Read Ebook: Tales from the Operas by Pardon George Frederick Editor

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Ebook has 806 lines and 24212 words, and 17 pages

The courtiers were breathless with astonishment.

Soon they remarked a change in the king, of which he himself was not aware. His face altered--his brow grew dark and heavy--his step slow, firm, and yet light. All color left his cheeks, and his lips grew pale and thin. The veins of his forehead could be traced--a deep blue color wandering beneath the skin; and his eyes grew mournful in their light. His hair fell about his head in deep waving folds--and he seemed the victim of utter despair. Yet he was known by all as the duke--the same as ever, and yet wholly changed. Nobody who had known him before this change came on but bowed to him as the duke; yet all who had so known him whispered that he was changed as never man changed who was not possessed of a devil.

Then great wonders began to be marked in Normandy. Storms would rise without warning and sweep over the land as though heaven was wrath. And while the storms lasted, moans were heard in the air--low, wailing, gentle moans--like the sighs of angels. Then, too, from the deep caverns came loud clattering laughs--peal on peal--like mocking thunder.

Soon it became known that an heir would be born to the duke. Then might be seen stretching across the heavens a great flaming sword of fire, its edge ever trembling and surrounded by vaporous clouds.

At last, in a louder strain than any of that year--in the midst of shrieking winds such as had never before been heard by all who lived--the heir was born. Duke Richard was no longer childless!

Very beautiful was the child. But those who saw him, noticed that his features were like his father's, that his skin was colorless, and that his eyes lacked the sparkling brightness of infancy.

The attention of the courtiers being fully roused, they began to observe that the father regained his old looks and ways. His color came back; his eyes again flashed brightly, the sound of his foot was again heard, and once more he laughed. And they said among themselves that the change they had marked was caused by anxiety, and that now his son was born to him, he was himself again.

Yet a few years, and there was more strange court news. The child was as no other child; he would tear birds to pieces, screaming with joy the while; and waking in the night,--he would creep from his bed, open the shutters of his windows to the wind, and remain there with these same winds tearing about his head till the day came--when he would slink away to his bed. He did not love the light, and when night time came, then only was it that his eyes sparkled.

Yet a little--and then it was known that he only was gentle when both his mother, and his foster-sister, Alice, were with him. Then he was as child-like as any other child, and would lisp his prayers quite readily. But Alice away, and his mother distant, again he became the strange weird creature he was whispered to be.

Then came the rumor a few years later, of an old white-haired man being found dead, a child's jewelled dagger remaining in his breast.

Yet a few more years, and the whispers running through the court trickled out amongst the people, that the duke's son was a demon!

Sad grew the father, sadder and sadder. But it was remarked that though his face grew grave and thoughtful, it was quite unlike the face he wore in that awful year before his son was born. And then it was whispered that if that time were referred to, the duke seemed lost, confused, and that then, and only then, something of that terrible look could be seen upon his countenance.

At last the heir was really grown a man; as handsome as any other in Normandy, as brave as any knight at court. But it was observed by many, that, handsome as he was, there was still a threat of the features which his father wore the year before he, Robert, was born.

Soon the people grew to detest the heir to the throne; for he swept through the land like a destroying angel. They abhorred him, and then it was they called him ROBERT THE DEVIL!

Then, broken-hearted, utterly cast down, but never wearing the old terrible look, the father, greyhaired and weary of the world, exiled his only son from Normandy, forbade him the land of his birth, and drove him from it.

Henceforth, till the old duke died, the people never felt the hand of "Robert the Devil." They heard of him, brave, fearless, terrible--ever conquering, never conquered, never even wounded. They heard of him, a monster--firing, destroying, waking up war wherever he placed his foot; and they trembled as they thought of the time when he should come to reign over them.

Meanwhile the old duke and the sorrowing lady prayed, hourly for their lost son; and joined in their prayers the lost son's foster-sister, ALICE.

THE LEGEND.

A world of tents--to the right, to the left--before or behind--a world of tents. And not dismal little canvas tents--but brave erections in cloths of gold and silver, and gay colors.

Truth to tell, all this was evidence of a tournament, given by the Duke of Messina.

Many knights intended to compete in this tournament. Hence, that sea-shore near Palermo was gay as a garden with colored tents, bright gold, shining armor, and brave knights, sumptuously attired.

But no braver knight, more bravely attended, nor surrounded with more magnificence, was there than the unknown, whose arrival had created such a stir in the gorgeous camp.

This unknown knight, as he came from the tent erected for him in the centre of his people's brilliant little encampment, was the observed of all observers.

"Dost know who he is?"

"Wherefore comes he?"

"I have heard that he will take part in the tournament."

Calmly the unknown knight came amongst the host of gentlemen, bowing and smiling gravely. They made way for him--nay, some drew forward stools, and soon the whole body of knights were seated about tables, more or less magnificent, as the owner knight was rich and brave, or brave only.

But he who drew on him as much attention as the unknown knight himself, was his companion, a tall, solemn-looking man. His brow was heavy and dark, his step slow, firm, and yet light; no color was in his face, his lips were pale and thin, and the veins of his forehead could be traced--a deep blue color wandering beneath his skin. His eyes were mournful, his hair fell about his head in deep, waving folds, and a kind of settled despair seemed to hang upon him, and weigh him down.

This companion of the unknown knight was dressed in garments of sombre hue, which hung in beautiful sweeping folds about his person. His hands were delicate and white, and had in them a trembling motion, which was at great variance with the close, firm mouth--little, small, delicate hands, beautiful to look upon, and yet, somehow, they looked like claws, the fingers seemed to turn so naturally to the palms.

The knights commenced drinking and dicing at the various tables. Still the stranger knight and his companion sat by themselves at their table of bright metal, inlaid with a winding pattern of jet.

Suddenly the companion whispered the knight, who thereupon, with a smiling face, turned to the body of gentlemen and saluted them, raising his goblet to them, and emptying it at a draught.

The knights readily responded to the appeal, and the next moment began conversing gaily with the two strangers.

The conversation, however, was soon interrupted by the arrival of two men, the one a squire of the stranger knight, the other a simple-looking country fellow, carrying his cap in his hand, and looking about him bashfully.

"Sire," said the squire, softly, "this pilgrim is a songster, and he cometh from Normandy."

"Normandy--dear, dear Normandy," said the young knight, and as he spoke the words he looked handsomer than before.

The young knight frowned the truth of these few words; and then turning to the pilgrim troubadour, gave him some money, and asked him what he could sing.

"Ho--ho!" said the minstrel, laughing and yet trembling in the presence of the splendid company. "Ho--ho! I can sing all songs; but, my faith, the best is the history of our young duke, whom they call Robert the Devil. He hath the evil eye on him, my masters."

Here he turned to the crowd of warriors who were drawing near, and did not mark the young knight place his right hand quickly upon his dagger.

"Sing of Robert, minstrel; sing of Robert the Devil."

Again the companion spoke. "'Tis but a poor minstrel."

The knight, obediently, it seemed, moved his hand from the weapon, and said, "True!" Then loudly he called to the minstrel, "Begin, thou."

"Oh, long ago, in Normandy, A valiant prince there chanced to reign; He lived in peace--his wife he loved, And yet he lived a life of pain.

No child had he; for years and years He knelt at shrines--he knelt and prayed; But all in vain--yes all in vain Was every sacrifice he made.

Then loud he swore, before the court, That if a son to him were born, He would devote him to the fiend, And let his soul from Heaven be torn.

And then in time there came a son, Of all the land, the dread and shame-- Robert--Robert--the demon's own; And truly he deserves the name.

Not long ago--but at this day The valiant prince--if you'll believe-- He lives--he lives--as does the son, For whom the duke doth ever grieve."

As the gallants laughed at the ballad, and the earnestness with which it was sung, the minstrel stood with his back to the young knight. The next moment, the poor wanderer felt himself thrown to the ground; and, looking up, he saw a bright dagger high in the air above him. But restraining the holder of it, was a small white hand, the fingers of which seemed clawed about the other's wrist.

"'Tis but a poor minstrel!" he also heard a voice say.

Again the angry hand gave way, and fell to the young knight's side; but he bade some of his people seize the unlucky singer.

"I am Robert," he cried haughtily, and looking with defiance at the knights.

"The fiend!" cried the minstrel, falling on his knees.

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