The Sin of the Bishop of Modenstein.
In the days of Rudolf III. there stood on the hill opposite the Castle
of Zenda, and on the other side of the valley in which the town lies, on
the site where the _château_ of Tarlenheim now is situated, a fine and
strong castle belonging to Count Nikolas of Festenburg. He was a noble
of very old and high family, and had great estates; his house being,
indeed, second only to the Royal House in rank and reputation. He
himself was a young man of great accomplishments, of a domineering
temper, and of much ambition; and he had gained distinction in the wars
that marked the closing years of the reign of King Henry the Lion. With
King Rudolf he was not on terms of cordial friendship, for he despised
the King's easy manners and carelessness of dignity, while the King had
no love for a gentleman whose one object seemed to be to surpass and
outshine him in the eyes of his people, and who never rested from
extending and fortifying his castle until it threatened to surpass Zenda
itself both in strength and magnificence. Moreover Nikolas, although
maintaining a state ample and suitable to his rank, was yet careful and
prudent, while Rudolf spent all that he received and more besides, so
that the Count grew richer and the King poorer. But in spite of these
causes of difference, the Count was received at Court with apparent
graciousness, and no open outburst of enmity had yet occurred, the pair
being, on the contrary, often together, and sharing their sports and
pastimes with one another.
Now most of these diversions were harmless, or, indeed, becoming and
proper, but there was one among them full of danger to a man of hot head
and ungoverned impulse such as King Rudolf was. And this one was
diceing, in which the King took great delight, and in which the Count
Nikolas was very ready to encourage him. The King, who was generous and
hated to win from poor men or those who might be playing beyond their
means in order to give him pleasure, was delighted to find an opponent
whose purse was as long or longer than his own, and thus gradually came
to pass many evenings with the boxes in Nikolas's company. And the more
evenings he passed the deeper he fell into the Count's debt; for the
King drank wine, while the Count was content with small beer, and when
the King was losing he doubled his stakes, whereas the Count took in
sail if the wind seemed adverse. Thus always and steadily the debt grew,
till at last Rudolf dared not reckon how large it had become, nor did he
dare to disclose it to his advisers. For there were great public burdens
already imposed by reason of King Henry's wars, and the citizens of
Strelsau were not in a mood to bear fresh exaction, nor to give their
hard earnings for the payment of the King's gambling debts; in fine,
although they loved the Elphbergs well enough, they loved their money
more. Thus the King had no resource except in his private possessions,
and these were of no great value, saving the Castle and estate of Zenda.
At length, when they had sat late one night and the throws had gone all
the evening against the King and for Nikolas, the King flung himself
back in his chair, drained his glass, and said impatiently:
"I am weary of the game! Come, my lord, let us end it."
"I would not urge you, sire, a moment beyond what you desire. I play but
for your pleasure."
"Then my pleasure has been your profit," said the King with a vexed
laugh, "for I believe I am stripped of my last crown. What is my debt?"
The Count, who had the whole sum reckoned on his tablets, took them out,
and shewed the King the amount of the debt.
"I cannot pay it," said Rudolf. "I would play you again, to double the
debt or wipe it out, but I have nothing of value enough to stake."
The desire which had been nursed for long in the Count's heart now saw
the moment of its possible realisation.
He leant over the table, and, smoothing his beard with his hand, said
gently:
"The amount is no more than half the value of your Majesty's Castle and
demesne of Zenda."
The King started and forced a laugh.
"Aye, Zenda spoils the prospect from Festenburg, does it?" said he. "But
I will not risk Zenda. An Elphberg without Zenda would seem like a man
robbed of his wife. We have had it since we have had anything or been
anything. I should not seem King without it."
"As you will, sire. Then the debt stands?" He looked full and keenly
into the King's eyes, asking without words, "How will you pay it?" and
adding without words, "Paid it must be." And the King read the unspoken
words in the eyes of Count Nikolas.
The King took up his glass, but finding it empty flung it angrily on the
floor, where it shivered into fragments at Count Nikolas's feet; and he
shifted in his chair and cursed softly under his breath. Nikolas sat
with the dice-box in his hand and a smile on his lips; for he knew that
the King could not pay, and therefore must play, and he was in the vein,
and did not doubt of winning from the King Zenda and its demesne. Then
he would be the greatest lord in the kingdom, and hold for his own a
kingdom within the kingdom, and the two strongest places in all the
land. And a greater prize might then dangle in reach of his grasp.
"The devil spurs and I gallop," said the King at last. And he took up
the dice-box and rattled it.
"Fortune will smile on you this time, sire, and I shall not grieve at
it," said Count Nikolas with a courteous smile.
"Curses on her!" cried the King. "Come, my lord, a quick ending to it!
One throw, and I am a free man, or you are master of my castle."
"One throw let it be, sire, for it grows late," assented Nikolas with a
careless air; and they both raised the boxes and rattled the dice inside
them. The King threw; his throw was a six and a five, and a sudden gleam
of hope lit up his eyes; he leant forward in his chair, gripping the
elbows of it with his hands; his cheeks flushed and his breath came
quickly. With a bow Count Nikolas raised his hand and threw. The dice
fell and rolled on the table. The King sank back; and the Count said
with a smile of apology and a shrug of his shoulders:
"Indeed I am ashamed. For I cannot be denied to-night."
For Count Nikolas of Festenburg had thrown sixes, and thereby won from
the King the Castle and demesne of Zenda.
He rose from his chair, and, having buckled on his sword that had lain
on the table by him, and taking his hat in his hand, stood looking down
on the King with a malicious smile on his face. And he said with a look
that had more mockery than respect in it:
"Have I your Majesty's leave to withdraw? For ere day dawn, I have
matters to transact in Strelsau, and I would be at my Castle of Zenda
to-night."
Then King Rudolf took a sheet of paper and wrote an order that the
Castle, and all that was in it, and all the demesne should be
surrendered to Count Nikolas of Festenburg on his demand, and he gave
the paper to Nikolas. Then he rose up and held out his hand, which
Nikolas kissed, smiling covertly, and the King said with grace and
dignity:
"Cousin, my Castle has found a more worthy master. God give you joy of
it."
And he motioned with his hand to be left alone. Then, when the Count had
gone, he sat down in his chair again, and remained there till it was
full day, neither moving nor yet sleeping. There he was found by his
gentlemen when they came to dress him, but none asked him what had
passed.
Count Nikolas, now Lord of Zenda, did not so waste time, and the matters
that he had spoken of did not keep him long in Strelsau; but in the
early morning he rode out, the paper which the King had written in his
belt.
First he rode with all speed to his own house of Festenburg, and there
he gathered together all his followers, servants, foresters, and armed
retainers, and he told them that they were to ride with him to Zenda,
for that Zenda was now his and not the King's. At this they were greatly
astonished, but they ate the fine dinner and drank the wine which he
provided, and in the evening they rode down the hill very merry, and
trotted, nearly a hundred strong, through the town, making a great
noise, so that they disturbed the Bishop of Modenstein, who was lying
that night at the inn in the course of a journey from his See to the
Capital; but nobody could tell the Bishop why they rode to Zenda, and
presently the Bishop, being wearied with travelling, went to his bed.
Now King Rudolf, in his chagrin and dismay, had himself forgotten, or
had at least neglected to warn the Count of Festenburg, that his sister
Princess Osra was residing at the Castle of Zenda; for it was her
favourite resort, and she often retired from the Court and spent many
days there alone. There she was now with two of her ladies, a small
retinue of servants, and no more than half a dozen Guards; and when
Count Nikolas came to the gate, it being then after nine, she had gone
to her own chamber, and sat before the mirror, dressed in a loose white
gown, with her ruddy hair unbound and floating over her shoulders. She
was reading an old story book, containing tales of Helen of Troy, of
Cleopatra, of Berenice, and other lovely ladies, very elegantly related
and embellished with fine pictures. And the Princess, being very much
absorbed in the stories, did not hear nor notice the arrival of the
Count's company, but continued to read, while Nikolas roused the
watchmen, and the bridge was let down, and the steward summoned. Then
Nikolas took the steward aside, and shewed him the King's order, bearing
the King's seal, and the steward, although both greatly astonished and
greatly grieved, could not deny the letter or the seal, but declared
himself ready to obey and to surrender the Castle; and the sergeant in
command of the Guard said the same; but, they added, since the Princess
was in the Castle, they must inform her of the matter, and take her
commands.
"Aye, do," said Nikolas, sitting down in the great hall. "Tell her not
to be disturbed, but to give me the honour of being her host for as long
as she will, and say that I will wait on her, if it be her pleasure."
But he smiled to think of the anger and scorn with which Osra would
receive the tidings when the steward delivered them to her.
In this respect the event did not fall short of his expectations, for
she was so indignant and aghast that, thinking of nothing but the
tidings, she flung away the book and cried: "Send the Count here to me,"
and stood waiting for him there in her chamber, in her white gown and
with her hair unbound and flowing down over her shoulders. And when he
came she cried: "What is this, my lord?" and listened to his story with
parted lips and flashing eyes, and thus read the King's letter and saw
the King's seal. And her eyes filled with tears, but she dashed them
away with her hand. Then the Count said, bowing to her as mockingly as
he had bowed to her brother:
"It is the fortune of the dice, madame."
"Yes, my lord, as you play the game," said she.
His eyes were fixed on her, and it seemed to him that she was more
beautiful in her white gown and with her hair unbound over her
shoulders, than he had ever felt her to be before, and he eyed her
closely. Suddenly she looked at him, and for a moment he averted his
eyes; but he looked again and her eyes met his. For several moments she
stood rigid and motionless. Then she said:
"My lord, the King has lost the Castle of Zenda, which is the home and
cradle of our House. It was scarcely the King's alone to lose. Have I no
title in it?"
"It was the King's, madame, and now it is mine," smiled Nikolas.
"Well, then, it is yours," said she, and taking a step towards him, she
said: "Have you a mind to venture it again, my lord?"
"I would venture it only against a great stake," said he, smiling still,
while his eyes were fixed on her face and marked every change in the
colour of her cheeks.
"I can play dice as well as the King," she cried. "Are we not all
gamblers, we Elphbergs?" And she laughed bitterly.
"But what would your stake be?" he asked sneeringly.
Princess Osra's face was now very pale, but her voice did not tremble
and she did not flinch; for the honour of her House and of the throne
was as sacred to her as her salvation, and more than her happiness.
"A stake, my lord," said she, "that many gentlemen have thought above
any castle in preciousness."
"Of what do you speak?" he asked, and his voice quivered a little, as a
man's does in excitement. "For, pardon me, madame, but what have you of
such value?"
"I have what the poorest girl has, and it is of the value that it
pleased God to make it and pleases men to think it," said Osra. "And all
of it I will stake against the King's Castle of Zenda and its demesne."
Count Nikolas's eyes flashed and he drew nearer to her; he took his
dice-box from his pocket, and he held it up before her, and he whispered
in an eager hoarse voice:
"Name this great stake, madame; what is it?"
"It is myself, my lord," said Princess Osra.
"Yourself?" he cried wondering, though he had half guessed.
"Aye. To be the Lord of Zenda is much. Is it not more to be husband to
the King's sister?"
"It is more," said he, "when the King's sister is the Princess Osra."
And he looked at her now with open admiration. But she did not heed his
glance, but with face pale as death she seized a small table and drew it
between them and cried: "Throw then, my lord! We know the stakes."
"If you win, Zenda is yours. If I win, you are mine."
"Yes, I and Zenda also," said she. "Throw, my lord!"
"Shall we throw thrice, madame, or once, or how often?"
"Thrice, my lord," she answered, tossing back her hair behind her neck,
and holding one hand to her side. "Throw first," she added.
The Count rattled the box; and the throw was seven. Osra took the box
from him, looked keenly and defiantly in his eyes, and threw.
"Fortune is with you, madame," said he, biting his lips. "For a five and
a four make nine, or I err greatly."
He took the box from her; his hand shook, but hers was firm and steady;
and again he threw.
"Ah, it is but five," said he impatiently, and a frown settled on his
brow.
"It is enough, my lord," said Osra; and pointed to the dice that she had
thrown, a three and a one.
The Count's eyes gleamed again; he sprang towards her, and was about to
seize the box. But he checked himself suddenly, and bowed, saying:
"Throw first this time, I pray you, madame, if it be not disagreeable to
you."
"I do not care which way it is," said Osra, and she shook and made her
third cast. When she lifted the box, the face of the dice showed seven.
A smile broadened on the Count's lips, for he thought surely he could
beat seven, he that had beaten eleven and thereby won the Castle of
Zenda, which now he staked against the Princess Osra. But his eyes were
very keenly and attentively on her, and he held the box poised,
shoulder-high, in his right hand.
Then a sudden faintness and sickness seized on the Princess, and the
composure that had hitherto upheld her failed; she could not meet his
glance, nor could she bear to see the fall of the dice; but she turned
away her head before he threw, and stood thus with averted face. But he
kept attentive eyes on her, and drew very near to the table so that he
stood right over it. And the Princess Osra caught sight of her own face
in the mirror, and started to see herself pallid and ghastly, and her
features drawn as though she were suffering some great pain. Yet she
uttered no sound.
The dice rattled in the box; they rattled on the table; there was a
pause while a man might quickly count a dozen; and then Count Nikolas of
Festenburg cried out in a voice that trembled and tripped over the
words:
"Eight, eight, eight!"
But before the last of the words had left his shaking lips, the Princess
Osra faced round on him like lightning. She raised her hand so that the
loose white sleeve fell back from her rounded arm, and her eyes flashed,
and her lips curled as she outstretched her arm at him, and cried:
"Foul play!"
For, as she watched her own pale face in the mirror--the mirror which
Count Nikolas had not heeded--she had seen him throw, she had seen him
stand for an instant over the dice he had thrown with gloomy and
maddened face; and then she had seen a slight swift movement of his left
hand, as his fingers deftly darted down and touched one of the dice and
turned it. And all this she had seen before he had cried eight.
Therefore now she turned on him, and cried, "Foul play!" and before he
could speak, she darted by him towards the door. But he sprang forward,
and caught her by the arm above the wrist and gripped her, and his
fingers bit into the flesh of her arm, as he gasped, "You lie! Where are
you going?" But her voice rang out clear and loud in answer:
"I am going to tell all the world that Zenda is ours again, and I am
going to publish in every city in the kingdom that Count Nikolas of
Festenburg is a common cheat and rogue, and should be whipped at the
cart's tail through the streets of Strelsau. For I saw you in the
mirror, my lord, I saw you in the mirror!" And she ended with a wild
laugh that echoed through the room.
Still he gripped her arm, and she did not flinch; for an instant he
looked full in her eyes; covetousness, and desire, and shame, came all
together upon him, and over-mastered him, and he hissed between set
teeth:
"You shan't! By God, you shan't!"
"Aye, but I will, my lord," said Osra. "It is a fine tale for the King
and for your friends in Strelsau."
An instant longer he held her where she was; and he gasped and licked
his lips. Then he suddenly dragged her with him towards a couch; seizing
up a coverlet that lay on the couch he flung it around her, and he
folded it tight about her, and he drew it close over her face. She could
not cry out nor move. He lifted her up and swung her over his shoulder,
and, opening the door of the room, dashed down the stairs towards the
great hall.
In the great hall were six of the King's Guard, and some of the servants
of the Castle, and many of the people who had come with Count Nikolas;
they all sprang to their feet when they saw them. He took no heed of
them, but rushed at a run through the hall, and out under the portcullis
and across the bridge, which had not been raised since he entered. There
at the end of the bridge a lackey held his horse; and he leapt on his
horse, setting one hand on the saddle, and still holding Osra; and then
he cried aloud:
"My men follow me! To Festenburg!"
And all his men ran out, the King's Guard doing nothing to hinder them,
and jumping on their horses and setting them at a gallop, hurried after
the Count. He, riding furiously, turned towards the town of Zenda, and
the whole company swept down the hill, and, reaching the town, clattered
and dashed through it at full gallop, neither drawing rein nor turning
to right or left; and again they roused the Bishop of Modenstein, and he
turned in his bed, wondering what the rush of mounted men meant. But
they, galloping still, climbed the opposite hill and came to the Castle
of Festenburg with their horses spent and foundered. In they all
crowded, close on one another's heels; the bridge was drawn up; and
there in the entrance they stood looking at one another, asking mutely
what their master had done, and who was the lady whom he carried wrapped
in the coverlet. But he ran on till he reached the stairs, and he
climbed them, and entering a room in the gate-tower, looking over the
moat, he laid the Princess Osra on a couch, and standing over her he
smote one hand upon the other, and he swore loudly:
"Now, as God lives, Zenda I will have, and her I will have, and it shall
be her husband whom she must, if she will, proclaim a cheat in
Strelsau!"
Then he bent down and lifted the coverlet from her face. But she did not
stir nor speak, nor open her eyes. For she had fallen into a swoon as
they rode, and did not know what had befallen her, nor where she had
been brought, nor that she was now in the Castle of Festenburg, and in
the power of a desperate man. Thus she lay still and white, while Count
Nikolas stood over her and bit his nails in rage. And it was then just
on midnight.
On being disturbed for the third time, the Bishop of Modenstein, whose
temper was hot and cost him continual prayers and penances from the
mastery it strove to win over him, was very impatient; and since he was
at once angry and half asleep, it was long before he could or would
understand the monstrous news with which his terrified host came
trembling and quaking to his bedside in the dead of the night. A
servant-girl, stammered the frightened fellow, had run down half dressed
and panting from the Castle of Zenda, and declared that whether they
chose to believe her or not--and, indeed, she could hardly believe such
a thing herself, although she had seen it with her own eyes from her own
window--yet Count Nikolas of Festenburg had come to the Castle that
evening, had spoken with Princess Osra, and now (they might call her a
liar if they chose) had carried off the Princess with him on his horse
to Festenburg, alive or dead none knew, and the men-servants were amazed
and terrified, and the soldiers were at their wits' end, talking big and
threatening to bring ten thousand men from Strelsau and to leave not one
stone upon another at Festenburg, and what not. But all the while and
for all their big talk nothing was done; and the Princess was at
Festenburg, alive or dead or in what strait none knew. And, finally,
nobody but one poor servant-girl had had the wit to run down and rouse
the town.
The Bishop of Modenstein sat up in his bed and he fairly roared at the
innkeeper:
"Are there no men, then, who can fight in the town, fool?"
"None, none, my lord--not against the Count. Count Nikolas is a terrible
man. Please God, he has not killed the Princess by now."
"Saddle my horse," said the Bishop, "and be quick with it."
And he leapt out of bed with sparkling eyes. For the Bishop was a young
man, but a little turned of thirty, and he was a noble of the old House
of Hentzau. Now some of the Hentzaus (of whom history tells us of many)
have been good, and some have been bad; and the good fear God, while the
bad do not; but neither the good nor the bad fear anything in the world
besides. Hence, for good or ill, they do great deeds and risk their
lives as another man risks a penny. So the Bishop, leaving his bed,
dressed himself in breeches and boots, and set a black hat with a violet
feather on his head, and, staying to put on nothing else but his shirt
and his cloak over it, in ten minutes was on his horse at the door of
the inn. For a moment he looked at a straggling crowd that had gathered
there; then with a toss of his head and a curl of his lip he told them
what he thought of them, saying openly that he thanked heaven they were
not of his diocese, and in an instant he was galloping through the
streets of the town towards the Castle of Festenburg, with his sword by
his side and a brace of pistols in the holsters of the saddle. Thus he
left the gossipers and vapourers behind, and rode alone as he was up the
hill, his blood leaping and his heart beating quick; for, as he went, he
said to himself:
"It is not often a Churchman has a chance like this."
On the stroke of half-past twelve he came to the bridge of the Castle
moat, and the bridge was up. But the Bishop shouted, and the watchman
came out and stood in the gateway across the moat, and, the night being
fine and clear, he presented an excellent aim.
"My pistol is straight at your head," cried the Bishop, "let down the
bridge. I am Frederick of Hentzau; that is, I am the Bishop of
Modenstein, and I charge you, if you are a dutiful son of the Church, to
obey me. The pistol is full at your head."
The watchman knew the Bishop, but he also knew the Count his master.
"I dare not let down the bridge without an order from my lord," he
faltered.
"Then before you can turn round, you're a dead man," said the Bishop.
"Will you hold me harmless with my lord, if I let it down?"
"Aye, he shall not hurt you. But if you do not immediately let it down,
I'll shoot you first and refuse you Christian burial afterwards. Come,
down with it."
So the watchman, fearing that, if he refused, the Bishop would spare
neither body nor soul, but would destroy the one and damn the other, let
down the bridge, and the Bishop, leaping from his horse, ran across with
his drawn sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Walking into the
hall, he found a great company of Count Nikolas's men, drinking with one
another, but talking uneasily and seeming alarmed. And the Bishop raised
the hand that held the sword above his head in the attitude of
benediction, saying, "Peace be with you!"
Most of them knew him by his face, and all knew him as soon as a comrade
whispered his name, and they sprang to their feet, uncovering their
heads and bowing. And he said:
"Where is your master the Count?"
"The Count is upstairs, my lord," they answered. "You cannot see him
now."
"Nay, but I will see him," said the Bishop.
"We are ordered to let none pass," said they, and although their manner
was full of respect, they spread themselves across the hall, and thus
barred the way to the staircase that rose in the corner of the hall. But
the Bishop faced them in great anger, crying:
"Do you think I do not know what has been done? Are you all, then,
parties in this treachery? Do you all want to swing from the turrets of
the Castle when the King comes with a thousand men from Strelsau?"
At this they looked at him and at one another with great uneasiness; for
they knew that the King had no mercy when he was roused, and that he
loved his sister above everybody in the world. And the Bishop stepped up
close to their rank. Then one of them drew his sword half-way from its
scabbard. But the Bishop, perceiving this, cried:
"Do you all do violence to a lady, and dare to lay hands on the King's
sister? Aye, and here is a fellow that would strike a Bishop of God's
Church!" And he caught the fellow a buffet with the flat of his sword,
that knocked him down, "Let me pass, you rogues," said the Bishop. "Do
you think you can stop a Hentzau?"
"Let us go and tell the Count that my lord the Bishop is here," cried
the house-steward, thinking that he had found a way out of the
difficulty; for they dared neither to touch the Bishop nor yet to let
him through; and the steward turned to run towards the staircase. But
the Bishop sprang after him, quick as an arrow, and, dropping the pistol
from his left hand, caught him by the shoulder and hurled him back. "I
want no announcing," he said. "The Church is free to enter everywhere."
And he burst through them at the point of the sword, reckless now what
might befall him so that he made his way through. But they did not
venture to cut him down; for they knew that nothing but death would stop
him, and for their very souls' sake they dared not kill him. So he,
kicking one and pushing another and laying about him with the flat of
his sword and with his free hand, and reminding them all the while of
their duty to the Church and of his sacred character, at last made his
way through and stood alone, unhurt, at the foot of the staircase, while
they cowered by the walls or looked at him in stupid helplessness and
bewilderment. And the Bishop swiftly mounted the stairs.
At this instant in the room in the gate-tower of the Castle overlooking
the moat there had fallen a moment of dead silence. Here Count Nikolas
had raised the Princess, set her on a couch, and waited till her
faintness and fright were gone. Then he had come near to her, and in
brief harsh tones told her his mind. For him, indeed, the dice were now
cast; in his fury and fear he had dared all. He was calm now, with the
calmness of a man at a great turn of fate. That room, he told her, she
should never leave alive, save as his promised wife, sworn and held to
secrecy and silence by the force of that bond and of her oath. If he
killed her he must die, whether by his own hand or the King's mattered
little. But he would die for a great cause and in a great venture. "I
shall not be called a cheating gamester, madame," said he, a smile on
his pale face. "I choose death sooner than disgrace. Such is my choice.
What is yours? It stands between death and silence; and no man but your
husband will dare to trust your silence."
"You do not dare to kill me," said she defiantly.
"Madame, I dare do nothing else. They may write 'murderer' on my tomb;
they shall not throw 'cheat' in my living face."
"I will not be silent," cried Osra, springing to her feet. "And rather
than be your wife I would die a thousand times. For a cheat you are--a
cheat--a cheat!" Her voice rose, till he feared that she would be heard,
if any one chanced to listen, even from so far off as the hall. Yet he
made one more effort, seeking to move her by an appeal to which women
are not wont to be insensible.
"A cheat, yes!" said he. "I, Nikolas of Festenburg, am a cheat. I say
it, though no other man shall while I live to hear him. But to gain what
stake?"
"Why, my brother's Castle of Zenda."
"I swear to you it was not," he cried, coming nearer to her. "I did not
fear losing on the cast, but I could not endure not to win. Not my
stake, madame, but yours lured me to my foul play. Have you your face,
and yet do not know to what it drives men?"
"If I have a fair face, it should inspire fair deeds," said she. "Do not
touch me, sir, do not touch me. I loathe breathing the same air with
you, or so much as seeing your face. Aye, and I can die. Even the women
of our House know how to die."
At her scorn and contempt a great rage came upon him, and he gripped the
hilt of his sword, and drew it from the scabbard. But she stood still,
facing him with calm eyes. Her lips moved for a moment in prayer, but
she did not shrink.
"I pray you," said he in trembling speech, mastering himself for an
instant, "I pray you!" But he could say no more.
"I will cry your cheating in all Strelsau," said she.
"Then commend your soul to God. For in one minute you shall die."
Still she stood motionless; and he began to come near to her, his sword
now drawn in his hand. Having come within the distance from which he
could strike her, he paused and gazed into her eyes. She answered him
with a smile. Then there was for an instant the utter stillness in the
room; and in that instant the Bishop of Modenstein set his foot on the
staircase and came running up. On a sudden Osra heard the step, and a
gleam flashed in her eye. The Count heard it also, and his sword was
arrested in its stroke. A smile came on his face. He was glad at the
coming of some one whom he might kill in fight; for it turned him sick
to butcher her unresisting. Yet he dared not let her go, to cry his
cheating in the streets of Strelsau. The steps came nearer.
He dropped his sword on the floor and sprang upon her. A shriek rang
out, but he pressed his hand on her mouth and seized her in his arms.
She had no strength to resist, and he carried her swiftly across the
room to a door in the wall. He pulled the door open--it was very heavy
and massive--and he flung her down roughly on the stone floor of a
little chamber, square and lofty, having but one small window high up,
through which the moonlight scarcely pierced. She fell with a moan of
pain. Unheeding, he turned on his heel and shut the door. And, as he
turned, he heard a man throw himself against the door of the room. It
also was strong and twice the man hurled himself with all his force
against it. At last it strained and gave way; and the Bishop of
Modenstein burst into the room breathless. And he saw no trace of the
Princess's presence, but only Count Nikolas standing sword in hand in
front of the door in the wall with a sneering smile on his face.
The Bishop of Modenstein never loved to speak afterwards of what
followed, saying always that he rather deplored than gloried in it, and
that when a man of sacred profession was forced to use the weapons of
this world it was a matter of grief to him, not of vaunting. But the
King compelled him by urgent requests to describe the whole affair,
while the Princess was never weary of telling all that she knew, or of
blessing all bishops for the sake of the Bishop of Modenstein. Yet the
Bishop blamed himself; perhaps, if the truth were known, not for the
necessity that drove him to do what he did, as much as for a secret and
ashamed joy which he detected in himself. For certainly, as he burst
into the room now, there was no sign of reluctance or unwillingness in
his face; he took off his feathered hat, bowed politely to the Count,
and resting the point of his sword on the floor, asked:
"My lord, where is the Princess?"
[Illustration: "'MY LORD, WHERE IS THE PRINCESS?'"--_Page 160._]
"What do you want here, and who are you?" cried the Count with a
blasphemous oath.
"When we were boys together, you knew Frederick of Hentzau. Do you not
now know the Bishop of Modenstein?"
"Bishop! This is no place for bishops. Get back to your prayers, my
lord."
"It wants some time yet before matins," answered the Bishop. "My lord,
where is the Princess?"
"What do you want with her?"
"I am here to escort her wherever it may be her pleasure to go."
He spoke confidently, but he was in his heart alarmed and uneasy because
he had not found the Princess.
"I do not know where she is," said Nikolas of Festenburg.
"My lord, you lie," said the Bishop of Modenstein.
The Count had wanted nothing but an excuse for attacking the intruder.
He had it now, and an angry flush mounted in his cheeks as he walked
across to where the Bishop stood.
Shifting his sword, which he had picked up again, to his left hand, he
struck the Bishop on the face with his gloved hand. The Bishop smiled
and turned the other cheek to Count Nikolas, who struck again with all
his force, so that he reeled back, catching hold of the open door to
avoid falling, and the blood started dull red under the skin of his
face. But he still smiled, and bowed, saying:
"I find nothing about the third blow in Holy Scripture."
At this instant the Princess Osra, who had been half stunned by the
violence with which Nikolas had thrown her on the floor, came to her
full senses and, hearing the Bishop's voice, she cried out loudly for
help. He, hearing her, darted in an instant across the room, and was at
the door of the little chamber before the Count could stop him. He
pulled the door open and Osra sprang out to him, saying:
"Save me! Save me!"
"You are safe, madame, have no fear," answered the Bishop. And turning
to the Count, he continued: "Let us go outside, my lord, and discuss
this matter. Our dispute will disturb and perhaps alarm the Princess."
And a man might have read the purpose in his eyes, though his manner and
words were gentle; for he had sworn in his heart that the Count should
not escape.
But the Count cared as little for the presence of the Princess as he had
for her dignity, her honour, or her life: and now that she was no longer
wholly at his mercy, but there was a new chance that she might escape,
his rage and the fear of exposure lashed him to fury, and, without more
talking, he made at the Bishop, crying:
"You first, and then her! I'll be rid of the pair of you?"
The Bishop faced him, standing between Princess Osra and his assault,
while she shrank back a little, sheltering herself behind the heavy
door. For although she had been ready to die without fear, yet the sight
of men fighting frightened her, and she veiled her face with her hands,
and waited in dread to hear the sound of their swords clashing. But the
Bishop looked very happy, and, setting his hat on his head with a jaunty
air, he stood on guard. For ten years or more he had not used his sword,
but the secret of its mastery seemed to revive, fresh and clear in his
mind, and let his soul say what it would, his body rejoiced to be at the
exercise again, so that his blood kindled and his eyes gleamed in the
glee of strife. Thus he stepped forward, guarding himself, and thus he
met the Count's impetuous onset; he neither flinched nor gave back, but
finding himself holding his own, he pressed on and on, not violently
attacking and yet never resting, and turning every thrust with a wrist
of iron. And while Osra now gazed with wide eyes and close-held breath,
and Count Nikolas muttered oaths and grew more furious, the Bishop
seemed as gay as when he talked to the King, more gaily, may be, than
Bishops should. Again his eye danced as in the days when he had been
called the wildest of the Hentzaus. And still he drove Count Nikolas
back and back.
Now behind the Count was a window, which he himself had caused to be
enlarged and made low and wide, in order that he might look from it over
the surrounding country; in time of war it was covered with a close and
strong iron grating. But now the grating was off and the window open,
and beneath the window was a fall of fifty feet or hard upon it into the
moat below. The Count, looking into the Bishop's face, and seeing him
smile, suddenly recollected the window, and fancied it was the Bishop's
design to drive him on to it so that he could give back no more; and,
since he knew by now that the Bishop was his master with the sword, a
despairing rage settled upon him; determining to die swiftly, since die
he must, he rushed forward, making a desperate lunge at his enemy. But
the Bishop parried the lunge, and, always seeming to be about to run the
Count through the body, again forced him to retreat till his back was
close to the opening of the window. Here Nikolas stood, his eyes glaring
like a madman's; then a sudden devilish smile spread over his face.
"Will you yield yourself, my lord?" cried the Bishop, putting a
restraint on the wicked impulse to kill the man, and lowering his point
for an instant.
[Illustration: "HE DROVE HIS SWORD INTO HIS BODY, AND THE COUNT GAVE
BACK BEFORE IT."--_Page 165_]
In that short moment the Count made his last throw; for all at once, as
it seemed, and almost in one motion, he thrust and wounded the Bishop in
the left side of his body, high in the chest near the shoulder, and,
though the wound was slight, the blood flowed freely; then drawing back
his sword, he seized it by the blade half-way up and flung it like a
javelin at the Princess, who stood still by the door, breathlessly
watching the fight. By an ace it missed her head, and it pinned a tress
of her hair to the door and quivered deep-set in the wood of the door.
When the Bishop of Modenstein saw this, hesitation and mercy passed out
of his heart, and though the man had now no weapon, he thought of
sparing him no more than he would have spared any cruel and savage
beast, but he drove his sword into his body, and the Count, not being
able to endure the thrust without flinching, against his own will gave
back before it. Then came from his lips a loud cry of dismay and
despair; for at the same moment that the sword was in him he, staggering
back, fell wounded to death through the open window. The Bishop looked
out after him, and Princess Osra heard the sound of a great splash in
the water of the moat below; for very horror she sank against the door,
seeming to be held up more by the sword that had pinned her hair than by
her own strength. Then came up through the window, from which the Bishop
still looked with a strange smile, the clatter of a hundred feet,
running to the gate of the Castle. The bridge was let down; the confused
sound of many men talking, of whispers, of shouts, and of cries of
horror, mounted up through the air. For the Count's men in the hall also
had heard the splash, and run out to see what it was, and there they
beheld the body of their master, dead in the moat; their eyes were wide
open, and they could hardly lay their tongues to the words as they
pointed to the body and whispered to one another, very low: "The Bishop
has killed him--the Bishop has killed him." But the Bishop saw them from
the window, and leant out, crying:
"Yes, I have killed him. So perish all such villains!"
When they looked up, and saw in the moonlight the Bishop's face, they
were amazed. But he hastily drew his head in, so that they might not see
him any more. For he knew that his face had been fierce, and exultant,
and joyful. Then, dropping his sword, he ran across to the Princess; he
drew the Count's sword, which was wet with his own blood, out of the
door, releasing the Princess's hair; and, seeing that she was very
faint, he put his arm about her, and led her to the couch; she sank upon
it, trembling and white as her white gown, and murmuring: "Fearful,
fearful!" and she clutched his arm, and for a long while she would not
let him go; and her eyes were fixed on the Count's sword that lay on the
floor by the entrance of the little room.
"Courage, madame," said the Bishop softly. "All danger is past. The
villain is dead, and you are with the most devoted of your servants."
"Yes, yes," she said, and pressed his arm and shivered. "Is he really
dead?"
"He is dead. God have mercy on him," said the Bishop.
"And you killed him?"
"I killed him. If it were a sin, pray God forgive me!"
Up through the window still came the noise of voices and the stir of men
moving; for they were recovering the body of the Count from the moat;
yet neither Osra nor the Bishop noticed any longer what was passing; he
was intent on her, and she seemed hardly yet herself; but suddenly,
before he could interpose, she threw herself off the couch and on to her
knees in front of him, and, seizing hold of his hand, she kissed first
the episcopal ring that he wore and then his hand. For he was both
Bishop and a gallant gentleman, and a kiss she gave him for each; and
after she had kissed his hand, she held it in both of hers as though for
safety's sake she clung to it. But he raised her hastily, crying to her
not to kneel before him, and, throwing away his hat, he knelt before
her, kissing her hands many times. She seemed now recovered from her
bewilderment and terror; for as she looked down on him kneeling, she was
half-way between tears and smiles, and with curving lips but wet shining
eyes, she said very softly:
"Ah, my lord, who made a bishop of you?" And her cheeks grew in an
instant from dead white into sudden red, and her hand moved over his
head as if she would fain have touched him with it. And she bent down
ever so little towards him. Yet, perhaps, it was nothing; any lady, who
had seen how he bore himself, and knew that it was in her cause, for her
honour and life, might well have done the same.
The Bishop of Modenstein made no immediate answer; his head was still
bowed over her hand, and after a while he kissed her hand again; and he
felt her hand press his. Then, suddenly, as though in alarm, she drew
her hand away, and he let it go easily. Then he raised his eyes and met
the glance of hers, and he smiled; and Osra also smiled. For an instant
they were thus. Then the Bishop rose to his feet, and he stood before
her with bent head and eyes that sought the ground in becoming humility.
"It is by God's infinite goodness and divine permission that I hold my
sacred office." said he. "I would that I were more worthy of it! But
to-day I have taken pleasure in the killing of a man."
"And in the saving of a lady, sir," she added softly, "who will ever
count you among her dearest friends and the most gallant of her
defenders. Is God angry at such a deed as that?"
"May He forgive us all our sins," said the Bishop gravely; but what
other sins he had in his mind he did not say, nor did the Princess ask
him.
Then he gave her his arm, and they two walked together down the stairs
into the hall; the Bishop, having forgotten both his hat and his sword,
was bare-headed and had no weapon in his hand. The Count's men were all
collected in the hall, being crowded round a table that stood by the
wall; for on the table lay the body of Count Nikolas of Festenburg, and
it was covered with a horse-cloth that one of the servants had thrown
over it. But when the men saw the Princess and the Bishop, they made way
for them and stood aside, bowing low as they passed.
"You bow now," said Osra, "but, before, none of you would lift a finger
for me. To my lord the Bishop alone do I owe my life; and he is a
Churchman, while you were free to fight for me. For my part, I do not
envy your wives such husbands;" and with a most scornful air she passed
between their ranks, taking great and ostentatious care not to touch one
of them even with the hem of her gown. At this they grew red and
shuffled on their feet; and one or two swore under their breath, and
thanked God their wives were not such shrews, being indeed very much
ashamed of themselves, and very uneasy at thinking what these same wives
of theirs would say to them when the thing came to be known. But Osra
and the Bishop passed over the bridge, and he set her on his horse. The
summer morning had just dawned, clear and fair, so that the sun caught
her ruddy hair as she mounted in her white gown. But the Bishop took the
bridle of the horse and led it at a foot's pace down the hill and into
the town.
Now by this time the news of what had chanced had run all through the
town, and the people were out in the streets, gossiping and guessing.
And when they saw the Princess Osra safe and sound and smiling, and the
Bishop in his shirt--for he had given his cloak to her--leading the
horse, they broke into great cheering. The men cheered the Princess,
while the women thrust themselves to the front rank of the crowd, and
blessed the Bishop of Modenstein. But he walked with his head down and
his eyes on the ground, and would not look up, even when the women cried
out in great fear and admiration on seeing that his shirt was stained
with his blood and with the blood of Nikolas of Festenburg that had
spurted out upon it. But one thing the Princess heard, which sent her
cheeks red again; for a buxom girl glanced merrily at her, and made bold
to say in a tone that the Princess could not but hear:
[Illustration: "HE WALKED WITH HIS HEAD DOWN AND HIS EYES ON THE
GROUND."--_Page 171._]
"By the Saints, here's waste! If he were not a Churchman, now!" And her
laughing eye travelled from the Princess to him, and back to the
Princess again.
"Shall we go a little faster?" whispered Osra, bending down to the
Bishop. But the girl only thought that she whispered something else, and
laughed the more.
At last they passed the town, and with a great crowd still following
them, came to the Castle. At the gate of it the Bishop stopped and aided
the Princess to alight. Again he knelt and kissed her hand, saying only:
"Madame, farewell!"
"Farewell, my lord," said Osra softly; and she went hastily into the
Castle, while the Bishop returned to his inn in the town, and though the
people stood round the inn the best part of the day, calling and
watching for him, he would not shew himself.
In the evening of that day the King, having heard the tidings of the
crime of Count Nikolas, came in furious haste with a troop of horse from
Strelsau. And when he heard how Osra had played at dice with the Count,
and staking herself against the Castle of Zenda had won it back, he was
ashamed, and swore an oath that he would play dice no more, which oath
he faithfully observed. But in the morning of the next day he went to
Festenburg, where he flogged soundly every man who had not run away
before his coming; and all the possessions of Count Nikolas he
confiscated, and he pulled down the Castle of Festenburg, and filled up
the moat that had run round its walls.
Then he sent for the Bishop of Modenstein, and thanked him, offering to
him all the demesne of Count Nikolas; but the Bishop would not accept
it, nor any mark of the King's favour, not even the Order of the Red
Rose. Therefore the King granted the ground on which the Castle stood,
and all the lands belonging to it, to Francis of Tarlenheim,
brother-in-law to the wife of Prince Henry, who built the _château_
which now stands there and belongs to the same family to this day.
But the Bishop of Modenstein, having been entertained by the King with
great splendour for two days, would not stay longer, but set out to
pursue his journey, clad now in his ecclesiastical garments. And
Princess Osra sat by her window, leaning her head on her hand, and
watching him till the trees of the forest hid him; and once, when he was
on the edge of the forest, he turned his face for an instant, and looked
back at her where she sat watching in the window. Thus he went to
Strelsau; and when he was come there, he sent immediately for his
confessor, and the confessor, having heard him, laid upon him a severe
penance, which he performed with great zeal, exactness, and contrition.
But whether the penance were for killing Count Nikolas of Festenburg
(which in a layman, at least, would have seemed but a venial sin) or for
what else, who shall say?