passage through the crowd, and came near to Stephen's
house, Prince Rudolf following in his wake, still greatly amused at all
that was happening.
But the sight they saw there arrested even Prince Rudolf's smiles, and
he raised himself in his stirrups with a sudden cry of wonder. For four
more of the Guard had come, and there were now six standing round the
doorway, and three lay stretched on the ground; but Stephen the smith
still stood on the threshold, with his staff in his hand. Blood flowed
from a wound in his head, but he twirled the staff to and fro, and was
not weary, and none of the Guard dared to rush in and close with him.
Thus he had held the threshold for an hour; yet the Princess Osra could
not escape unless he could drive off the Guard for a few moments, and
this he hoped to do, thinking that they might draw off and wait for
reinforcements; but in any case he had sworn that they should not pass.
And Osra did not pray him to let them pass, but stood motionless in the
middle of the room behind him, her hands clasped, her face rigid, and
her eyes all aflame with admiration of his strength and his courage.
Thus matters were when the old King and Prince Rudolf broke through the
crowd that ringed the house round, and the King cried out, asking what
was the meaning of all that he saw.
But when the King heard that Stephen the smith resisted the officers,
would not suffer his house to be searched, had stretched three of the
Guards senseless on the ground, and still more than held his own, he
fell into a great rage; he roared out on them all, calling them cowards,
and, before his son or any one else could stop him, he drew his sword,
and dug his spurs into his horse; the horse bounded forward and knocked
down one of the Guards who stood round Stephen. Then the King, neither
challenging Stephen to yield, nor giving him time to stand aside, being
carried away by passion, raised his sword and rode full at him. And the
Princess from within caught sight of his face, and she fell on her knees
with a moan and hid her face. Then Stephen saw that it was the King and
none other who rode against him; and even had the King given him time,
it may be that he would not have yielded, for he was a very resolute
man, and he had pledged his promise to Osra the Princess. But he had no
time for thought, for the King was on him in the space of a second, and
he could do nothing but drop the staff that he held, and stand
defenceless in the doorway; for he would neither strike the King nor
yield the passage. But the King, in his fury not heeding that Stephen
had dropped his staff, drew back his arm and lunged with his sword, and
thrust the smith through the chest; and Stephen reeled and fell on one
knee, and his blood flowed out on the stone of the doorstep. Then the
King reined in his horse, and sat looking down on Stephen; but Rudolf
leapt to the ground, and came and caught hold of Stephen, supporting
him, and asking, "What does it mean, man, what does it mean?"
Then Stephen, being very faint with his wound, said with difficulty:
"Come in alone--you and the King alone."
Prince Rudolf looked at the King, who sheathed his sword and dismounted
from his horse; the Prince supported Stephen inside the house, and the
King followed them, shutting the door on all the people outside.
Then King Henry saw his daughter, crouching now in the middle of the
room, her face hidden in her hands. Surprise and wonder banished his
rage and he could not do more than gasp her name, while the Prince, who
knelt supporting Stephen, cried to her, asking how she came there; but
she answered nothing. She took her hands from her face and looked at
Stephen; and when she saw that he was hurt and bleeding, she fell to
sobbing and hid her face again. And she did not know whether she would
have him live or die; for if he lived he could not be hers, and if he
died her heart would ache sorely for him. Then Stephen, being supported
by the arms of Prince Rudolf, made shift to speak, and he told the King
how, at his persuasion, the Princess had brought the Countess thither;
how he himself had contrived the presence of the Prince at the same
time, how again the Princess had been prevailed upon to aid the lovers;
how they assumed the disguise of apprentices; and how, hearing the
arrival of the Guard, they had escaped out into the street; and lastly,
how that the Prince and the Countess had got out of the city. But he
said nothing of the fire at the fruit-seller's, nor of how he himself
had bribed the fruit-seller to set the hay on fire, speaking to him from
the back windows of the house, and flinging a purse of gold pieces
across to him; nor did this ever become known to the King. And when
Stephen had said his say, he fell back very faint in the arms of the
Prince; and the Prince tore a scarf from his waist, and tried to staunch
the blood from Stephen's wound. But the old King, who was a hard man,
smiled grimly.
"Indeed he has tricked us finely, this smith, and he is a clever
fellow," said he; "but unless he would rather hang than bleed to death,
let his wound be, Rudolf. For by heaven, if you cure him, I will hang
him."
"Do not be afraid, sire," said Stephen; "the Prince cannot cure me. You
still strike straight, though you are hard on seventy."
"Straight enough for a rascal like you," said the King well pleased; and
he added, "Hold the fellow easily, Rudolf, I would not have him suffer."
And this was, they say, the only time in all his life that Henry the
Lion shewed a sign of pity to any man.
But Stephen was now very faint, and he cast his eyes towards the
Princess; and Rudolf followed his eyes. Now Rudolf had an affection for
Stephen, and he loved his sister, and was a man of soft heart; so he
cried gently to Osra, "Come, sister, and help me with him." And she
rose, and came and sat down by the wall, and gathered Stephen's head
into her lap; and there he lay, looking up at her, with a smile on his
lips. But still he bled, and his blood stained the white cloak that she
wore over her robe; and her tears dropped on his face. But Rudolf took
his father by the arm, and led him a little way off, saying:
"What matter, sire? The girl is young, and the man is dying. Let them
be."
The old King, grumbling, let himself be led away; and perhaps even he
was moved, for he forgot Prince Henry and the Countess, and did not
think of sending men in pursuit of them, for which reason they obtained
a fair and long start in their flight.
Then Stephen, looking up at Osra, said:
"Do not weep, madame. They will escape now, and they will be happy."
"I was not weeping for them," said the Princess.
Stephen was silent for a little, and then he said:
"In very truth it was no trick, madame; it was even as I said, from the
first day that you rode along the street here; it was always the same in
my heart, and would always have been, however long I had lived."
"I do not doubt it, Stephen; and it is not for doubt of it that I weep,"
said she.
Then, after a little while, he said:
"Do you weep, madame, because I am dying?"
"Yes, I weep for that."
"Would you have me live, madame?" he asked.
"No, I would not--no--but I do not know," she said.
Then Stephen the smith smiled, and his smile was happy.
"Yet," said he, "it would make small difference to the Princess Osra
whether Stephen the smith lived or died."
At this, although he lay there a dying man, a sudden flush of red spread
all over her cheeks, and she turned her eyes away from his, and would
not meet his glance; she made him no answer, and he said again:
"What can it concern the Princess whether I live or die?"
Still the blush burnt on her cheek, and still she had no answer to give
to Stephen, as he lay dying with his head on her lap. And a bright gleam
came into his eyes, and he tried to move a hand towards her hand; and
she, seeing the effort, put out her hand and held his; and he whispered
very low, for he could hardly speak:
"You have not yet refused me three times, madame."
At that her eyes came back to his, and their eyes dwelt long on one
another. And for a moment it seemed to them that all things became
possible, life and joy and love. Yet since all could not be, they were
content that none should be.
Then the Princess bent low over his head, and she whispered to him:
"No, I have not refused you thrice, Stephen."
His lips just moved once again, and, being very near him, she heard:
"And you will not?" he said.
"No," said she, and she kissed his lips, and he smiled and turned on his
side; and he nestled his head, as it were cosily, on her lap, and he
said no more.
Thus died Stephen the silversmith of Strelsau, happy in his death
because Osra the Princess had not refused him thrice. And she laid him
gently on the ground, and rose, and went across to where the King sat
with Rudolf.
"Sire, he is dead," said she.
"It is well," said the King. And he bade Rudolf go and cause all the
people to leave the streets, and return to their houses; and when all
the streets were cleared, the Princess veiled herself, and her brother
mounted her on his horse, and thus she rode back to the palace; and none
knew that she had been in the house of Stephen the silversmith.
And after many months Prince Henry, who had made good his escape and
married the lady whom he loved, was reconciled to his father and
returned to the city of Strelsau. And when he heard how Stephen had
died, he raised a stately monument over him, and had carved on it his
name, and the day and year in which he had died; and underneath he
caused to be engraved the words, "From a Friend to a Friend." But when
this monument had stood three days in its place, there came thither a
lady closely veiled; she prayed on her knees by the monument for a long
while, and then rose and stood regarding it; and her eyes rested on the
last words that Prince Henry had written on the stone. Then she came
nearer, and kissed the words, and, when she had kissed them, she
whispered softly, "From a Lover to a Lover"; and, having whispered this,
she turned away and went back to the palace, and came no more to the
tomb, for fear that the people should remark her coming. Yet often in
the days that followed she would open the window of her bed-chamber by
night, and she would whisper to the silent trusty darkness, that holds
secrets and comforts sore hearts:
"Not thrice, Stephen, not thrice!"
Therefore it may be that there had been a sweet madness in her heart,
and that Stephen the silversmith had done a great thing, a thing that
would appear impossible, before he died. And, as Prince Rudolf said,
what matter? For the girl was young, and the dream was sweet, and the
man was dead, and in death at last are all men equal.