Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 13

And thus we knelt together, clinging to King Djabel's robe and choked with sobs and tears, Did pray and plead, and plead and pray for long, But all in vain our pleading and our prayers, For dark as midnight grew King Djabel's brow, And stern his glance of cold and deep disdain, Saying: "Humblest thou thyself, O haughty don?

Methinks thou might'st have spared thyself the pains.

Rise from the dust. Thy prayers are but as the wind That blows against the granite mountain's side, Yet harms it not, nor will it budge an inch, E'en though it blow a hurricane. So I Remain unmoved by all thy puny prayers."

Stung to the quick, and rendered desperate, The haughty don with one bound sprang erect, And darting lightning flashes from his eye, Blus.h.i.+ng the while at having bent the knee, Humbling himself in vain, now cried aloud, "Have at thee, then, dark chief, for _one_ must die.

I fear thee not, and will not lose my hold Upon thy daughter, whom I love as life.

Give her me, an it please thee, but if not I'll wrest her from thee, so do thou thy worst."

Then straight the fray began. Each drew his blade And fell upon the other, whilst my tears And screams availed not, for the two were locked Firm in each other's grasp, and tugged and pulled In equal match, whilst I with streaming hair, Torn robe, and tearful eyes, did cry aloud For help in vain, till this poor frame, o'erwrought With multiplex emotions, did give way, And, swooning, I fell heavily at their feet, Grasping my father's garment in my fall.

The fight was stayed awhile, and each took breath.

"Look to your daughter, chieftain," were the first Words that I heard on wakening from my swoon.

And soon as e'er my tongue was loose, I cried, In accents feeble still, "Oh, father, stay This wicked brawl. Say, dost thou love thy child?"

With heaving breast and eyes suffused with tears, And choking sobs, I seized his hand, and cried, "Spare my young life. I love this Christian lord, An thou do aught to him, 'twill be my death.

Canst see thy darling wither, droop, and die, Or, stung to madness, seek a violent death?

Now mark well what I say, O most dread King.

Shouldst thou be guilty of this Senor's blood, Know me no more for daughter, for I vow Or him or none to wed, and should he fall, And by thy hand, I too will follow next.

The oath is sworn." Then from my father's eye A tear fell, which he brus.h.i.+ng soon away, As if he deemed it shame for man to weep, And changing to a lighter mood, he cried: "Girl, thou hast conquered. Christian knight, thy hand.

Let all broils cease between us. Thou hast fought And won my daughter fairly, showing courage Worthy a gipsy born. Therefore no more Will I withhold consent unto this match.

But, mark me well, Sir Knight, this marriage must Be, though clandestine, legally up-drawn, That no base shuffling subterfuge may e'er In after years crop up to thwart the bond."

Thus spake the king Djabel. My Christian knight Did vow upon his honour all should be Exact as nicest lawyer could require.

Alas, for human villainy! What snares And wiles beset the simple, trusting heart.

I loved him, and did lend a willing ear To all his schemes, spite my father's counsel, Suspecting nothing. What should I, poor child, Know of the world and all its hollowness?

But King Djabel, suspecting treachery E'en from the first, and well upon his guard-- For little trust he placed in Christian wight-- Did stand aloof, and watched things from afar.

"Now will I try the faith of this same knight,"

He said, and with a frankness ably feigned, He bid my lord take all things in _his_ hands, Saying he trusted him in all, but he, For his part, was a very simple man, Unskilled in the world's usances and all That appertains to life 'neath governments, 'Pon seeing which, the wily Christian lord Straight sought to profit by his innocence; Betray the hand that trusted him, and thought The dusky king, the dark barbarian, Would fall an easy prey into his hands.

Howbeit, King Djabel, like crafty foe, Though simple seeming, sent abroad his spies, Whilst he himself was absent. From these men-- Men whom he trusted--he was well informed That this proud don had formed the fell design That a false priest should join our hands together.

D. PAS. Villain!

GIP. Q. Thou speakest sooth, for villainy More base or perjured never sprang from h.e.l.l.

I thought he loved me, but I found too late He sought to spurn me from him soon as e'er His l.u.s.t was sated. So he straightway wrote To some base profligate and spendthrift friend Who owed him money, promising that he Would cancel all his debt and yet advance Another round sum, if, peradventure, He should so aid him in his h.e.l.lish plot As to enact the part of holy priest, And satisfy the claims of King Djabel, Whilst he himself should be no longer bound To me by law than it should seem him fit, E'en as I were but his base concubine.

You see, he loved me not, e'en from the first, Despite his protestations, since he could In base cold blood conceive such dire deceit.

But this I knew not at the time, nor all The foul devices of his reptile heart.

But fondly thinking that he loved me as I then loved him, I listened to his suit; Nor was I undeceived, till, ah! too late.

D. PAS. This is most monstrous! n.o.ble Queen, I vow Your sorrows move me to forget mine own.

I would I had the traitor by the throat, That I might show him once how I esteem Him and his villainy. Nay, 'tis a crime That calls aloud to Heaven for vengeance.

Thou art nought to me Queen, but yet I feel The wrong done towards thee e'en as though thou wert My own true flesh and blood. I'd do as much E'en wert thou thrice mine enemy. I swear That should this traitor ever cross my path, Or he or the false priest (I care not which-- Aye, both together, for 'tis nought to me), By Heaven I swear----

GIP. Q. Hold! Heaven's instruments Are ever preordained. Thou canst not move One single step; nay, more, not e'en thy pulse Could throb again but for the will of Heaven.

Leave him to Fate, for vengeance due will fall In time, and from that quarter Heaven wills.

D. PAS. True Queen, but tell me more, I fain would know, What said your royal sire King Djabel?

GIP. Q. Then list, and thou shalt hear how Djabel's spies Did intercept the lines that this false lord Wrote to his profligate and perjured friend, So that he received them not. But now mark What did my royal father? First he went To seek a Christian priest, long known to him, Albeit, unknown to this same haughty don; To him he showed the lines, and through his aid.

Was writ an answer to this foul epistle, As coming from the friend of this false lord.

This priest was father Miguel.

D. PAS. Ha! that name.

Why beats my heart as it ne'er throbbed before?

Say, what is this new light that bursts upon My whilom darkened soul? What power is this That stirs my thoughts within me? But proceed.

I must, and will know more. Proceed, O Queen.

My frame doth tremble in expectancy For thy next word. Tell me, oh, tell me if----

GIP. Q. (_Aside._) Already he doth divine what I would say; Be still, my heart, and give me strength to tell it.

(_Aloud._) This letter, then, by Father Miguel forged, Ran thus in substance. Making first excuse That sudden illness made him keep his bed, But though unable to oblige his friend, Did, ne'ertheless, not to disappoint him, (Hearing the case was urgent, and not knowing How long it might be e'er he should recover) He thought to do not wrong in sending one, A trusty friend and boon companion, One, Don Elviro hight, to act as proxy; This was the name that Father Miguel bore To mask his own. Then straightway he set forth T'wards the inn, from which the letter dated, The while my lord, who, reading in hot haste The letter through, and doubting not that he Were aught else than what the letter stated (To wit, Elviro, and no priest at all).

So sure was he of this, suspecting nought, He fondly welcomed him, and many a joke They cracked together o'er the heartless scheme.

Don Miguel acting well his part throughout With ribald jest, and oft full merrily Alluding to his tonsure newly shorn, Asked of his patron how he liked his garb, And if he did not look a priest indeed.

At this his lord laughed heartily, and thus Time pa.s.sed away till I should don the veil, And we were married before witnesses.

The ceremony over, all pa.s.sed o'er Right merrily, nor knows my lord e'en now, Not even to this day, that he is married.

D. PAS. Well done, by Heaven! And Father Miguel hail!

So was the base would-be seducer paid Back in his own base coin. This should e'er be.

GIP. Q. Ay, but thinkest thou I knew aught of this, Or was partaker in Don Miguel's scheme?

Oh, no; of this my father told me nought, Nor knew I aught of all this base intrigue, This would-be marriage false, by false priest blessed, Till later years; in fact, until the time That King Djabel upon his death bed lay.

He then confessed to me the foul design By him so ably thwarted. But e'en then The traitor had abandoned me already.

He thought his marriage false, and told me plain I had no hold on him. I sought my sire, And then the truth came out. The blow was great, To find myself abandoned and deceived By him I loved and trusted, e'en though I Knew well that I stood right before the law, He had no right to leave me, that I knew.

'Twas heartless, as I then was big with child; His father, too, was dead, old Don Fernand, And I, by rights, his castle should have shared, As he had promised, but old King Djabel Did counsel me, "Be patient yet awhile; A day will come when thou shalt vengeance take.

Nature hath made me prophet. I can see Now that my sun is sinking far beyond This earthly sphere, all that shall come to pa.s.s In future years. Delay thy vengeance, then, Still a few years, and I will be thy guide; I, Djabel, from over this side the grave Will guide thy steps and shape thy destinies Until the hour arrive." Thus spake Djabel, And falling back upon his rugged couch, Did breathe his last, clasping my hand in his; He now sleeps with his fathers. Rest his soul!

And I, now left an orphan, and so young; Abandoned, too, by the base man I loved, How fared it with me, being then with child?

The days of mourning for my father o'er, I could not keep my mind from wandering back To our first days of courts.h.i.+p, when my lord First wooed me, and did win my virgin heart.

I dwelt upon the memory of his words-- How he had promised me in days of yore, His father being dead, old Don Fernand, That I should mistress of his castle be.

How had he kept his promise? Don Fernand Was long since dead, yet he no offer made About his castle, but did keep me e'er Within a little cottage that he built During his father's lifetime for me, when We first were married. Here I lived content, For he then oft would visit me, and when He came not, yet I had full trust in him, And waited patiently, beguiling time By tending flowers in my garden home, For this was aye my pa.s.sion from a child, And thus the hours pa.s.sed full happily.

But one day, seeing my lord with murky brow, And not divining what the cause mote be, I, with fond heart and young simplicity, Did offer all that consolation That loving wife will offer to her lord In moments of deep sadness. But he spurned Me coldly from him, and when I did ask In what way I had my lord offended, Deigning no direct reply, made answer, He loved me not. I had no hold on him, Should ne'er be mistress of his father's hall, Our marriage being but a mockery, To last as long as it should please himself.

He left me with a laugh of bitter scorn, Whilst I, as if by lightning struck, did fall Flat to the earth, and waking, sought my sire.

Thou knowest how my father, dying, left A promise he would ever guide my steps In hour of vengeance; so I patience kept.

Meanwhile our son was born. That son _art thou_!

D. PAS. Oh, mother! mother!

[_They embrace and weep on each others' necks._ (_On recovering._) I did half divine The truth from the beginning of thy tale, But at the name of Father Miguel My heart did smite so loud against my ribs As like to burst them; e'en as were it charged From Heaven with joyful tidings to my soul.

I ever knew that man in some strange way Was mixed up in the mystery of my birth.

GIP. Q. 'Twas he that christened thee, abandoned by Thy all unworthy father. He that holds Proofs that our marriage valid is by law, Without which proofs thou'dst been born a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, A stray, an outcast, slave to this world's scorn.

The Lady Angela, that kind, good soul, Whose counsellor and priest Don Miguel was, Knew all thy history, and pitied thee.

She was thy G.o.dmother while at the font.

Don Miguel marked thee with the Christian's sign, And being a widow lady without heirs, And rich withal, she straightway did resolve T'adopt thee, and 'neath Father Miguel's care To have thee educated as a priest.

Poor pious soul! But thou know'st best of all How thine own wilful temper at the school-- Thy wild, impatient, roving gipsy blood,-- Did give small promise for a like career, Which Father Miguel seeing from the first (Though not until repeated efforts made To tame thy stubborn nature proved in vain) Did finally, now weary of his charge, Abandon thee unto thine own wild ways, Doling the money out from time to time, Till thou should'st come of age. That time has come.

D. PAS. Ha! ha! I well do call to mind the time When Father Miguel, with church dogmas sought To warp my stubborn brain, and if I asked Him to explain some of that lore he taught, And fain would burden my poor skull withal, Then straight it was a mystery. I must Have faith, he said; nor ask the reason why.

Against this answer my young soul rebelled.

And long and fierce the battles that we fought.

He called me insubordinate and rude.

Said I lacked discipline, humility, That I must subjugate my intellect Unto the church's dictates, threatening me With purgatory and everlasting fire Unless I thought as he did, branding me As atheist, Jew, or heretic, whilst I Called him a fool. Then losing all control Over his pa.s.sions, this good, holy man Did raise his hand to strike me, seeing which I seized a knife and threw it at his head, Leaving a scar upon his cheek; then laughed.

As I grew older matters mended not, So he sent me to a seminary, Thinking to curb my will by discipline; But they soon found the worse they treated me The worse was I, and so all gave me up.

'Tis years since we have met. We were not formed To live together. Greater opposites In character Nature ne'er formed from clay.

I owe the holy man no grudge; not I.

He did his best, I mine to understand him.

We were formed differently from our birth.

GIP. Q. A wild boy thou wert ever. That is true.

I've watched thee oft when thou thought'st me afar.