A Book of Golden Deeds by Charlotte M. Yonge (books to read romance .TXT) 📕

pap upon the top, so, said the Queen, he might take care of his crown himself.

On Tuesday before Whit Sunday the party set out, escorted by Count Ulric, and several other knights and nobles. After crossing the Danube in a large boat, the Queen and her little girl were placed in a carriage, or more probably a litter, the other ladies rode, and the cradle and its precious contents were carried by four men; but this the poor little Lassla, as Helen shortens his lengthy name, resented so much, that he began to scream so loud that she was forced to dismount and carry him in her arms, along a road rendered swampy by much rain.

They found all the villages deserted by the peasants, who had fled into the woods, and as most of their lords were of the other party, they expected an attack, so the little king was put into the carriage with his mother and sister, and the ladies formed a circle round it 'that if anyone shot at the carriage we might receive the stroke'. When the danger was over the child was taken out again, for he would be content nowhere but in the arms of either his nurse or of faithful Helen, who took turns to carry him on foot nearly all the way, sometimes in a high wind which covered them with dust, sometimes in great heat, sometimes in rain so heavy that Helen's fur pelisse, with which she covered his cradle, had to be wrung out several times. They slept at an inn, round which the gentlemen lighted a circle of fires, and kept watch all night.

Weissenburg was loyal, five hundred armed gentlemen came out to meet them, and on Whitsun Eve they entered the city, Helen carrying her little king in her arms in the midst of a circle of these five hundred holding their naked swords aloft. On Whit Sunday, Helen rose early, bathed the little fellow, who was twelve weeks old that day, and dressed him. He was then carried in her arms to the church, beside his mother. According to the old Hungarian customs, the choir door was closed--the burghers were within, and would not open till the new monarch should have taken the great coronation oath to respect the Hungarian liberties and laws.

This oath was taken by the Queen in the name of her son, the doors were opened, and all the train entered, the little princess being lifted up to stand by the organ, lest she should be hurt in the throng. First Helen held her charge up to be confirmed, and then she had to hold him while he was knighted, with a richly adorned sword bearing the motto 'Indestructible', and by a stout Hungarian knight called Mikosch Weida, who struck with such a goodwill that Helen felt the blow on her arm, and the Queen cried out to him not to hurt the child.

The Archbishop of Gran anointed the little creature, dressed him in the red and gold robe, and put on his head the holy crown, and the people admired to see how straight he held up his neck under it; indeed, they admired the loudness and strength of his cries, when, as the good lady records, 'the noble king had little pleasure in his coronation for he wept aloud'. She had to hold him up for the rest of the service, while Count Ulric of Eily held the crown over his head, and afterwards to seat him in a chair in St. Peter's Church, and then he was carried home in his cradle, with the count holding the crown over his head, and the other regalia borne before him.

And thus Ladislas became King of Hungary at twelve weeks old, and was then carried off by his mother into Austria for safety. Whether this secret robbery of the crown, and coronation by stealth, was wise or just on the mother's part is a question not easy of answer--though of course she deemed it her duty to do her utmost for her child's rights. Of Helen Kottenner's deep fidelity and conscientious feeling there can be no doubt, and her having acted with her eyes fully open to the risk she ran, her trust in Heaven overcoming her fears and terrors, rendered her truly a heroine.

The crown has had many other adventures, and afterwards was kept in an apartment of its own, in the castle of Ofen, with an antechamber guarded by two grenadiers. The door was of iron, with three locks, and the crown itself was contained in an iron chest with five seals. All this, however, did not prevent it from being taken away and lost in the Revolution of 1849.


GEORGE THE TRILLER

1455


I.

'Why, Lady dear, so sad of cheer?
Hast waked the livelong night?'
'My dreams foreshow my children's woe,
Ernst bold and Albrecht bright.

'From the dark glades of forest shades
There rushed a raging boar,
Two sapling oaks with cruel strokes
His crooked tusks uptore.'

'Ah, Lady dear, dismiss thy fear
Of phantoms haunting sleep!'
'The giant knight, Sir Konrad hight,
Hath vowed a vengeance deep.

'My Lord, o'erbold, hath kept his gold,
And scornful answer spake:
'Kunz, wisdom learn, nor strive to burn
The fish within their lake.'

'See, o'er the plain, with all his train,
My Lord to Leipzig riding;
Some danger near my children dear
My dream is sure betiding.'

'The warder waits before the gates,
The castle rock is steep,
The massive walls protect the halls,
Thy children safely sleep.'

II.

'T is night's full noon, fair shines the moon
On Altenburg's old halls,
The silver beams in tranquil streams
Rest on the ivied walls.

Within their tower the midnight hour
Has wrapt the babes in sleep,
With unclosed eyes their mother lies
To listen and to weep.

What sudden sound is stirring round?
What clang thrills on her ear?
Is it the breeze amid the trees
Re-echoing her fear?

Swift from her bed, in sudden dread,
She to her lattice flies:
Oh! sight of woe, from far below
Behold a ladder rise:

And from yon tower, her children's bower,
Lo! Giant Kunz descending!
Ernst, in his clasp of iron grasp,
His cries with hers is blending.

'Oh! hear my prayer, my children spare,
The sum shall be restored;
Nay, twenty-fold returned the gold,
Thou know'st how true my Lord.'

With mocking grace he bowed his face:
'Lady, my greetings take;
Thy Lord may learn how I can burn
The fish within their lake.'

Oh! double fright, a second knight
Upon the ladder frail,
And in his arm, with wild alarm,
A child uplifts his wail!

Would she had wings! She wildly springs
To rouse her slumbering train;
Bolted without, her door so stout
Resists her efforts vain!

No mortal ear her calls can hear,
The robbers laugh below;
Her God alone may hear her moan,
Or mark her hour of woe.

A cry below, 'Oh! let me go,
I am no prince's brother;
Their playmate I--Oh! hear my cry
Restore me to my mother!'

With anguish sore she shakes the door.
Once more Sir Kunz is rearing
His giant head. His errand sped
She sees him reappearing.

Her second child in terror wild
Is struggling in his hold;
Entreaties vain she pours again,
Still laughs the robber bold.

'I greet thee well, the Elector tell
How Kunz his counsel takes,
And let him learn that I can burn
The fish within their lakes.'

III.

'Swift, swift, good steed, death's on thy speed,
Gain Isenburg ere morn;
Though far the way, there lodged our prey,
We laugh the Prince to scorn.

'There Konrad's den and merry men
Will safely hold the boys—
The Prince shall grieve long ere we leave
Our hold upon his joys.

'But hark! but hark! how through the dark
The castle bell is tolling,
From tower and town o'er wood and down,
The like alarm notes rolling.

'The peal rings out! echoes the shout!
All Saxony's astir;
Groom, turn aside, swift must we ride
Through the lone wood of fir.'

Far on before, of men a score
Prince Ernst bore still sleeping;
Thundering as fast, Kunz came the last,
Carrying young Albrecht weeping.

The clanging bell with distant swell
Dies on the morning air,
Bohemia's ground another bound
Will reach, and safety there.

The morn's fresh beam lights a cool stream,
Charger and knight are weary,
He draws his rein, the child's sad plain
He meets with accents cheery.

'Sir Konrad good, be mild of mood,
A fearsome giant thou!
For love of heaven, one drop be given
To cool my throbbing brow!'

Kunz' savage heart feels pity's smart,
He soothes the worn-out child,
Bathes his hot cheeks, and bending seeks
For woodland berries wild.

A deep-toned bark! A figure dark,
Smoke grimed and sun embrowned,
Comes through the wood in wondering mood,
And by his side a hound.

'Oh, to my aid, I am betrayed,
The Elector's son forlorn,
From out my bed these men of dread
Have this night hither borne!'

'Peace, if thou 'rt wise,' the false groom cries,
And aims a murderous blow;
His pole-axe long, his arm so strong,
Must lay young Albrecht low.

See, turned aside, the weapon glide
The woodman's pole along,
To Albrecht's clasp his friendly grasp
Pledges redress from wrong.

Loud the hound's note as at the throat
Of the false groom he flies;
Back at the sounds Sir Konrad bounds:
'Off hands, base churl,' he cries.

The robber lord with mighty sword,
Mailed limbs of giant strength—
The woodman stout, all arms without,
Save his pole's timber length--

Unequal fight! Yet for the right
The woodman holds the field;
Now left, now right, repels the knight,
His pole full stoutly wields.

His whistle clear rings full of cheer,