It was in the spring of the year that Ludwig, Prince of Glottenberg,
came courting the Princess Osra; for his father had sought the most
beautiful lady of a royal house in Europe, and had found none to equal
Osra. Therefore the prince came to Strelsau with a great retinue, and
was lodged in the White Palace, which stood on the outskirts of the
city, where the public gardens now are (for the palace itself was
sacked and burnt by the people in the rising of 1848). Here Ludwig
stayed many days, coming every day to the king's palace to pay his
respects to the king and queen, and to make his court to the princess.
King Rudolf had received him with the utmost friendship, and was, for
reasons of state then of great moment, but now of vanished interest,
as eager for the match as was the King of Glottenberg himself; and he
grew very impatient with his sister when she hesitated to accept
Ludwig's hand, alleging that she felt for him no more than a kindly
esteem, and, what was as much to the purpose, that he felt no more for
her. For although the prince possessed most courteous and winning
manners, and was very accomplished both in learning and in exercises,
yet he was a grave and pensive young man, rather stately than jovial,
and seemed, in the princess's eyes (accustomed as they were to catch
and check ardent glances), to perform his wooing more as a duty of his
station than on the impulse of any passion. Finding in herself, also,
no such sweet ashamed emotions as had before now crossed her heart on
account of lesser men, she grew grave and troubled; and she said to
the king:
"Brother, is this love? For I had as lief he were away as here; and
when he is here he kisses my hand as though it were a statue's hand;
and--and I feel as though it were. They say you know what love is. Is
this love?"
"There are many forms of love," smiled the king. "This is such love as
a prince and a princess may most properly feel."
"I do not call it love at all," said Osra, with a pout.
When Prince Ludwig came next day to see her, and told her, with grave
courtesy, that his pleasure lay in doing her will, she broke out:
"I had rather it lay in watching my face;" and then, ashamed, she
turned away from him.
He seemed grieved and hurt at her words, and it was with a sigh that
he said: "My life shall be given to giving you joy."
She turned round on him with flushed cheek and trembling lips:
"Yes, but I had rather it were spent in getting joy from me."
He cast down his eyes a moment, and then, taking her hand, kissed it,
but she drew it away sharply; and so that afternoon they parted, he
back to his palace, she to her chamber, where she sat, asking again:
"Is this love?" and crying: "He does not know love;" and pausing, now
and again, before her mirror, to ask her pictured face why it would
not unlock the door of love.
On another day she would be merry, or feign merriment, rallying him on
his sombre air and formal compliments, professing that for her part
she soon grew weary of such wooing, and loved to be easy and merry;
for thus she hoped to sting him, so that he would either disclose more
warmth, or forsake altogether his pursuit. But he made many apologies,
blaming nature that had made him grave, but assuring her of his deep
affection and respect.
"Affection and respect!" murmured Osra, with a little toss of her
head. "Oh, that I had not been born a princess!" And yet, though she
did not love him, she thought him a very noble gentleman, and trusted
to his honor and sincerity in everything. Therefore, when he still
persisted, and Rudolf and the queen urged her, telling her (the king
mockingly, the queen with a touch of sadness) that she must not look
to find in the world such love as romantic girls dreamt of, at last
she yielded, and she told her brother that she would marry Prince
Ludwig, yet for a little while she would not have the news proclaimed.
So Rudolf went, alone and privately, to the White Palace, and said to
Ludwig:
"Cousin, you have won the fairest lady in the world. Behold, her
brother says it!"
Prince Ludwig bowed low, and, taking the king's hand, pressed it,
thanking him for his help and approval, and expressing himself as most
grateful for the boon of the princess's favor.
"And will you not come with me and find her?" cried the king, with a
merry look.
"I have urgent business now," answered Ludwig. "Beg the princess to
forgive me. This afternoon I will crave the honor of waiting on her
with my humble gratitude."
King Rudolf looked at him, a smile curling on his lips; and he said,
in one of his gusts of impatience:
"By heaven! is there another man in the world who would talk about
gratitude, and business, and the afternoon, when Osra of Strelsau sat
waiting for him?"
"I mean no discourtesy," protested Ludwig, taking the king's arm and
glancing at him with most friendly eyes. "Indeed, dear friend, I am
rejoiced and honored. But this business of mine will not wait."
So the king, frowning and grumbling and laughing, went back alone, and
told the princess that the happy wooer was most grateful, and would
come, after his business was transacted, that afternoon. But Osra,
having given her hand, would now admit no fault in the man she had
chosen, and thanked the king for the message, with great dignity. Then
the king came to her, and, sitting down by her, stroked her hair,
saying softly:
"You have had many lovers, sister Osra, and now comes a husband."
"Yes, now a husband," she murmured, catching swiftly at his hand; and
her voice was half caught in a sudden sob.
"So goes the world--our world," said the king, knitting his brows and
seeming to fall for a moment into a sad reverie.
"I am frightened," she whispered. "Should I be frightened if I loved
him?"
"I have been told so," said the king, smiling again. "But the fear has
a way of being mastered then." And he drew her to him, and gave her a
hearty brother's kiss, telling her to take heart. "You'll thaw the
fellow yet," said the king, "though I grant you he is icy enough." For
the king himself had been by no means what he called an icy man.
But Osra was not satisfied, and sought to assuage the pain of her
heart by adorning herself most carefully for the prince's coming,
hoping to fire him to love. For she thought that if he loved she
might, although since he did not she could not. And surely he did not,
or all the tales of love were false! Thus she came to receive him very
magnificently arrayed. There was a flush on her cheek, and an
uncertain, expectant, fearful look in her eyes; and thus she stood
before him, as he fell on his knee and kissed her hand. Then he rose,
and declared his thanks, and promised his devotion; but as he spoke
the flush faded, and the light died from her eyes; and when at last he
drew near to her, and offered to kiss her cheek, her eyes were dead,
and her face pale and cold as she suffered him to touch it. He was
content to touch it but once, and seemed not to know how cold it was;
and so, after more talk of his father's pleasure and his pride, he
took his leave, promising to come again the next day. She ran to the
window when the door was closed on him, and thence watched him mount
his horse and ride away slowly, with his head bent and his eyes
downcast; yet he was a noble gentleman, stately and handsome, kind and
true. The tears came suddenly into her eyes and blurred her sight as
she leant watching from behind the hanging curtains of the window.
Though she dashed them angrily away, they came again, and ran down her
pale, cold cheeks, mourning the golden vision that seemed gone without
fulfilment.
That evening there came a gentleman from the Prince of Glottenberg,
carrying most humble excuses from his master, who (so he said) was
prevented from waiting on the princess the next day by a certain very
urgent affair that took him from Strelsau, and would keep him absent
from the city all day long; and the gentleman delivered to Osra a
letter from the prince, full of graceful and profound apologies, and
pleading an engagement that his honor would not let him break; for
nothing short of that, said he, should have kept him from her side.
There followed some lover's phrases, scantily worded, and frigid in an
assumed passion. But Osra smiled graciously, and sent back a message,
readily accepting all that the prince urged in excuse. And she told
what had passed to the king, with her head high in the air, and a
careless haughtiness, so that even the king did not rally her, nor yet
venture to comfort her, but urged her to spend the next day in riding
with the queen and him; for they were setting out for Zenda, where the
king was to hunt in the forest, and she could ride some part of the
way with them, and return in the evening. And she, wishing that she
had sent first to the prince, to bid him not come, agreed to go with
her brother; it was better far to go than to wait at home for a lover
who would not come.
Thus, the next morning, they rode out, the king and queen with their
retinue, the princess attended by one of her guard, named Christian
Hantz, who was greatly attached to her, and most jealous in praise and
admiration of her. This fellow had taken on himself to be very angry
with Prince Ludwig's coldness, but dared say nothing of it. Yet,
impelled by his anger, he had set himself to watch the prince very
closely; and thus he had, as he conceived, discovered something that
brought a twinkle into his eye and a triumphant smile to his lips as
he rode behind the princess. Some fifteen miles she accompanied her
brother, and then, turning with Christian, took another road back to
the city. Alone she rode, her mind full of sad thoughts; while
Christian, behind, still wore his malicious smile. But, presently,
although she had not commanded him, he quickened his pace, and came up
to her side, relying on the favor which she always showed him, for
excuse.
"Well, Christian," said she, "have you something to say to me?"
For answer he pointed to a small house that stood among the trees,
some way from the road, and he said:
"If I were Ludwig and not Christian, yet I would be here where
Christian is, and not there where Ludwig is." And he pointed still at
the house.
She faced round on him in anger at his daring to speak to her of the
prince, but he was a bold fellow, and would not be silenced now that
he had begun to speak. He knew also that she would bear much from him;
so he leant over towards her, saying:
"By your bounty, madam, I have money, and he who has money can get
knowledge. So I know that the prince is there. For fifty pounds I
gained a servant of his, and he told me."
"I do not know why you should spy on the prince," said Osra, "and I do
not care to know where the prince is." And she touched her horse with
the spur, and cantered fast forward, leaving the little house behind.
But Christian persisted, partly in a foolish grudge against any man
who should win what was above his reach, partly in an honest anger
that she whom his worshipped should be treated lightly by another; and
he forced her to hear what he had learnt from the gossip of the
prince's groom, telling it to her in hints and half-spoken sentences,
yet so plainly that she could not miss the drift of it. She rode the
faster towards Strelsau, at first answering nothing; but at last she
turned upon him fiercely, saying that he told a lie, and that she knew
it was a lie, since she knew where the prince was and what business
had taken him away; and she commanded Christian to be silent, and to
speak neither to her nor to any one else of his false suspicions; and
she bade him, very harshly, to fall back and ride behind her again,
which he did, sullen, yet satisfied; for he knew that his arrow had
gone home. On she rode, with her cheeks aflame and her heart beating,
until she came to Strelsau, and having arrived at the palace, ran to
her own bedroom and flung herself on the bed.
Here for an hour she lay; then, it being about six o'clock, she sat
up, pushing her disordered hair back from her hot, aching brow. For an
agony of humiliation came upon her, and a fury of resentment against
the prince, whose coldness seemed now to need no more explanation. Yet
she could hardly believe what she had been told of him; for, though
she had not loved him, she had accorded to him her full trust. Rising,
she paced in pain about the room. She could not rest, and she cried
out in longing that her brother were there to aid her, and find out
the truth for her. But he was away, and she had none to whom she could
turn. So she strove to master her anger and endure her suspense till
the next day; but they were too strong for her, and she cried: "I will
go myself. I cannot sleep till I know. But I cannot go alone. Who will
go with me?" And she knew of none, for she would not take Christian
with her, and she shrank from speaking of the matter to any of the
gentlemen of the court. And yet she must know. But at last she sprang
up from the chair into which she had sunk despondently, exclaiming:
"He is a gentleman and my friend. He will go with me." And she sent
hastily for the Bishop of Modenstein, who was then in Strelsau,
bidding him come dressed for riding, and with a sword, and the best
horse in his stable. And the bishop came equipped as she bade him and
in very great wonder. But when she told him what she wanted, and what
Christian had made known to her, he grew grave, saying that they must
wait and consult the king when he returned.
"I will not wait an hour," she cried. "I cannot wait an hour."
"Then I will ride, and bring you word. You must not go," he urged.
"Nay; if I go alone, I will go," said she. "Yes, I will go, and myself
fling his falseness in his teeth."
Finding her thus resolved, the bishop knew that he could not turn her;
so, leaving her to prepare herself, he sought Christian Hantz, and
charged him to bring three horses to the most private gate of the
palace, that opened in a little by-street. Here Christian waited for
them with the horses, and they came presently, the bishop wearing a
great slouched hat, and swaggering like a roystering trooper, while
Osra was closely veiled. The bishop again imposed secrecy on
Christian, and then, they both being mounted, said to Osra: "If you
will, then, madam, come;" and thus they rode secretly out of the
city, about seven o'clock in the evening, the gate-wardens opening the
gates at sight of the royal arms on Osra's ring, which she gave to the
bishop in order that he might show it.
In silence they rode a long way, going at a great speed. Osra's face
was set and rigid, for she felt now no shame at herself for going, nor
any fear of what she might find. But the injury to her pride swallowed
every other feeling, and at last she said, in short, sharp words, to
the Bishop of Modenstein, having suddenly thrown the veil back from
her face:
"He shall not live, if it prove true."
The bishop shook his head. His profession was peace; yet his blood,
also, was hot against the man who had put a slight on Princess Osra.
"The king must know of it," he said.
"The king? The king is not here tonight," said Osra; and she pricked
her horse, and set him at a gallop. The moon, breaking suddenly in
brightness from behind a cloud, showed the bishop her face. Then she
put out her hand, and caught him by the arm, whispering: "Are you my
friend?"
"Yes, madam," said he. She knew well that he was her friend.
"Kill him for me, then! Kill him for me!"
"I cannot kill him," said the bishop. "I pray God it may prove
untrue."
"You are not my friend if you will not kill him," said Osra; and she
turned her face away, and rode yet more quickly.
[Illustration: "KILL HIM FOR ME, THEN! KILL HIM FOR ME!"]
At last they came in sight of the little house that stood back from
the road, and there was a light in one of the upper windows. The
bishop heard a short gasp break from Osra's lips, and she pointed with
her whip to the window. Now his own breath came quick and fast, and he
prayed to God that he might remember his sacred character and his
vows, and not be led into great and deadly sin at the bidding of that
proud, bitter face; and he clenched his left hand, and struck his brow
with it.
Thus, then, they came to the gate of the avenue of trees that led to
the house. Here, having dismounted, and tied their horses to the
gatepost, they stood an instant, and Osra again veiled her face.
"Let me go alone, madam," he implored.
"Give me your sword, and I will go alone," she answered.
"Here, then, is the path," said the bishop; and he led the way by the
moonlight that broke fitfully here and there through the trees.
"He swore that all his life should be mine," she whispered. "Yet I
knew that he did not love me."
The bishop made her no answer; she looked for none, and did not know
that she spoke the bitterness of her heart in words that he could
hear. He bowed his head, and prayed again for her and for himself; for
he had found his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. And thus, side
by side now, they came to the door of the house, and saw a gentleman
standing in front of the door, still but watchful. And Osra knew that
he was the prince's chamberlain.
When the chamberlain saw them he started violently, and clapped a hand
to his sword; but Osra flung her veil on the ground, and the bishop
gripped his arm as with a vise. The chamberlain looked at Osra and at
the bishop, and half drew his sword.
"This matter is too great for you, sir," said the bishop. "It is a
quarrel of princes. Stand aside!" And before the chamberlain could
make up his mind what to do, Osra had passed by him, and the bishop
had followed her.
Finding themselves in a narrow passage, they made out, by the dim
light of a lamp, a flight of stairs that rose from the farthest end of
it. The bishop tried to pass the princess, but she motioned him back,
and walked swiftly to the stairs. In silent speed they mounted till
they had reached the top of the first stage; and facing them, eight or
ten steps farther up, was a door. By the door stood a groom. This was
the man who had treacherously told Christian of his master's doings;
but when he saw, suddenly, what had come of his disloyal chattering,
the fellow went white as a ghost, and came tottering in stealthy
silence down the stairs, his finger on his lips. Neither of them spoke
to him, nor he to them. They gave no thought to him; his only thought
was to escape as soon as he might; so he passed them, and, going on,
passed also the chamberlain, who stood dazed at the house door, and so
disappeared, intent on saving the life that he had justly forfeited.
Thus the rogue vanished, and what became of him no one knew nor cared.
He showed his face no more at Glottenberg or Strelsau.
"Hark! there are voices," whispered Osra to the bishop, raising her
hand above her head, as they two stood motionless.
The voices came from the door that faced them, the voice of a man and
the voice of a woman. Osra's glance at her companion told him that she
knew as well as he whose the man's voice was.
"It is true, then," she breathed from between her teeth. "My God, it
is true!"
The woman's voice spoke now, but the words were not audible. Then came
the prince's: "Forever, in life or death, apart or together, forever."
But the woman's answer came no more in words, but in deep, low,
passionate sobs, that struck their ears like the distant cry of some
brute creature in pain that it cannot understand. Yet Osra's face was
stern and cold, and her lips curled scornfully when she saw the
bishop's look of pity.
"Come, let us end it," said she; and with a firm step she began to
mount the stairs that lay between them and the door.
Yet once again they paused outside the door, for it seemed as though
the princess could not choose but listen to the passionate words of
love that pierced her ears like knives. Yet they were all sad,
speaking of renunciation, not happiness. But at last she heard her own
name; then, with a sudden start, she caught the bishop's hands, for
she could not listen longer. And she staggered and reeled as she
whispered to him: "The door, the door--open the door!"
The bishop, his right hand being across his body and resting on the
hilt of his sword, laid his left upon the handle of the door and
turned it. Then he flung the door wide open; and at that instant Osra
sprang past him, her eyes gleaming like flames from her dead-white
face. And she stood rigid on the threshold of the room, with the
bishop by her side.
[Illustration: "IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM STOOD THE PRINCE OF
GLOTTENBERG; AND ... CLINGING TO HIM ... WAS A GIRL OF SLIGHT AND SLENDER
FIGURE."]
In the middle of the room stood the Prince of Glottenberg; and
strained in a close embrace, clinging to him, supported by his arms,
with head buried in his breast, was a girl of slight and slender
figure, graceful, though not tall; and her body was still shaken by
continual, struggling sobs. The prince held her there as though
against the world, but raised his head, and looked at the intruders
with a grave, sad air. There was no shame on his face, and hardly
surprise. Presently he took one arm from about the lady, and, raising
it, motioned to them to be still. Osra took one step forward toward
where the pair stood; the bishop caught her sleeve, but she shook him
off. The lady looked up into the prince's face; with a sudden,
startled cry clutched him closer, and turned a terrified face over her
shoulder. Then she moaned in great fear, and, reeling, fell against
the prince, and would have sunk to the ground if he had not upheld
her; and her eyes closed and her lips dropped as she swooned away. But
the princess smiled, and, drawing herself to her full height, stood
watching while Ludwig bore the lady to a couch and laid her there.
Then, when he came back and faced her, she asked coldly and slowly:
"Who is this woman, sir? Or is she one of those that have no names?"
The prince sprang forward, a sudden anger in his eyes; he raised his
hand as if he would have pressed it across her scornful mouth, and
kept back her bitter words. But she did not flinch; and, pointing at
him with her finger, she cried to the bishop, in a ringing voice:
"Kill him, my lord, kill him!"
And the sword of the Bishop of Modenstein was half-way out of the
scabbard.