hopeless one, what disheartens you? Are you so unlearned in the sympathies of love, which agitate my heart, as not to perceive or care for them? If the language of the heart is unintelligible to you, take the confession of love from my mouth. What hinders us for the future to unite the fate of our lives?”—“Ah!” sighed Godfrey, “your goodness enraptures me; but you know not the vow which binds me, to receive no wife but from the hand of my mother, and not to leave this good mother, till I have performed a child’s last duties, and closed her eyes. Could you resolve to quit your court and follow me to Ardennes, my lot would be the happiest on earth.”
The Countess did not take long to consider; she agreed to all that he desired. The proposal to leave Brabant did not much please her, nor the stepmother either, whom she thought a troublesome addition; but love overcame all. With great celerity was the procession prepared, the persons of the glittering train appointed, among whom appeared the court physician Sambul, although his beard and both ears were wanting. The cunning Richilda had loosened his fetters, and again graciously accorded to him the former honour of favourite; for she thought to make use of him, to send the stepmother quickly out of the world, and then to return with her husband to Brabant.
The worthy mother received her son and the supposed daughter-in-law, with courtly etiquette, seemed highly to approve the choice of the Knight of the Grave, and everything was put in readiness for a marriage festival. The appointed day arrived, and the Lady Richilda, arrayed like the queen of the fairies, entered the hall, and wished that the hours had wings. Then came a page, and with a sorrowful air whispered into the bridegroom’s ear. Godfrey clasped his hands, and said with a loud voice, “Unhappy youth! who will on thy wedding-day stand for thee in the row of brides, since thy beloved has been murdered by a cruel hand?” Then he turned to the countess and said, “Know, beautiful Richilda, that I have portioned twelve maidens, who should go up to the altar with me, and the most beautiful has been murdered by the jealousy of an unnatural mother; say, what revenge does this crime deserve?” Richilda, angry at an event which would delay her wishes, or at least diminish the joy of the day, said with indignation, “Oh! the horrid deed! The cruel mother deserves to stand in the row of brides, with the unhappy youth, in the place of the murdered, in red-hot iron slippers, which will be a balsam for his wounded heart, for revenge is sweet as love.”—“You decide aright,” replied Godfrey. “It shall be so.” The whole court approved the righteous sentence of the Countess, and the wits presumed to say, that the queen of rich Arabia, who had travelled to Solomon to fetch wisdom, could not have have spoken better.
At this moment, the folding doors of the next chamber, where the altar was prepared, flew open; there stood the innocent angel
M
