"General, to horse!" cried Tonto; "let us go."
Bayonet quitted the room to give the needful orders. When he was gone,
Charming looked at Tonto and said: "No, I will not go. I do not
understand my feelings; I abhor myself. I am not afraid of death; I am
going to kill myself; nevertheless, I will not fight."
"Sire," said Tonto, "in Heaven's name, summon up your courage. To
horse! Great God!" he exclaimed, wringing his hands, "the prince will
not listen to me; we are lost. Come!" said he, taking hold of
Charming's cloak; "up, sire; to horse, unhappy prince! Save your
kingdom--save your people--save all that love you. Coward! look at me;
I am nothing but a child, yet I am about to die for you. Fight! do not
disgrace yourself. If you do not rise I will insult you--I, your
servant. You are a coward--do you hear? a coward!"
And behold! the insolent page boxed the king's ears.
"S'death!" cried Charming, drawing his sword. "Before dying I will
have the pleasure of punishing one subject, at least."
But the page had left the tent. With one bound he sprang into the
saddle and galloped toward the enemy, sword in hand, crying, "The
king! my friends--the king! Sound the trumpets! Forward!"
Charming, mad with anger, spurred his horse in pursuit of the page:
like a bull at the sight of a red flag, he rushed forward, head
downward, caring neither for death nor for danger. Bayonet rushed
after the king, and the army after the general. It was the finest
cavalry charge ever known in history.
At the noise of the squadrons, which shook the ground like thunder,
the enemy, surprised, scarcely had time to form in line of battle. One
man, however, had recognized the king--the infamous Wieduwillst.
Charming was alone; wholly absorbed in his vengeance, he saw nothing
but the page whom he was pursuing. The traitor threw himself on the
prince, sword in hand, and would have slain him at one stroke had not
Tonto, plunging his spurs into the flanks of his horse, made the
animal rear and fall on Wieduwillst. The page received the blow
intended for his master. He threw up his arms and fell with a loud
cry; but his fall, at least, was avenged. The king thrust his sword
into the throat of the treacherous physician, and drew it forth,
dripping with blood, not without pleasure. Man is decidedly the king
of wild beasts.
The traitor's death decided the fate of the day. The royal army,
electrified by the heroism of its leader, soon dispersed the
straggling battalions. The rebels, having nothing more to hope, sued
for pardon, and their prayer was granted by the happy and clement
king.
An hour after quitting the camp where he had wished to die, Charming
returned in triumph, bringing with him conquerors and conquered, all
blended in the same ranks, the former loudly protesting their loyalty,
the latter overpowering them with their enthusiasm. Nothing sharpens
devotion so much as a little treason.
X
IN WHICH WE SEE THAT IT IS WRONG TO JUDGE ACCORDING
TO APPEARANCES, AND THAT TONTO WAS NOT TONTO
The king entered his tent to rest a moment, when the sight of
Rachimburg reminded him of Tonto.
"Is the page dead?" he asked.
"No, sire," answered Rachimburg; "unfortunately for him, he is still
living; he is hopeless. I ordered him carried to his aunt's, the
Countess de Castro's, close by here."
"Is he the countess's nephew?" said the king. "I was never told of
it."
"Your Majesty has forgotten it," replied Rachimburg, quietly. "The
poor child is fatally wounded in the shoulder; he cannot recover. It
would give him great happiness could he see Your Majesty before he
dies."
"Very well," returned the king; "lead me to him."
On his arrival at the castle Charming was met by the countess, who
conducted him to a darkened room. The page was stretched, pale and
bleeding, on a couch; nevertheless, he had strength to raise his head
and welcome the king.
"What a miracle!" exclaimed Charming. "This is the strangest wound
that I ever saw in my life: one side of Tonto's mustache is gone!"
"Sire," said the countess, "the blade of the sword probably swept off
one side. Nothing is so capricious as sword wounds, as every one
knows."
"How strange!" cried the king. "On one side it is Tonto, my page, my
insolent subject, and on the other it is--no, I am not mistaken--it is
you, my good angel and my savior; it is you, my poor Pazza!"
He fell on his knees and seized her hand, which lay on the coverlet.
"Sire," said Pazza, "my days are numbered, but before dying--"
"No, no, Pazza, you shall not die," cried the king, in tears.
"Before dying," she added, casting down her eyes, "I hope that Your
Majesty will forgive me the box on the ear which I gave you this
morning in indiscreet zeal--"
"Enough," said the king; "I forgive you. After all, a throne and honor
were well worth--what I received."
"Alas!" said Pazza, "that is not all."
"What!" exclaimed Charming, "is there anything more?"
"Oh, sire, what have you done?" cried the countess; "my child is
dying!"
"My Pazza, you must not die!" exclaimed the king. "Speak, and be sure
that I forgive in advance all you have done. Alas! it is I that have
need of forgiveness."
"Sire, the little doctor who took the liberty of boxing Your Majesty's
ears--"
"Was it you that sent him?" asked Charming, with a frown.
"No, sire, I myself was he. Ah, what would I not have done to save my
king! It was I who, to save Your Majesty from the traitorous knaves
that surrounded you, took the liberty of boxing your ears--"
"Enough," said Charming; "I forgive you, though the lesson was a harsh
one."
"Alas! this is not all," said Pazza.
"What, more?" cried the king, rising.
"Oh, aunt, I am dying!" exclaimed Pazza. By dint of care, however, she
was restored to life; and, turning her languishing eyes toward the
king, "Sire," said she, "the gipsy girl at the masked ball, who dared
to box your ears--"
"Was yourself, Pazza?" said charming. "Oh, I forgive you for that; I
well deserved it. How could I doubt you, who are sincerity itself!
But, now I think of it, do you remember the rash vow that you made on
the night of our marriage? You have kept your promise; it is for me to
keep mine. Pazza, make haste to recover, and return to the castle from
which happiness fled with you."
"I have a last favor to ask of Your Majesty," said Pazza. "Rachimburg
was the witness this morning of a scene for which I blush, and of
which all must remain ignorant. I commend this faithful servant to
your goodness."
"Rachimburg," said the king, "take this purse, and keep the secret
under penalty of your head."
"That makes the fourth," whispered Rachimburg to himself; "my fortune
is made."
In a few moments Pazza was asleep. "Do you think that she will
recover?" asked Charming, anxiously, of the countess.
"Bah!" said the old lady. "No matter how ill a woman may be, happiness
will bring her back from the brink of the grave. Kiss the queen, my
nephew; it will do her more good than all the doctors in the world."
Charming stooped and kissed the sleeping Pazza. An angelic smile
stole over her features, at the sight of which he wept like a child.
XI
A WIFE SHOULD OBEY HER HUSBAND
The countess was right (women are always right--past sixty). A
fortnight of happiness set Pazza on her feet again, and enabled her to
make a triumphant entry into the city with the king, her husband. Her
paleness, and her wounded arm, which she carried in a sling, added to
her grace and beauty. Charming had eyes for no one but the queen, and
the people's looks followed the king's.
They were more than an hour in reaching the castle. The magistrates
had erected not less than three triumphal arches, frowning fortresses,
defended each by thirty-six deputations and thirty-six speeches. The
first arch, made of trellis-work, and adorned with leaves and flowers,
bore the inscription,
TO THE MOST TENDER AND FAITHFUL OF HUSBANDS
This was intrusted to the keeping of five or six thousand young girls,
dressed in white, with pink ribbons, representing the spring of the
year, the hope of the future, welcoming Glory and Beauty.
The second arch, more solidly built, was a frame covered with
tapestry, surmounted by Justice, with her eyes bandaged and her scales
in her hand.
On the pedestal of the statue was written,
TO THE FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE,
THE BEST AND WISEST OF PRINCES
A host of priests, statesmen, and magistrates, in robes of all colors,
represented Religion, Wisdom, and Virtue; at least so said these
venerable and discreet personages, who are never in error.
Last came an immense arch, a true military trophy, bearing as its
motto,
TO THE BOLDEST AND MOST VALIANT OF KINGS
Here the army awaited its general, and the queen was saluted by the
majestic voice of a hundred cannon and two hundred drums--a voice
before which all human eloquence falters, and which always has the
last word.
I spare you a description of the dinner, which was interminable, and
of sixty more speeches from the court gazette, where they had already
done service two or three times, and wherein they were again deposited
for the use of future generations. There is nothing so monotonous as
happiness, and we must be indulgent to those who sing its praises
officially. In such cases, the ablest is he who says the least.
The long evening, during which the king had lavished his most gracious
smiles on those whom he despised at the bottom of his heart, was at
length at an end, and Charming led Pazza, no longer to a dungeon, but
to a magnificent apartment, where a new surprise awaited her. At the
bottom of the room was an illuminated transparency, on which were
written lines so bad that a king alone could have been the author of
them. These lines, which were published in the official gazette, have
been handed down to us by one of those indiscreet persons who suffer
no follies of the past to be lost. Such persons are the rag-pickers of
history.
Ye indolent dunces, who rust in your sloth,
Too lazy or wilful to learn;
Ye courtiers, who crowd round the king, nothing loth
By base flattery his favor to earn;
Ye doctors, who laugh at us cowards, and sell
Long words and wise oracles dear--
Beware lest some night a mischievous sprite
Should give you a box on the ear.
And you, ye proud husbands, puffed up with conceit,
Who deem yourselves statesmen so wise
That the whole world admiringly bows at your feet--
Who truth, love, and goodness despise--
Beware lest some day your less frivolous wives,
Derided by those they held dear,
Should start from your side, aroused by just pride,
And give you a box on the ear.
"What means this enigma, sire?" asked Pazza.
"It means that I do myself justice," answered the king. "I am nothing
except through you, dear Pazza; all that I know and all that I think I
owe to you. Without you I am nothing but a soulless body, fit only for
follies."
"Pardon me if I contradict Your Majesty," said Pazza.
"Oh," returned the king, "I affect no false modesty; I know very well
that I have the clearest head of any in my council; my ministers
themselves are forced to acknowledge it, for they are always of my
opinion; but with all this there is more wisdom in your little finger
than in all my royal brain. My resolution, therefore, is fixed. Let my
court and people celebrate my wisdom, my goodness, and even my valor;
it is all very well, and I accept the homage. You alone have the right
to laugh at it, and you will not betray me. But from this day I
abandon my power to you. The king, my dear Pazza, will be only the
chief of your subjects, the faithful minister of your will. You shall
write the piece and I will play it; the applause will be mine,
according to custom, and I will give it back to you by force of love."
"Do not talk in this way, my dear," said Pazza.
"I know what I am saying," returned the king, warmly. "I wish you to
rule; I mean that in my empire, as in my house, nothing shall be done
except by your command; I am the master and the king; I desire and
order it."
"Sire," said Pazza, "I am your wife and servant; it is my duty to
obey."
After this, says the chronicle, they lived happily to a good old age,
beloved by all their subjects; and the people of the kingdom of Wild
Oats still talk of the good old days of Prince Charming and the
Princess Pazza.
THE END