The Talisman by Walter Scott (best novels of all time txt) 📕

of contenting herself with seeing, and laying aside for the present the still more exquisite pleasure of being seen.

Meantime the sponsors of both champions went, as was their duty, to see that they were duly armed and prepared for combat. The Archduke of Austria was in no hurry to perform this part of the ceremony, having had rather an unusually severe debauch upon wine of Shiraz the preceding evening. But the Grand Master of the Temple, more deeply concerned in the event of the combat, was early before the tent of Conrade of Montserrat. To his great surprise, the attendants refused him admittance.

“Do you not know me, ye knaves?” said the Grand Master, in great anger.

“We do, most valiant and reverend,” answered Conrade's squire; “but even you may not at present enter—the Marquis is about to confess himself.”

“Confess himself!” exclaimed the Templar, in a tone where alarm mingled with surprise and scorn—“and to whom, I pray thee?”

“My master bid me be secret,” said the squire; on which the Grand Master pushed past him, and entered the tent almost by force.

The Marquis of Montserrat was kneeling at the feet of the hermit of Engaddi, and in the act of beginning his confession.

“What means this, Marquis?” said the Grand Master; “up, for shame—or, if you must needs confess, am not I here?”

“I have confessed to you too often already,” replied Conrade, with a pale cheek and a faltering voice. “For God's sake, Grand Master, begone, and let me unfold my conscience to this holy man.”

“In what is he holier than I am?” said the Grand Master.—“Hermit, prophet, madman—say, if thou darest, in what thou excellest me?”

“Bold and bad man,” replied the hermit, “know that I am like the latticed window, and the divine light passes through to avail others, though, alas! it helpeth not me. Thou art like the iron stanchions, which neither receive light themselves, nor communicate it to any one.”

“Prate not to me, but depart from this tent,” said the Grand Master; “the Marquis shall not confess this morning, unless it be to me, for I part not from his side.”

“Is this YOUR pleasure?” said the hermit to Conrade; “for think not I will obey that proud man, if you continue to desire my assistance.”

“Alas,” said Conrade irresolutely, “what would you have me say? Farewell for a while—-we will speak anon.”

“O procrastination!” exclaimed the hermit, “thou art a soul-murderer!—Unhappy man, farewell—not for a while, but until we shall both meet no matter where. And for thee,” he added, turning to the Grand Master, “TREMBLE!”

“Tremble!” replied the Templar contemptuously, “I cannot if I would.”

The hermit heard not his answer, having left the tent.

“Come! to this gear hastily,” said the Grand Master, “since thou wilt needs go through the foolery. Hark thee—I think I know most of thy frailties by heart, so we may omit the detail, which may be somewhat a long one, and begin with the absolution. What signifies counting the spots of dirt that we are about to wash from our hands?”

“Knowing what thou art thyself,” said Conrade, “it is blasphemous to speak of pardoning another.”

“That is not according to the canon, Lord Marquis,” said the Templar; “thou art more scrupulous than orthodox. The absolution of the wicked priest is as effectual as if he were himself a saint—otherwise, God help the poor penitent! What wounded man inquires whether the surgeon that tends his gashes has clean hands or no? Come, shall we to this toy?”

“No,” said Conrade, “I will rather die unconfessed than mock the sacrament.”

“Come, noble Marquis,” said the Templar, “rouse up your courage, and speak not thus. In an hour's time thou shalt stand victorious in the lists, or confess thee in thy helmet, like a valiant knight.”

“Alas, Grand Master,” answered Conrade, “all augurs ill for this affair, the strange discovery by the instinct of a dog—the revival of this Scottish knight, who comes into the lists like a spectre—all betokens evil.”

“Pshaw,” said the Templar, “I have seen thee bend thy lance boldly against him in sport, and with equal chance of success. Think thou art but in a tournament, and who bears him better in the tilt-yard than thou?—Come, squires and armourers, your master must be accoutred for the field.”

The attendants entered accordingly, and began to arm the Marquis.

“What morning is without?” said Conrade.

“The sun rises dimly,” answered a squire.

“Thou seest, Grand Master,” said Conrade, “nought smiles on us.”

“Thou wilt fight the more coolly, my son,” answered the Templar; “thank Heaven, that hath tempered the sun of Palestine to suit thine occasion.”

Thus jested the Grand Master. But his jests had lost their influence on the harassed mind of the Marquis, and notwithstanding his attempts to seem gay, his gloom communicated itself to the Templar.

“This craven,” he thought, “will lose the day in pure faintness and cowardice of heart, which he calls tender conscience. I, whom visions and auguries shake not—-who am firm in my purpose as the living rock—I should have fought the combat myself. Would to God the Scot may strike him dead on the spot; it were next best to his winning the victory. But come what will, he must have no other confessor than myself—our sins are too much in common, and he might confess my share with his own.”

While these thoughts passed through his mind, he continued to assist the Marquis in arming, but it was in silence.

The hour at length arrived; the trumpets sounded; the knights rode into the lists armed at all points, and mounted like men who were to do battle for a kingdom's honour. They wore their visors up, and riding around the lists three times, showed themselves to the spectators. Both were goodly persons, and both had noble countenances. But there was an air of manly confidence on the brow of the Scot—a radiancy of hope, which amounted even to cheerfulness; while, although pride and effort had recalled much of Conrade's natural courage, there lowered still on his brow a cloud of ominous despondence. Even his steed seemed to tread less lightly and blithely to the trumpet-sound than the noble Arab which was bestrode by Sir Kenneth; and the SPRUCH-SPRECHER shook his head while he observed that, while the challenger rode around the lists in the course of the sun—that is, from right to left—the defender made the same circuit WIDDERSINS—that is, from left to right—which is in most countries held ominous.

A temporary altar was erected just beneath the gallery occupied by the Queen, and beside it stood the hermit in the dress of his order as a Carmelite friar. Other churchmen were also present. To this altar the challenger and defender were successively brought forward, conducted by their respective sponsors. Dismounting before it, each knight avouched the justice of his cause by a solemn oath on the Evangelists, and prayed that his success might be according to the truth or falsehood of