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Showing how the Princess Beatriz avenged herself, for the treachery
of the Count Alarcos.

Early the ensuing morning, the knights mounted with their retinue of
esquires and men-at-arms, and throughout the day journeyed pleasantly amid
a fertile valley; their road winding beside a river, on whose banks stood
many a fair castle, and rural hamlet. At eventide they arrived at a noble
wood of palm trees, the lofty and gigantic trunks of which, springing into
the air, noble columns a hundred feet in height, expanded like the arches of
a cathedral, presenting a canopy which shut out the skies over their heads,
while beneath stretched arcades of the most magnificient dimensions. The
nakedness of the tall shafts was relieved by luxuriant tendrils of the wild
grape vine, twining in masses of verdure around them, or hanging in immense
festoons from tree to tree. Through the spacious avenues of this noble
wood, the knights advanced on horseback without obstruction. The
declining sun penetrated at intervals through the far asunder columns of
the trees, in broad lanes of light, like carpets of sun-gold unrolled along the
level sward. On all sides, cool and pleasant shades invited to repose; and
tempted by the beauty of the spot, the travel-worn cavaliers resolved to
pitch there their tents for the night. Having ended their frugal evening repast,
they reclined before the tent, each falling into such attitude for listening,
as was his habit, and Sieur de Linant then resumed his story, which he
called
“The Revenge of the Princess Beatriz, or the Grievous Crime of
Count Alarcos.”

“The bride of the false knight,” said the French knight, “by her beauty
and grace, and superior excellence, served to deepen the wound in the
breast of the princess Beatriz. She could not be insensible to the charms
either of her person or mind. Yet, as these were the allurements which
had drawn Count Alarcos away from her, she looking at them through her
jealous mind, regarded them only as so many deformities. If the sweet
countess smiled, the Infanta cursed the smile, because such had robbed her
of her betrothed knight. If she sang, her voice, though sweet as a bulbul's
was discordant to her ears, and filled her soul with rage and torment. The
lovely bride could not but perceive that the princess, much as she strove to
hide it till the time of her revenge was well ripened, was disaffected towards
her; and prompted by her gentleness, and loving nature, she strove
to conciliate her; but the more gently she deported herself, so much the
more the princess hated her. She at length told her husband with great
grief, how she feared she had done some evil thing which had sorely displeased
the princess Beatriz, who, though she outwardly showed her courtesy,
she knew to be inwardly but ill-content with her.

The cheek of Count Alarcos burned with rising shame, from the

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consciousness of the true cause, on hearing these words from his innocent
bride, and in his heart he felt ill at ease; for he now knew that however the
princess had seemed to pass over his defection, she had secretly cherished
evil thoughts in her heart, both towards him and his bride. He, however,
laughed, and tapping her forehead, said playfully:

`'Tis nought, sweet wife, but thy own beauty that hath made the princess
envious. Thou must not heed it; for she is a woman! So, hereafter,
keep thou more by my side, and in thy own bower; for I would have thee
and Beatriz meet seldom!'

Though the husband spoke thus to his unsuspecting wife, he became
alarmed for her safety, not thinking of his own. He therefore resolved to
obtain leave of the king to return to his castle for a while; on the plea of an
approaching event, on the occurrence of which, as a husband, and an expectant
father, he was desirous of having his wife in his own abode. To
this the king gave his consent, and the same evening the count left the dangerous
atmosphere of the court, for the peaceful retreat of his castle.

When the princess Beatriz learned his sudden departure, she became excited
to such a degree of rage and disappointment, that for several hours she
was nearly distracted. At length she grew calm, and seated alone in her
chamber, thus she spoke to herself:

`It is better it were so—better far. This delay will give me threefold
vengeance. This was the night, and this the hour in which my long-nurtured
revenge was to have had its consummation; and they have escaped!
Now there will be three bosoms to pierce instead of two! Count Alarcos,
thou false knight and perjured lover! I heed not thy flight, nor will it save
thee! I bide my time!'

Impatiently did the princess wait from day to day, to hear that the Count
Alarcos had been made a father. At length word came that the fair countess
Gertrudis had given birth to a son. This intelligence, strange as it
would seem, filled the princess with joy. She now resolved to lose no time
in consummating her plan of vengeance. She would have carried it out on
the first day she saw the bride after her marriage; but her heart and her
hand shrunk, day by day, from the deed, while her hatred grew deeper with
the lingering execution of her purpose. It was by this prolonged indecision
that they had for the time escaped her, and the wife had become a mother,
and the deserted betrothed still unavenged. But this event, which at first
view appeared to her so unpropitious, gave new inspiration to her cruel
soul.

At her suggestion the king was prevailed upon to stand sponsor for the
boy, and forth with to send to Count Alarcos, bidding him bring his wife
and heir to the capital. Gratified with the honor intended him, the Count
so soon as his lady recovered, and when the child was in his fourth month
left his castle and brought her up to Court. The christening took place
with great pomp and joy, and none seemed more happy at the event, or
more sincere in congratulating the lovely mother, than the princess Beatriz.
`Now comes the pitiful part of my tale, fair knights,' said the Sieur de Linant
in a sad tone, and sighing as he thought of the woeful history he was
about to relate.

The christening was over, and the king and his brave retinue of knights
and nobles, the Infanta with her brilliant train of ladies, pages, and gentlemen
in velvet and gold, had returned from the cathedral; the Count Alarcos,
and his fair wife, the brightest stars of this royal galaxy. The palace
was reached, and each retired from the pageant; the king to his chamber,
the princess to her bower, the count and his wife and child, to their own
furnished mansion, in a plaza, not far distant from the royal palace. It was
now evening. The mellow glow of sunset had given place to the deep blue
of night with its stars. The princess Beatriz sat in her window, looking

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forth with her eyes, but not with her mind. Her thoughts were tumultuous
and evil. Her bosom heaved restlessly beneath her crimson vesture, and
her cheek was pale. The expression of her lips was close and decided, as
if with the concentration of some strong and single passion. Her eye was
dark as the depth of a sunless well, in the noon-tide; the lid immovable, and
the look steady and fearful. Long, long, she sat by her casement, in this
strange mood and aspect of visage; her lips at times moving, but giving
forth no articulate sound. At length she rose up, and entering her anteroom,
despatched a page for the king.

When he entered her apartment, she received him reclining upon a
conch, with a robe thrown around her. From her face every trace of emotion
had been withdrawn into the recesses of her heart; but still her cheek
was white.

`Well, my child,' said the king, seating himself near; `thy page hath
brought me a message, saying you desired to see me. You are pale! Art
thou ill, daughter?'

`Nay, sire,' she said, quickly; `I have sent to speak with thee, touching
a matter that lieth very near my heart. How likest thou this fair countess
of Alarcos?'

`Passing well,' answered the king; `she hath a beauteous face, and a
heart full of gentleness and love. Didst observe to-day the bright look of
her proud, maternal eye, when the cardinal praised the beauty of her noble
babe; and the young father, how proudly he glanced around! I would
thou wert well married, girl, and had so brave a boy to bring to the font and
inherit my throne.'

The cheek of the princess suddenly flushed; but the blood retreated to
her heart as rapidly as it gushed from it, while she said calmly:

`And how like you, sire, this Count, my cousin?'

`He is the best knight in Spain! and she the fairest wife. But thou art
ill at ease! What mean these questions you put to me? There is fathom
to them, child, beyond my plummet's reach. Out with thy mind!'

`Thou hast just said thou didst wish me wed. Listen. I will not hide
longer my dishonor and my grief. Thou shalt know the wrong done thy
daughter, king!'

Thus spoke the injured princess; and then raising herself from her couch,
she recounted her wrongs:

`Know, king of Castile, that thou art degraded in thy child. A knight—
'tis shame for me to speak it, but it is to a father's ears, and my vengeance
must not die for want of words, and ears to hear them! a knight of no mean
degree, whom thou hast loved to honor, hath long since plighted to me his
troth. I gave him all my love—all the affection of a woman's bosom poured
I into his! I loved him better than my life, dwelt on his looks and words
with foolish fondness, and in his footstep's faintest sound heard sweetest
music. 'Twere not maidenly to love unwooed; but love, my father, once
awakened in a woman's heart, knoweth no rest to its wing till it nestle
where it would. Noble, proud, and gay-lived, he did not so deeply requite
my passion as I would he should do; yet still I believed he loved me. At
length secretly we plighted troth, and our betrothal was registered in heaven.
After this, his love grew cold, while mine became a flame, consuming me.
We often met, and I as oft did chide him for his indifference; but he would
swear his love unchanged, and so measuring it by my own, I did believe his
oath.'

`And I knew nothing of this love-passage within my very household,' said
the king, who had listened with surprise and impatience. `Who was this
bold knight?'

`Nay, let me go on. He was at length sent from court on a message to
France, and in his absence, saw a maiden whose beauty lured him from his

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love's allegiance; and, forgetful of his oath, his plighted troth, and hundred
vows of love, betrothed her. On his return he saw me not: but getting thy
consent in the very face of his oath to thy daughter, the traitorous knight
hastened to her father's castle, and there wedded her.'

`By the sword of Cid Ruy he dies!' exclaimed the king, rising up and
stamping the floor with indignation and fury. `Who was this perjured
knight—nay, thou couldst place thy love on none beneath thee in blood—
'tis Count Alarcos! Speak, daughter! He alone of all the knights is thy
peer!'

`Thou hast named him, sire! Gertrudis de Roquebetyn was the maiden
for whom a princess of Castille is dishonored!'

`Santiago! but this false traitor shall be well punished. His head shall
roll from the scaffold by to-morrow's sun. A king's daughter is not to be
lightly dishonored, nor a knight's vow lightly broken.'

`Nay, father, let me have this retribution in my own hand. Maiden
shame would withhold the confession, but I still love this recreant knight,
and if he redeem his pledge to me, I can still forgive the past.'

`Stands the matter so,' said the king with surprise. `Then by the rood!
Don Alarcos—for he is thy peer—shall wed thee! He shall on the morrow
divorce this Countess Gertrudis. If he has bound himself in new vows,
old oaths he may not break. Thou shalt not lose a loyal spouse, for a false
lover's treachery. You have erred, daughter, in loving as you did; and
this conduct of Don Alarcos hath brought shame on you as a maiden princess,
and on my grey hairs. While the countess lives, she dishonors thee.
Would thy royal mother was living to counsel thee and me, in this new care
that hath come upon me. Speak, thou, my daughter, and give thy counsel
in this matter.'

`Nay, father,' said the artful princess, who well knew what counsel she
had long cherished for this occasion, `Nay, I have little wit and wisdom to
advise; but, certes, I think the Count Alarcos may cause this usurping countess
to die.'

`The fair Countess perish!' exclaimed the king with a look of surprise
and pain.

`She must die. Let it be noised that sudden disease shortened her tender
life; for her health is now delicate and the rumor would be believed. Then
let the Count Alarcos come to me and redeem his broken vow.'

The king sat for a long space confounded, but at length said sorrowfully,

`It were a pity to put out of life so fair a lady, and she so lately a mother.
It were two murders with one stroke! Nay, I cannot command her death.
Let him be divorced.'

`No!' said the princess sternly; `she must die, and Count Alarcos shall
come and ask me for his wife.'

`I would rather this false Count were slain, for he alone hath done this
foul wrong, and she is innocent.'

`The Count shall live to be my husband! she is not innocent—her peerless
beauty is her guilt. I insist, good king, that she dies.'

The king walked the chamber in great perplexity, for he was much troubled
in mind, having a great desire to spare the sweet and innocent lady's
life; also, to please his daughter, and wipe away her wrong. At length
he said:

`Good daughter, if divorce and a convent for the countess will not gratify
thy revenge, thou shalt have thy will, for foully a king's daughter hath been
wronged. I will order her execution privately, and let it be given out that
sudden sickness took her breath. The Count shall then wed you, and so
none shall know your dishonor.'

`Command that the Count himself be her executioner!' said the princess

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with a look that it would seem only an evil angel could give the full depth
of expression to.

`Himself!' repeated king Ferdinand. `I will no less revenge—no lighter
punishment. With his own hand shall he divide the chain that bound him
to another, when he was bounden to me. This is my vengeance and his
punishment. Long have I cherished it—long have I waited for it! I would
have told thee my dishonor ere this, but I waited till the father should, in
the mother of his child, bind himself to her with new and fresher bonds of
affection, that the task I was to give him to do might weigh heavier upon
his hand, the blow sink deeper into his heart!'

`Thou hast well ripened thy vengeance, Infanta,' said the king, who, although
of a stern and vindictive temper himself, could not listen without
surprise to her plan of finished revenge. `But thou wilt be defeated. The
Count loves her, and will not take her life.'

`Thou must give him the alternative, her life or his own. The block, or
redeem his vow to me!' said the inexorable princess. `Do not hesitate, my
father! Art thou king of this realm, and the head of chivalry, that thou
wilt let pass this wrong to a princess of the realm, or this stain on the honor
of knighthood!'

`No. By my own kingly honor and knightly faith, this shall not go unpunished!
The countess, who hath been the means of this dishonor, shall
die, and the count who inflicted it, shall execute thy vengeance upon her,
therein suffering most thy punishment in himself. By my faith, daughter,
none but a woman would have ripened such a plan. It shall be done. Early
tomorrow I will have speech in private with the Count of Alarcos. Ere
long thou shalt know the issue. A sweet good night, daughter. As a
knight and father, I will avenge the woman and daughter.'

`God speed thee,' answered the Infanta, `and soon bring the Count Alarcos
to my feet.'

The following day the Count Alarcos and his wife were seated in her bower,
playing with their boy, tossing and praising it, he comparing its eyes to
the eyes of its mother, and she proudly likening his dimpled mouth to his.
While they were thus happily engaged, feeling that much as they loved each
other before, they now loved a great deal more, since the birth of their boy,
in whom both saw their loves meeting, there came a king's page with a message,
saying, that the king desired the Count Alarcos to dine with him that
day.

`Now haste thee early from the banquet, love,' said the sweet lady, when
the time came for him to go away; `the hours you pass with me are all sunlight,
while those that keep you absent are alternate clouds and tears.'

Count Alarcos smiled fondly at these words, promised, and embracing her,
kissed his boy which she held up to him, and went his way to the king's
banquet; little guessing, I wot, why the king desired his company. The
feast was a sumptuous one, served in a vast hall hung round with tapestry
of silk and cloth of gold. At each guest's chair, stood a page holding a golden
goblet of wine oft replenished, and servitors many a one in gay apparel,
waited at the kingly board. The Count Alarcos sat by the king's right hand,
and was by him well entertained with courteous cheer; so well did Ferdinand
disguise his intent.

At length, when the banquet was at an end, and the guests had withdrawn
to listen to the singers, or witness the voluptuous motions of the danzarines,
as they danced to the tinkling tabor; the king and the Count of Alarcos being
left alone, the monarch thus began:

`I have heard, Alarcos, strange news since yester e'en. What is this tale,
that you plighted your word and knightly troth to a lady, ere you wedded
your present wife?' And the king fixed his glance closely on the face of
Count Alarcos. The knight started and dropped his eyes, fearing to look at

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the king, who at once saw by his guilty look that the Infanta had told only
what was true of him. `This is a sad thing I hear, Count, that you did
plight yourself to be a husband to my daughter. If more passed, you yourself
know the truth; but thou hast broke thy vow, and brought shame upon
a maiden. Now, by the cross, there is a lady fair doth lie within my daughter's
place. Two wives are not allowed in Spain: yet, certes, thou must
wed my child! Let it be noised that sudden illness seized the countess'
breath, and cut short her tender life; then come and woo my daughter. `If
ought hath passed between you, more than I know, let nothing be said, so
none my dishonor shall know, and you both shall wed in honor.'

`Most gracious liege,' said the Count, `I confess the truth, nor will deny
what I have done. I to the princess did plight my troth, and vowed to wed
her. I have broken my vow in a most unknightly manner, and deserve punishment.
But spare the innocent—let my wife escape thy vengeance! Slay
not the sinless, for the sin of the guilty. Avoid that wicked deed.' And the
Count of Alarcos was full of sorrow.

`Be the deed and its guilt fastened upon thine own treachery, false knight,'
said the king. `If guiltless blood must wash out thy stain, be thou answerable
therefore, for thou hast made the blot that asks such atonement. The
tarnished honor of kings must have innocent blood to restore its purity.—
Thy wife dies, Count.'

`Nay, my liege!' and the Count Alarcos threw himself at the feet of the
king.

`She dies, false and treacherous knight! She must not live to behold another
sun. Ere morning dawn, her life must have its end, and thine own
hand must do the deed.'

`Pardon! grace! your majesty! spare the wife of my bosom!' implored
the Count, bathing his feet with tears.

`There is no remedy! she dies, thou her executianer, or thy own head,
shorn of its locks, shall be brought to the block!' And thus speaking, the
king disengaged himself from his grasp, and left the banquet room.

`Alas! alas!' said the Count of Alarcos, rising to his feet, `how wretched
is my lot! My Gertrudis—my life—my love! I cannot think of thee!—
Doomed, adjudged to death, and I to do the deed! Wo is me! I have
stained the blood of a king by my broken troth, and now my poor innocent
lamb's blood must flow to blot out the dishonor! alas! from my own sin
springs this cruel fate! my wife—my Gertrudis—my child! oh Christ Jesu!
have pity on me!' He crossed the hall with a staggering step, he scarce
knew whither. He leaned against a column near the portal, unable to move
farther, for blindness came over him, and his heart weighed like lead in his
bosom.

`Put to death my dear wife!' he muttered again, moved forward, talking
to himself in tones pitiful to hear; `it is the king's command. I dare not
disobey it, for treason would blot my name! It must be done—I must slay
her—God blame me not, but look upon my great strait! Alas! that one
so young and sinless—the life of my life, should bleed for my sin! alas, that
my love should be her death! Henceforth, sorrow, be thou my bride!'

Thus spoke the wretched and guilty Count of Alarcos; and after staying
to gather strength of heart and body, he dejectedly bent his steps homeward.
It was a weary way, and he could wish he ne'er might reach its end.
He thought of his fair countess, how tenderly she loved him; of his sweet
babe, and how fondly she oherished it. He at length came to the portal and
paused, fearing to enter.

`How, alas!' he said, `shall I meet the cheerful countenance and welcoming
smile of my kind Gertrudis? To see her coming forth with smiles
to meet me, who so soon must be her murderer!'

She heard his footstep, for she was up and watching his return, and ere

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her page could hasten to announce him, she flew and met him in the gate.
Her babe was at her breast, and all the fond hope and love of the wife and
mother beamed in the kind lady's face.

`Thou art come, my husband,' she said, advancing to receive his wonted
embrace; `welcome, my beloved Alarcos—my lord—my life!'

He drops his head and is silent. She arrests her step and gazes on him
with looks of anxiety. `What hath happened, my lord! Your brow looks
sad, and your eyes are red with weeping. Tell, oh, tell your wife!'

`I'll tell thee, sweet wife,' answered Count Alarcos, with a breaking heart;
`I will tell thee—but not now!' He did not look up while he spoke, for he
could not brook in his the gaze of the sweet eyes which so soon his own
deed would seal in death—he could not look on the fair form which so soon
was to be a corpse. `I'll tell thee,' said he sadly, `when we are in your
bower. Let us sup together, and bring me wine, for my heart is sick.'

The countess, though heavy at his sorrow, not knowing how soon she
need weep for herself, set about his repast, and furnished it with her own
hands; not willing her maid should serve her lord when he was sorrowful,
her love telling her the wife doth the best at such a season. He sat by his
board, and she sat beside him. But he could eat nothing for his grief at
which the king had commanded him to do, and sat by her side pale und
sad; nor ate she any thing for his sorrow. She then gently asked him what
ailed him. He did not answer her, but laid his throbbing head upon the
board and the tears flowed fast from his eyes.

`Gertrudis,' he said at length, `I would retire—come thou with me to our
chamber. I fain would sleep.'

She followed him in silence to her bower, where they were wont to sleep;
but I ween there was little sleep that night in that place. The Countess laid
herself weeping upon her breast. Never had she laid down with so heavy
a heart. Her husband, whose untold grief—alas, full soon he made known
its cause—had made her sorrowful, walked the chamber long and with a
troubled step. Her eye followed each step he made with anxious tenderness.
Suddenly he barred the chamber door, and with a dark and heavy
visage came near her as she lay, her baby upon her breast, for though it had
two nurses, it loved best the nourishment its mother gave it. Poor babe!
how should this have plead for thy mother's life with thy cruel sire! She
looked up and smiled as he came near. He heeded not the look of love, but
said,

`Alas, unhappy lady—thou art of all wives the most to be pitied; I of all
men!'

`Nay, my lord and noble husband,' she said, smiling sweetly; `she who
is Count Alarcos's wife can never be unhappy!'

`In that very word, unhappy woman, lies all your misery—is gathered all
your wo. Ere I beheld you I was betrothed to the Princess Beatriz. Shame
and seeking opportunity for revenge hath kept her silent until now. She
has to-day divulged it to my lord the kind, and claims me for her own!
Alas! The right is on their side! The king has this day said that since
you hold his daughter's rightful place, you this night must die!' It was
with pain and anguish Count Alarcos spoke these words of shame, and the
tears flowed while he spoke. The Countess rose up in her couch and said
bitterly,'

`Are these the wages of my long and fond affection, my noble husband?
Have I not been to thee a leal and lowly wife? Reward not my true love
with death!'

`It may not be,' said the Count sternly.

`Oh, slay me not! see I kneel at thy feet; spare my life—spare thy sweet
boy's life, which is lodged within my breast; send me back to my noble father's,
from whence you took me not two years ago, a gleeful bride; there

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will I live a chaste and secluded life, and rear my noble boy to manhood
for thee; oh, kill me not, noble Count.'

`My oath is given—I've sworn to the king thy death. Ere dawn of day
you die.'

`Thou wilt not slay me, my husband.'

`I would not—for thou art my life? But else knightly dishonor and disgrace,
and the infamy of the ignominious block await me. I take thy life to
save my honor, not my life.'

`Alas!' said the lovely Countess, rising from her knees, her brown hair
falling loosely adown her snowy robe, and the tears flowing from her eyes;
`alas! this is because I am alone, and my father is far distant, and old and
frail. Were my brave brother alive, thou wouldst not do this wicked deed.
It is my helplessness that maketh this coward king to force my death. But
'tis not death that terrifies me. No. I fear it not—for my soul with God's at
peace: but I am loth to leave my dear babe so!' and she pressed the infant
to her bosom, and kissed it, as if her heart were breaking.

`Now, be thou ready,' said the count, looking away. `Give me the
child.'

`One more kiss?' she cried, and clung to it as if she would never separate
from it. But he took it from her and lay it upon the bed. She knelt,
and folding her hands across her bosom, said a prayer. She then rose up
and said, stretching her hands towards her babe, which cried a little at missing
her,

`Let me, kind Alarcos, give my poor boy one drink more; one farewell
drink before my breast be cold.'

`Why prolong the pain and bitterness of this hour,' he said. `Prepare,
sweet wife, there is no time to give, for the dawn already is breaking in the
east.'

`Be kind, thou wicked Count, yet still-loved husband; be kind, I pray
thee, to my poor dear babe! See, he sleeps.'

`Be ready, Gertrudis.'

`Hear me, Count of Alarcos. I give thee my forgiveness for this cruel
deed, for the love's sake wherewith I have loved thee, since first we met.—
Thee, I freely pardon. But the king and cruel princess, here, in God's sight
I call His curse upon them for their unchristian deed of slaughter. I charge
them with my last dying word, to meet me in the realm of death, and at
God's throne, ere the moon, which now is new, makes her round complete.
'

She knelt before him, and gave him her scarf, which had been his birthday
gift, saying softly, `shed not my blood, but with this stop my breath,'
awaited her piteous doom.

He looked not in her face; he sought no parting glance from her sweet
blue eyes, upturned to their own azure heaven; but putting the scarf around
her snowy neck, which gently bent to meet the death, he drew it tight and
strong, and held her thus, until the heart which so often had beat against
his, ceased! and stiff and cold she lay extended along the floor. He raised
her then upon the couch, and covering her with a white robe, knelt by her
side, and cried in misery and woe to Jesu and Mary mother. But dark and
iron were the heavens above him, and his black and guilty soul found no
hope or comfort from its fell remorse. He rose up to his feet, and unbarring
his chamber door, called louded for his esquires. When they came in,
and looked with dismay upon her, as she lay before them dead, he said,

Look on and weep! In her innocence she hath died. Ne'er was sweeter
lady in all Spain, or one more void of wrong! In her innocence they
have slain her, and God will take heed of their offence!'

Thus died by a cruel king's command, a haughty princess' vengeance, and

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a false knight's treachery, a sweet, innocent lady, and sooth, God's vengeance
staid not long.

Ten days thereafter, while the princess Beatriz was seated in her hall,
with her maids and gentlemen around her, thinking in heart how soon she
would wed the Count Alarcos, there was seen by all present, to enter the
hall, a knight in black armor, with his visor down, who strait approached
her. She looked up, and saw him, and instantly turned pale, and a look of
mortal fear came over her countenance. The knight strode near, and silently
took her hand, which she, unresisting, gave him.

`Thou would'st wed, princess,' he said in a deep tone; `come with me, I
will be thy bridegroom.'

She uttered not a word, made no effort to remain; but with her eyes set in
horror, her cheeks like marble, and a tottering step, she suffered him to lead
her forth through the hall. Without, stood two steeds, a black and a white
one. Placing her upon the white one, he leaped upon the other, and taking
her bridle in his hand, they dashed away from the palace, toward the gates,
at full speed; but well, I ween, no horses with such riders passed through
the gates that day, and never was the Princess Beatriz heard of more. She
had obeyed the call of the innocent Countess, and gone to meet her `in the
realms of death!'

Ten days after the fearful doom of the hapless princess, the king, who
ceased not to mourn for her, and tremble for himself, was riding at the head
of his knights, on his way to say mass at the cathedral, for the deliverance
of the soul of his unhappy daughter. At the door of the church, a gigantic
knight in full armor, mounted on a black horse, stood in his path. When
the king saw him, his heart trembled, and his spirit failed him.

`If thou would'st say mass, king Ferdinand,' said the knight, `ride with
me.'

`Whither?' demanded the fear-stricken and guilty king.

`Into the realms of death.'

And thus speaking, the knight took the bridle of the king's steed in his
hand, and the two horsemen, in the sight of all present, galloped away in the
direction of the gatrs: but, I wot, no porter saw such riders pass forth the
city gates that day.

The moon was waning into her decreasing horn, when the Count, who
had not ceased to weep the deed he had so cruelly done, and had kept his
chamber, was startled by the appearance before him, of the spirit of his
slaughtered wife. Her face was grave, but the look was not angry.

`Count Alarcos, the moon has waned, and the guilty king and princess
have been summoned before the awful bar of God. Thou art wanted to
bear witness at their judgment and be thyself adjudged. Come, my husband,
thou art summoned to the realms of death!'

When the Count's attendants entered his chamber the next morning, they
were filled with dismay at seeing their lord's body, lying cold and stiff along
the chamber floor. Thus the cry of innocence was heard in Heaven, and
three guilty spirits stood together, summoned before the judgment-seat of
Christ.

Thus ended the tale of the Sieur de Linant, in which, all the knights
were deeply interested. They all condemned Count Alarcos for breaking
his faith to the princess at the first; but having broken it and married the
fair lady Gertrudis, it became him to keep faith to her. Respecting his duty
in obeying the king, and thereby slaying his own wife, there was a difference
of sentiment; the German and Venetian knights saying that he could
do no otherwise; the Roman and Scottish knights saying that he was guilty
of cowardly murder, and should have withstood the king, and rather been
slain; and the Roman knight, with whom Sieur de Linant sided, averring
that if he did kill her, he should have killed himself also, over her body.

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The English knight, however, rising up, said with great warmth,

`From first to last, this Count Alarcos hath proved himself a false knight,
and base knave. He was false in vowing to love the princess, when he loved
her not; but having plighted his troth, he was pledged to redeem it. The
beauty, gentleness, and peerless charms of the lady Gertrudis, whom he saw
afterwards, were no excuse for breach of faith towards one less lovely, or
less loved. By his marriage he was false to both; for while his oath had
been given to the princess, he could not bind himself to the Countess Gertrudis.
His old oath stood, and he could make no new one. When, at
length, the king, inspired by the Infanta, commanded him to slay her, he
should rather have held his spurs to the armorer's axe, bent his head to the
block, and suffered the ignominy and the death. But, instead, he sacrifices
innocence; that he may preserve his innocence untainted. By the lion heart
of Richard Plantagenet! he did bring upon himself and knighthood greater
dishonor, by his craven and guilty deed, than the rolling of a hundred
knight's heads from the scaffold. He was a treacherous, base, and craven
knight, and unworthy of name or place in the roll of chivalry. God judge
him; for, by the cross, methinks he hath greater guilt than those who set
him on.'

The English knight, Sir Henry Percie, having thus spoken, all the knights
including the Spanish knight, agreed with him. And so Don Fernando
having failed to prove the precedence of Spanish knighthood, as represented
in the person and prowess of the Count of Alarcos, it fell to the lot of
Signor Pier Farnese, the Venetian knight, to relate a tale of Venetian chivalry,
at their next encampment.

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