 | Mark Twain's (burlesque) autobiography and first romance |  |
2. AWFUL, TERRIBLE MEDIEVAL ROMANCE.
1. CHAPTER I. THE SECRET REVEALED.
IT was night. Stillness reigned in the
grand old feudal castle of Klugenstein.
The year 1222 was drawing to a close.
Far away up in the tallest of the castle's
towers a single light glimmered. A secret
council was being held there. The stern old
lord of Klugenstein sat in a chair of state
meditating. Presently he said, with a tender
accent:
“My daughter!”
A young man of noble presence, clad from
head to heel in knightly mail, answered:
“Speak, father!”
“My daughter, the time is come for the revealing
of the mystery that hath puzzled all
birth in the matters which I shall now unfold.
My brother Ulrich is the great Duke
of Brandenburgh. Our father, on his deathbed,
decreed that if no son were born to
Ulrich, the succession should pass to my house,
provided a son were born to me. And further,
in case no son were born to either, but only
daughters, then the succession should pass to
Ulrich's daughter, if she proved stainless; if
she did not, my daughter should succeed,
if she retained a blameless name. And so I,
and my old wife here, prayed fervently for
the good boon of a son, but the prayer was
vain. You were born to us. I was in despair.
I saw the mighty prize slipping from
my grasp, the splendid dream vanishing away.
And I had been so hopeful! Five years had
Ulrich lived in wedlock, and yet his wife had
borne no heir of either sex.
“ `But hold,' I said, `all is not lost.' A
saving scheme had shot athwart my brain.
You were born at midnight. Only the leech,
the nurse, and six waiting-women knew your
sex. I hanged them every one before an hour
This is the Dog that "worried" the cat that caught
the rat that ate the malt that lay in the House
that Jack built.
[Description: 501EAF. Page 025. Image of the cat sitting at a desk writing on a scroll with a quill pen grasped in his paws, with paper spread around his feet and the Tribune sticking out of his jacket pocket. Near his feet is a very tiny dog, with a human head, barking at him. The head is that of a balding man with a rather large beard. The collar on the dog says "SUN".]
mad with rejoicing over the proclamation that
a son was born to Klugenstein, an heir to
mighty Brandenburgh! And well the secret
has been kept. Your mother's own sister nursed
your infancy, and from that time forward we
feared nothing.
“When you were ten years old, a daughter
was born to Ulrich. We grieved, but hoped
for good results from measles, or physicians, or
other natural enemies of infancy, but were always
disappointed. She lived, she throve—
Heaven's malison upon her! But it is nothing.
We are safe. For, Ha-ha! have we not a son?
And is not our son the future Duke? Our
well-beloved Conrad, is it not so?—for, woman
of eight-and-twenty years as you are, my child,
none other name than that hath ever fallen to
you!
“Now it hath come to pass that age hath
laid its hand upon my brother, and he waxes
feeble. The cares of state do tax him sore.
Therefore he wills that you shall come to him
and be already Duke in act, though not yet in
forth to-night.
“Now listen well. Remember every word I
say. There is a law as old as Germany that if
any woman sit for a single instant in the great
ducal chair before she hath been absolutely
crowned in presence of the people, SHE SHALL
DIE! So heed my words. Pretend humility.
Pronounce your judgments from the Premier's
chair, which stands at the foot of the throne.
Do this until you are crowned and safe. It is
not likely that your sex will ever be discovered;
but still it is the part of wisdom to make
all things as safe as may be in this treacherous
earthly life.”
“Oh, my father, is it for this my life hath
been a lie! Was it that I might cheat my unoffending
cousin of her rights? Spare me,
father, spare your child!”
“What, huzzy! Is this my reward for the
august fortune my brain has wrought for thee?
By the bones of my father, this puling sentiment
of thine but ill accords with my humor.
how thou meddlest with my purpose!”
Let this suffice, of the conversation. It is
enough for us to know that the prayers, the
entreaties and the tears of the gentle-natured
girl availed nothing. They nor anything could
move the stout old lord of Klugenstein. And
so, at last, with a heavy heart, the daughter
saw the castle gates close behind her, and
found herself riding away in the darkness surrounded
by a knightly array of armed vassals
and a brave following of servants.
The old baron sat silent for many minutes
after his daughter's departure, and then he
turned to his sad wife and said:
“Dame, our matters seem speeding fairly. It
is full three months since I sent the shrewd
and handsome Count Detzin on his devilish
mission to my brother's daughter Constance.
If he fail, we are not wholly safe;
but if he do succeed, no power can bar
our girl from being Duchess e'en though
ill fortune should decree she never should be
Duke!”
“My heart is full of bodings, yet all may still
be well.”
“Tush, woman! Leave the owls to croak.
To bed with ye, and dream of Brandenburgh
and grandeur!”
2. CHAPTER II.
FESTIVITY AND TEARS.
SIX days after the occurrences related in
the above chapter, the brilliant capital
of the Duchy of Brandenburgh was resplendent
with military pageantry, and noisy
with the rejoicings of loyal multitudes; for Conrad,
the young heir to the crown, was come.
The old Duke's heart was full of happiness, for
Conrad's handsome person and graceful bearing
had won his love at once. The great halls of
the palace were thronged with nobles, who welcomed
Conrad bravely; and so bright and
happy did all things seem, that he felt his
fears and sorrows passing away and giving
place to a comforting contentment.
But in a remote apartment of the palace a
scene of a different nature was transpiring. By
Constance. Her eyes were red and swollen, and
full of tears. She was alone. Presently she fell
to weeping anew, and said aloud:
“The villain Detzin is gone—has fled the
dukedom! I could not believe it at first, but
alas! it is too true. And I loved him so. I
dared to love him though I knew the Duke my
father would never let me wed him. I loved
him—but now I hate him! With all my soul
I hate him! Oh, what is to become of me! I
am lost, lost, lost! I shall go mad!
3. CHAPTER III.
THE PLOT THICKENS.
AFEW months drifted by. All men published
the praises of the young Conrad's
government and extolled the wisdom of
his judgments, the mercifulness of his sentences,
and the modesty with which he bore himself in
his great office. The old Duke soon gave everything
into his hands, and sat apart and listened
with proud satisfaction while his heir delivered
the decrees of the crown from the seat of the
premier. It seemed plain that one so loved and
praised and honored of all men as Conrad was,
could not be otherwise than happy. But strangely
enough, he was not. For he saw with dismay
that the Princess Constance had begun to
love him! The love of the rest of the world
was happy fortune for him, but this was freighted
delighted Duke had discovered his daughter's
passion likewise, and was already dreaming of
a marriage. Every day somewhat of the deep
sadness that had been in the princess' face faded
away; every day hope and animation beamed
brighter from her eye; and by and by even
vagrant smiles visited the face that had been so
troubled.
Conrad was appalled. He bitterly cursed himself
for having yielded to the instinct that had
made him seek the companionship of one of his
own sex when he was new and a stranger in
the palace—when he was sorrowful and yearned
for a sympathy such as only women can give
or feel. He now began to avoid his cousin.
But this only made matters worse, for, naturally
enough, the more he avoided her, the more she
cast herself in his way. He marvelled at this
at first; and next it startled him. The girl
haunted him; she hunted him; she happened
upon him at all times and in all places, in the
night as well as in the day. She seemed singularly
anxious. There was surely a mystery
somewhere.
This could not go on forever. All the world
was talking about it. The Duke was beginning
to look perplexed. Poor Conrad was becoming
a very ghost through dread and dire distress.
One day as he was emerging from a private
ante-room attached to the picture gallery, Constance
confronted him, and seizing both his
hands in hers, exclaimed:
“Oh, why do you avoid me? What have I
done—what have I said, to lose your kind opinion
of me—for surely I had it once? Conrad, do
not despise me, but pity a tortured heart? I
cannot, cannot hold the words unspoken longer,
lest they kill me—I love you, Conrad! There,
despise me if you must, but they would be uttered!”
Conrad was speechless. Constance hesitated
a moment, and then, misinterpreting his silence,
a wild gladness flamed in her eyes, and she flung
her arms about his neck and said:
“You relent! you relent! You can love me—
you will love me! Oh, say you will, my own,
my worshipped Conrad!”
Conrad groaned aloud. A sickly pallor over-spread
his countenance, and he trembled like
the poor girl from him, and cried:
“You know not what you ask! It is forever
and ever impossible!” And then he fled like a
criminal and left the princess stupefied with
amazement. A minute afterward she was crying
and sobbing there, and Conrad was crying
and sobbing in his chamber. Both were in despair.
Both saw ruin staring them in the face.
By and by Constance rose slowly to her feet
and moved away, saying:
“To think that he was despising my love at
the very moment that I thought it was melting
his cruel heart! I hate him! He spurned me—
did this man—he spurned me from him like a
dog!”
4. CHAPTER IV.
THE AWFUL REVELATION.
TIME passed on. A settled sadness rested
once more upon the countenance of
the good Duke's daughter. She and
Conrad were seen together no more now. The
Duke grieved at this. But as the weeks wore
away, Conrad's color came back to his cheeks
and his old-time vivacity to his eye, and he administered
the government with a clear and
steadily ripening wisdom.
Presently a strange whisper began to be heard
about the palace. It grew louder; it spread
farther. The gossips of the city got hold of it.
It swept the dukedom. And this is what the
whisper said:
“The Lady Constance hath given birth to a
child!”
When the lord of Klugenstein heard it, he
swung his plumed helmet thrice around his head
and shouted:
“Long live Duke Conrad!—for lo, his crown
is sure, from this day forward! Detzin has
done his errand well, and the good scoundrel
shall be rewarded!”
And he spread the tidings far and wide, and
for eight-and-forty hours no soul in all the barony
but did dance and sing, carouse and illuminate,
to celebrate the great event, and all at
proud and happy old Klugenstein's expense.
5. CHAPTER V. THE FRIGHTFUL CATASTROPHE.
THE trial was at hand. All the great
lords and barons of Brandenburgh were
assembled in the Hall of Justice in the
ducal palace. No space was left unoccupied
where there was room for a spectator to stand
or sit. Conrad, clad in purple and ermine, sat
in the premier's chair, and on either side sat the
great judges of the realm. The old Duke had
sternly commanded that the trial of his daughter
should proceed, without favor, and then had
taken to his bed broken-hearted. His days were
numbered. Poor Conrad had begged, as for his
very life, that he might be spared the misery of
sitting in judgment upon his cousin's crime, but
it did not avail.
The saddest heart in all that great assemblage
was in Conrad's breast.
The gladdest was in his father's. For, unknown
to his daughter “Conrad,” the old Baron
Klugenstein was come, and was among the crowd
of nobles, triumphant in the swelling fortunes of
his house.
After the heralds had made due proclamation
and the other preliminaries had followed, the
venerable Lord Chief Justice said:
“Prisoner, stand forth!”
The unhappy princess rose and stood unveiled
before the vast multitude. The Lord Chief
Justice continued:
“Most noble lady, before the great judges of
this realm it hath been charged and proven that
out of holy wedlock your Grace hath given birth
unto a child, and by our ancient law the penalty
is death, excepting in one sole contingency,
whereof his Grace the acting Duke, our good
Lord Conrad, will advertise you in his solemn
sentence now; wherefore, give heed.”
Conrad stretched forth the reluctant sceptre,
and in the self-same moment the womanly heart
beneath his robe yearned pityingly toward the
This is the Priest (not) shaven and shorn, that married
the man all tattered and torn unto the maiden all forlorn
that milked the cow with the crumpled horn that tossed the
dog that worried the cat that caught the rat that ate the
malt that lay in the House that Jack built.
[Description: 501EAF. Page 043. Image of the manly maiden, in a sailor dress and slippers with a wreath of flowers in his hair, giving his hand to the five-headed man in marriage. The five-headed man is holding a large ring, that looks more like a collar, which has ERIE etched on the side. In the background is the Priest, wearing a long white robe upon which the vows have been inscribed, lifting his arms as if in flight. His hands are like claws, with long hooked nails.]
eyes. He opened his lips to speak, but the
Lord Chief Justice said quickly:
“Not there, your Grace, not there! It is not
lawful to pronounce judgment upon any of the
ducal line SAVE FROM THE DUCAL THRONE!”
A shudder went to the heart of poor Conrad,
and a tremor shook the iron frame of his old
father likewise. Conrad had not been crowned—dared
he profane the throne? He hesitated
and turned pale with fear. But it must
be done. Wondering eyes were already upon
him. They would be suspicious eyes if he hesitated
longer. He ascended the throne. Presently
he stretched forth the sceptre again, and
said:
“Prisoner, in the name of our sovereign lord,
Ulrich, Duke of Brandenburgh, I proceed to the
solemn duty that hath devolved upon me. Give
heed to my words. By the ancient law of the
land, except you produce the partner of your
guilt and deliver him up to the executioner, you
must surely die. Embrace this opportunity—
save yourself while yet you may. Name the
father of your child!”
A solemn hush fell upon the great court—a
silence so profound that men could hear their
own hearts beat. Then the princess slowly
turned, with eyes gleaming with hate, and pointing
her finger straight at Conrad, said:
“Thou art the man!”
An appalling conviction of his helpless, hopeless
peril struck a chill to Conrad's heart like
the chill of death itself. What power on earth
could save him! To disprove the charge, he
must reveal that he was a woman; and for an
uncrowned woman to sit in the ducal chair was
death! At one and the same moment, he and
his grim old father swooned and fell to the
ground.
[The remainder of this thrilling and eventful
story will NOT be found in this or any other
publication, either now or at any future time.]
The truth is, I have got my hero (or heroine)
into such a particularly close place, that I do
not see how I am ever going to get him (or
her) out of it again—and therefore I will wash
my hands of the whole business, and leave that
person to get out the best way that offers—or
else stay there. I thought it was going to be
but it looks different now.
[If Harper's Weekly or the New York Tribune
desire to copy these initial chapters into the
reading columns of their valuable journals, just
as they do the opening chapters of Ledger and
New York Weekly novels, they are at liberty to
do so at the usual rates, provided they “trust.”]
Mark Twain.
| Mark Twain's (burlesque) autobiography and first romance | |