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About The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870 | View Entire Issue (June 19, 1869)
VX)E. 11. Written for the Banner <of the South- The King’s Beil. BY JAMES J. WEIGHT. The King lay on his death-bed, he called to him his son, He grasped him firmly by the hand, and pointed to the throne; “My son,” he said, with trembling voice, “this throne I leave to thee, But with my sceptre pry thee take this last advice from me: “ Thou fondly dreamed that the world is one wide bower of bliss; Alasl dear boy, it is not so, be well assured of this ; In torrents wild grief surges on, by drops joy trickles down, And few indeed have water’d me, since first I wore the crown.” |le spoke and died. The son would fain his father's word gainsay, In roseate hues the earth lies bathed, as in the light of May ; Serene on high he smiling sits, and firm resolved to show* ’Twas but a clouded spirit breathed those oracles of woe. So then upon the roof which crowns the royal Hall so wide, Where oft he feasts, and muses oft, and dwells in kingly pride, A rich toned silvery Bell is hung, full lightly poised to fling Its music down, if one below' but touch the silken string. When near and far his heralds speed, proclaiming as they go “Whenever, on our Sovereign’s heart, joy spreads her genial glow' Your Bell shall ring!” The Monarch hears, and to himself he said, “ Yes, every day my hand shall chime the weary sun to bed !” Day after day, a gladsome troop, the ro&y morning come, The evening sink in silence down, like spectres pale and w r an ; At times toward the useless cord his hand out-stretched the King, Then came a pang ; “Not yet!” he sighed. The Bell I cannot ring. And once he deemed his heart had found at last a faithful friend. “Now quick through all the land,” quoth he, “the gladsome news I’ll send” Y hen breathless to the presence speeds a courier white with dust, “Sire! leagued with thy foes is he in whom thy soul did trust.” And once on every sense was laid a deeper, tender spell; Reciprocated love shall ring sweet from my Silver Bell! Pale comes the trembling chancellor and sighs, on bended knee, “My Lord! on earth not even a Ivingmay claim fidelity.” As years glide on might not a Prince rejoice in calm content, kh treasures full, and wide domains, and mighty ornament, broad verdant fields, and fertile plains, and fragrant meadows fair, liere true and loving subjects, dwell al ove them God’s free air. Pewn Jeans he from the casement high; ''here e r his glances roam, imrsery 0 f happiness appears each humble home; bis innocent is stirred. “Now! r.ow! Wi s ie . n ’ lo! within the Hall appears a troubled, prostrate crowd. King! despoil'd by fire and sword our blazing homestead glow, 10 ” >er band wreaks havoc wild, our trusted chief be thou!” °' plundering knaves!” lie cries in Bm Y a ! h ’ “y° n cord I must not draw, " • I ., UCr: ln y falchion from its sheath, for ttberty and law.” Th feir traces on the Monarch now have Ibo -! llle Suffering set. ,u still upon the roof the Bell hangs 4 ' el ; a t times, a tranquil gleam of g- I ‘ j ce Ins spirit cheers, It wakes no echo from the Bell, calm waiting through the years. And now the final hour is near, enthroned in chair of state, lie hears wit hout a moaning and a sobbing passionate, “ My Chancellor ! I charge thee, tell what mean these wailings sore, “ The father is departing and the children throng the door!” “ Oh, let them in Lord Chancellor, let in my children good!” “If life could but be bought, my King, they’d buy thine own in blood!” Then pouring in with muffled tread his faithful lieges press, To see his royal face once more, to see him, and to bless. You love me then, my children ?” Quick a thousand souls reply ; He stands erect, and looks toward Heaven with moist and saintly eye, - - His hand is on the cord at last, the long hushed Bell to ring, And joy tolls forth a requiem to sooth the dying King! For the Banner of the South. The Executioners Bride. BY MISS ANNIE M. BARNWELL, BEAUFORT, SOUTH CAROLINA. [continued.] CHAPTER 111. THE LAST HOPE OF RESCUE. Ogier stood once more alone in the apartment he had quitted scarce an hour before. One short hour, and yet his whole being seemed changed. He no longer strode proudly through the room, with head erect, Bashing eye, and smiling lip; but sat in a large chair, his face hidden in his folded arms, which rested on the table. Fie could not have saved her; he knew how utterly impossible that would have been; and yet his heart was filled with remorse, as though, by his own act he had left the unhappy girl to her terri ble fate, after snatching from her the only means of escape left in her power. He could not shut from his sight her beautiful pallid face and touching, child like form; round his knees her arms still seemed to cling in their despair and terror; while in his oar still rung her passionate, pleading voice, broken by sobs, and wild with agonized entreaty. With a deep groan, he raised his head, and his eye fell upon an open book be side him. The extended page contained the law which decreed that the execu tioner who should strike off, each with a sin gle blow, the beads of nine persons of noble birth, should himself become noble. He read it slowly, striving to reawaken the proud thoughts which had filled his breast, ere he departed for his visit to the prison. It was in vain. His eye glanced carelessly to the opposite page, and read these words : “ Should an unmarried female be condemned to death , the executioner may save her life and doaicag with all punishment whatsoever , to which she hath been appointed , by marrying her, ere the hour of her doom hath sounded .” Ogier sprung to his feet, with an excla mation of joy, striking his open hand upon the page : “I will save her!” he cried aloud, and she shall be mine—all mine !” He thought of the hope of his life-time which must again elude his grasp, and his purpose wavered; but he thought of Isabelle, and his resolution returned. He had grown from earliest childhood lived alone and unloved, and as he grew towards man’s estate his whole heart had been filled with the one ambitious dream of becoming noble. To fit him selt tor that high position, he had toiled unwearyinglyq and there was no accom plishment known to that age in which he did not excel. And this was all done alone. No loving eye watched his pro gress, no loving voice cheered him in the 1 .A-TJ GrJJ STA, GA., JUNE 19, 1869. hours of his depression, no loving heart gave him ready sympathy. And he bad never craved it all—at least he knew not that he had. He thought ambition filled his heart; but now that he had allowed love to enter there, taking by storm the fortress he gave him ready sympathy. And he had never craved it all—at least he knew not that he had. He thought ambition filled his heart; but now that deemed impregnable, it mastered com pletely his strong, passionate nature, in toxicating him with the wild and thrill ing delight of this novel emotion. As he stood with his hand resting upon that open page, a dazzling vision passed rapidly before his mind. He saw a fairy form beside him in that lonely room; be felt a soft band resting in his own; to his face those deep blue orbs, he had seen dimmed with fear and weeping, were raised bright and seft with joy and ten derness; and he heard her voice, clear and silvery, calling him her preserver, her love, her hujfband. It was very strange and sweet t > the lonely, passion ate man, and it brought light to his eye and a smile to his lip which they had never known before. Suddenly anew thought struck him, and it seemed to pierce his heart like a sword-thrust. What if she refused his succor on such terms, preferring death to a union with one whom her whole being seemed to loathe anA- shrink from ? In that case, he would, with his own arm be forced to strike the fatal blow It was an idea fraught with horror to him now, and yet, so lately, it had filled him with triumphant joy. He glanced at the clock. It was now past one, and she must suffer at ten. Only eight hours in which to save her ! He hurriedly resumed his cloak and hat, aud again sought the prison. The jailer eyed him suspiciously as he gave the order to be admitted to the condemned cell, but he dared not refuse him entrance. He contented himself with summoning two comrades to share his watch in the corridor without. Ogier found the prisoner seated on her rude bed, sunk in a stupor of despair. She recognized him, and uttered a cry of fear and horror. He came and stood be side her, speaking low, and hoarsely: “ Lady, ” he said, “I left you with an assurance that it was out of my power to save you from your dreadful doom. I was wrong. I had forgotten one clause, by which, on a single condition, I could snatch you from the death you fear, and set you free, with no penalty hanging over your head. But this I can only do with your consent. In your own hands lies your fate.” She sprang to her feet, trembling with unlooked lor hope. Clasping her hands, she cried passionately, “ And you will save me from that fear ful, fearful death! Oh, the God of mercy bless you, forever and ever !” *' I will do all that lies in my power,” lie answered in a voice which quivered with emotion;” but, your fate rests with yourself. Unless you consent to the condition, I can do nothing.” “My consent! Oh, you mock me. Is there aught 1 would not do for safety and for freedom ? Speak ! Name this condition ; but it is already accepted.” He drew a step nearer to her, and paused a moment ere he spoke: When his answer came, it was so low that she bent forward to hear it: “At ten o’clock in the morning, you die,” he muttered. “ If, before that hour you are wedded to me, life and liberty are yours. Do you still consent ?” She shrank from him, horror and loathing in her face and gesture: “ Wedded to you, the Executioner of Rouen !” she cried. “God of Heaven! how have I so deeply offended thee ?” “ You will not consent then ?” said Ogier, bitterly. “ You prefer death to a marriage with me ?” “ Mon Dieu, have mercy! have mercy!” cried the girl, wildly. “ Man, do you know what it is you ask ? What! I, the the daughter of Marcus, Count de Lisle, in whose veins flow the blood of Charle magne ! I, the betrothed of Gaston de Morna}’, the bravest knight of France ! that I should so degrade myself, so dis honor the noble house to which I belong as to wed a low-bom, blood stained exe cutioner ?” Hoes this prison cell, the sentence under which you lie, the crime of which they have found you guilty, not degrade you then replied Ogier sternly. “Is it no dishonor to your noble house that you die a criminal on the public scaffold amid the gaze and the shoutings of the rabble throng ? llemernber, your only salvation from this lies in being my bride.” “You insult me!” cried Isabelle, proudly, her pale cheek crimsoning at his wordsj “I am innocent of the crime for which I must die. Think you, I have fallen so low, that I would accept dishonor to save myself from death ? I do not believe your words. When such as 3*oll delight in witnessing agony, and you have brought this tale to my ear that vou might raise my hopes fur a few brief moments, and then crush them, with a smile at my anguish. Cruel, inhuman wretch, leave me to my misery until we meet to-morrow.” Ogier threw from him the cloak and hat, which had partial!}’ concealed his form and features, and standing erect before her, in the pride of his noble and perfect beauty, said calmly: “ Listen to my story, lady, ere you re* ject this your last chance" for life. In my veins flows blood as noble as your own. My father was a gallant Count of France, who fell by an English sword while I was yet an infant; but my mother was a peasant maid of LaDguedoc. She, too, died ere I could speak plainly, and I was left to the cold, unwilling charity of her brother. Even as a child, I felt that I was different from the humble people around me; and when, at the age of sixteen, my harsh uncle revealed to me my father’s name, coupled with bitter taunts upon my pride and impatience of control, I swore that I, too, would die a noble. At first I dreamed of winning my prize on the field of buttle, but I soon knew how vain was such a hope. While almost in despair, I was thrown with the executioner of Rouen. He was kind to me, and I told him of my purpose. He gave ready sympathy, and offered to place me in the only path to success. The severing of nine noble heads, each at a single blow, raised an executioner to the rank of a noble of France. He had already severed six; and he offered to take me as his assistant, to teach me his bloody trade, and when he had struck his last blow, to procure me the position which he filled. I was young, bitter, am bitious and desperate. I consented. Al ready have eight noble heads fallen by one blow from my arm ; yours would have been the ninth and last. To-morrow, at the moment of your death, the object of my life would have beeu attained. Some inspiration made me think that you might have procured poison, and 1 hurried to your cell in time to frustrate your purpose. I left you, an altered man. Love and pity entered into my lonely heart, and struggled fiercely with ambi tion which had ruled there so long unri valled. They conquered. By chance, my eye fell upon the law which gives me the sole means of saving you. One more blow of this strong arm wins me nobility. The Dauphin stands my friend, and the chance to strike it will not bo long delayed. It shall be the only one I will ever strike again. lam wealthy, and I make no vain boast when I say, that there is not a knight in France more skilled in all knightly accomplishments than myself. Lady,’ and his cairn tooe changed to one low and passionate, “fairest lady, I love thee My life shall have for its highest object, your happiness. If courage and strength, and resolution have power to win lame and honor, as my wife, they shall be yours. I will win them and lay them at your feet. I have done much—l can and will do more. Will you still choose death rather than my love V’ Bhe stood with her eyes fixed upon his noble, eloquent face, listening to every word with trembling eagerness. W hen he paused for her reply, she burst into a flood of wild, tempestuous weep ing. He approached and bent over her, but she waved him off. “ I know not what to do,” she cried pitifully. “ God help me! It is too terrible !” In a.few moments Ogier spoke again, in low, gentle tones, full of respect, pity and tenderness: “ Hady, I will leave }’ou now,” he said, “to think of all I have told you. I would not press you fora speedy answer, were it in my power to command dela} r . But it is not; and ten o’clock must find you the bride of death or of me. God knows, I would set } 7 ou free, unshackled b} T a single condition, were it in my pow er, even though I feel it would bring me a suffering, new, and far keener than aught I have known before. But I am powerless. I will come at nine for your auswer. A priest shah be near, and if you consent to accept my band, the mar riage must take place instantly; as the law requires that the fatal hour find us wedded. Sweet lady, farewell.” And he hurried from the cell, leaving Isabelle sobbing wildl}’. CHAPTER IV. ISABELLE’S DECISION. For many moments, Isabelle continued to weep bitterly; and it was not until exhausted by the violence of her emo tion, she sank back upon her rude couch, that her thoughts turned to the deci sion which lay before her. Either alternative was fraught with the keenest horror. Hers was not a soul which, sustained by the consciousness of innocence, could meet courageously the reverses and storms* of life. She was young, and fair, and gentle, with a heart tender and loving, and a tem per as sunny as the skies of her own Provence. She was formed to cling in blind trust and obedience to a stronger and higher nature; not to stand alone. She was singularly romantic, a true daughter of Provence, and full of purity and unselfishness; but she was weak, irresolute, and a child of impulse. No circumstances could ever have made her guilty of the crime of which she was accused; but it was her own wrong act that had brought suspicion upon her. The true state of the case was this : Her father possessed a nature marked by self-love, baseness, avarice, and an utter absence of principle. He had been aware of the immense sum of money the Sire de Coucy had beneath his roof, and in the dead of night he entered the chamber of his guest, and robbed him of his treasure. As lie was about to leave the room, raising his eyes care lessly to a mirror, which faced him, he saw that De Coucy was awake, and watching him intently. As he moved, the victim closed his eyes, pretending slumber; but the (Punt knew that it was feigned, and that he was lost. His plan was quickly formed; with a stealtbv step he approached the bed, apparently to make sure that his guest slept soundly. Dc Coney did not move, and raising his head, as if satisfied, the Count turned half away; then, with a sudden motion, he wheeled back, and buried a con cealed dagger in the heart of his vic tim. So well aimed and vigorous was the blow, that the old man scarcely groaned, ere he lay a corpse. On reaching his chamber, with the money, the Count discovered that he had left his dagger, which, being well known, and never out of his possession, No. 14.
