“On what nation have the antiquaries endeavored to fix the authorship of these tales?” replied Herbert.
“Here doctors disagree: Wharton contends for a Poitevin prior of the Benedictine convent of St. Eloi at Paris: whilst Douce argues for a German origin, because in the moralization attached to one tale there is a German proverb, and in another the names of some dogs are partly German, partly Saxon.”
“Might not this arise from the pen of a translator or adapter?” suggested Thompson.
“More than probably it did. The fact of the scenes in one or two of the tales being laid in England, may tend to show that the copy in which they appear was prefaced by a writer of that country: as the introduction of the German proverb would lead us to suppose that the editor of that copy was a German.”
“Is it not probable,” said Herbert, “that this book may have been a mere5 collection of the popular tales of the age in which it was written, confined to no particular country, drawn6 from every available source; thus leaving to the reputed author, the task of arrangement and transcription, rather than of origination?”
75“It is now useless to endeavor to determine this point: as in the history of fiction it is far more easy to upset prior theories, than to set up new ones,” replied Lathom.
“Whose conversions, as you kindly8 denominate them, do you propose illustrating9 this evening?” asked Thompson.
“Parnell and Schiller,” rejoined Lathom, “The Lay of the Hermit, and The Ballad10 of Fridolin. We will begin with Parnell.”
THE ANGEL AND THE HERMIT.
Far in a wild, unknown to public view, in a cell which he had hollowed out with his own hands on the edge of an open down, from youth to age a reverend hermit grew. The neighboring lord’s shepherd was wont11 to feed his sheep on short but sweet pasture of the hermit’s down.
One day the poor shepherd, fatigued12 with watching, fell asleep, and a robber came and stole the lord’s flock. When he awoke, he discovered the loss, and stoutly14 maintained that the sheep had been stolen, but the lord would not believe the shepherd, and commanded him to be put to death.
The hermit saw the deed, and thus communed with himself:
“Merciful God, seest thou what this man 76hath done, and how the innocent suffers for the guilty? Why permittest thou these things? If injustice15 is to triumph, why remain I here? Verily I will re-enter the world, and do as other men do.”
Impressed with these thoughts, the hermit left his cell, and wandered back to the world and the abodes16 of men, and on his way, an angel, sent from God, met him, and being in the form of a traveller, he joined himself to the hermit, and asked him which way he journeyed.
“To the city that lieth before us,” rejoined the hermit.
“I will accompany you,” replied his companion; “I am an angel sent from God, to be the associate of your wanderings.”
So they walked onwards to the city. When they entered the gates, they sought the house of a soldier, and entreated17 him, by God’s love, to give them harborage during the night. The veteran complied with cheerfulness, and spared not of the best of his substance, for the entertainment of the travellers. The hospitable18 soldier had but one child, an infant in the cradle. And so it happened, that when supper was ended, the veteran lighted the guests to his best chamber19, and the angel and the hermit retired20 to rest. About midnight the hermit awoke, and saw the angel rise from the bed, enter the 77chamber where the infant slept, and strangle it with his own hands.
“Surely,” said the hermit to himself, “this cannot be an angel of God; did not the good soldier give us every thing that we required? and now, lo, the only child that he had, is slain21 by this, his guest.” And yet he feared to reprove his companion.
With the morning, the hermit and the angel arose, and sought a neighboring city, where they found a hospitable reception in the house of one of its chief persons. This man had a valuable drinking cup of gold, which the angel purloined22 during the night, but the hermit yet was silent, for he feared more than he doubted. On the morrow the travellers continued their journey, and on their way they came to a river, over which was a bridge thrown. They ascended23 the bridge, and met, midway, a poor and aged24 pilgrim.
“My friend,” said the angel to the old man, “show us the way to yonder city.”
As the pilgrim turned him to show the angel the road, he seized him by the shoulders, and cast the old man headlong into the river that ran beneath.
“Alas25, alas!” cried the hermit to himself, “it is the Evil One himself. Why? what evil had the poor man done?” and yet, with all his 78thoughts, the hermit feared to give utterance26 to his fears.
About the hour of vespers, the travellers reached another city, in which they sought shelter for the night; but the master of the house refused them rudely.
“For the love of heaven,” said the angel, “spare us of thy house for shelter against the wolves and other wild beasts.”
“That,” rejoined the man, “is my pigsty27, lie ye there, if it so please ye; for ye come no other whither.”
“Necessity,” replied the angel, “forces us to accept your ungracious offer.”
On the morrow, the angel called the host, and said, “Friend, I give you this goblet28,” presenting to him the cup he had stolen from his former host.
“Now,” said the hermit, “know I that this is no angel; doth he not reward evil for good, and good for evil? No longer will I travel with you; fare thee well, I commend thee to God.”
“Dear friend,” rejoined the angel, “hear me ere you depart. Whilst thou wert in thy hermitage, the lord of the flock unjustly slew29 his careless but innocent servant. For his innocence30 he will be in a fit state to enter another world; but had he lived, he would have fallen 79into sin, and died before repentance31 could have followed. Eternal punishment shall follow them who stole the sheep; but repentance and acts of faith shall repair the error which the owner of the flock committed in his ignorance. Truly the soldier was hospitable, but he loved his son overmuch; ere then, he was charitable and merciful, but on the birth of his child he grew parsimonious32 and covetous33, that he might leave a fortune to his son. With his child’s death hath returned his Christian34 virtues35 to his parent. Before that cup was made, which I stole from our host who owned it, there was not a more abstemious36 person in this world; but with that cup came the love of indulgence and inebriety37. I took away the temptation, and our host is once more abstemious. Again, I cast the poor pilgrim into the river. He whom I drowned was a good Christian; but had he proceeded further, he would have fallen into mortal sin: now he is saved and is reigning38 in heaven. Neither did I bestow39 the cup on the unhospitable citizen without reason: he gave us his swine’s house; he has received his reward—the temptation of gluttony and pleasure. Guard, therefore, thy lips; detract not from the Almighty40; to him all things are known.”
At these words, the hermit fell at the feet of 80the angel, and besought41 his pardon. It was acceded42 to him, and he returned to his hermitage a wiser and a better Christian.
“Admitting, of course, the identity of the main incidents, Parnell must have the credit of heightening those he has used with many masterly touches of poetic43 coloring, and of a happier arrangement of circumstances,” said Herbert, who had been following the story in the poet’s works.
“Many indeed are the proofs of his genius and address in the treatment of the subject,” said Lathom. “And no one more striking, than his delaying the discovery of the angelic nature of the visitant until the close of the story; and thus introducing a beautiful description and interesting surprise.”
“Read us the part,” said Thompson.
“It is where the angel has just thrown the guide into the river—
He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,
When the strange partner seem’d no longer man.
His robe turn’d white, and flow’d upon his feet;
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
And wings, whose colors glitter’d on the day,
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight,
“Do you suppose that the Gesta was known to the poet?” asked Frederick Thompson.
“Hardly—he is far more likely to have taken the incidents of his poem from the Divine Dialogues of the Platonist Moore; who affixes50 to his version of the tale some reflections well worth reading. ‘The affairs of this 81world,’ says the old Platonist, ‘are like a curious but intricately contrived51 comedy; and we cannot judge of the tendency of what is past—or acting53 at present, before the entrance of the last act, which shall bring in righteousness in triumph; who though she hath abided many a brunt, and has been very cruelly and despitefully used in the world, yet at last, according to our desires, we shall see the knight54 overcome the giant.’ ... But impatiently to call for vengeance55 upon every enormity before that time, is rudely to overturn the stage before the entrance of the fifth act, out of ignorance of the plot of the comedy; and to prevent the solemnity of the general judgment56, by more paltry57 and particular executions.”
“Thanks for the old Platonist’s remarks,” said Herbert. “I could have wished them more elaborate, were not Schiller’s Fridolin waiting for the conclusion of them, to come upon our stage.”
“I will give you, then, one form of Schiller’s ballad.”
FULGENTIUS AND THE WICKED STEWARD.
When Martin was emperor of Rome, his uncle Malitius was steward of his household, and his nephew Fulgentius, his only sister’s son, an orphan58, was his constant attendant, his cup-bearer at meals, and his page of his chamber. For Martin loved his nephew, and was kind to him; and regarded him as his own child, for he was not a father. Malitius hated this Fulgentius; seeing that if he should succeed 82to the kingdom, his own son would lose that crown which he had so long regarded as his by right of inheritance. Day and night he thought how he might cause Martin to discard Fulgentius.
“My lord,” said he with a face of assumed distress59, one day to the emperor, “it is with great pain, my lord, that I speak unto you, but in that I am thy true servant, it is my duty to warn my sovereign of any thing that lessens60 his honor and repute.”
“Speak on,” said the emperor.
“Will my lord,” rejoined the steward with apparent anxiety, “keep what I shall tell him a secret between him and me?”
“If thou wishest it, Malitius,” said the emperor.
“Oh, my dear lord, how ungrateful is the world,” began the steward.
“Well, well, that is as it may be,” rejoined the emperor; “but to your secret, the sun is rising high in the heavens, and my horses wait me.”
“Your nephew, Fulgentius—”
“Ha!” said Martin, “Fulgentius; what of him?”
“I grieve to say, my lord, he most ungratefully defames you among his companions, speaking ill of your habits, and especially of your 83breath, and saying that it is death to him to serve you.”
“If I could but prove this,” muttered the emperor.
“Remark him, my lord, when he next serves you with the cup, and if he turns away his head when he gives you the goblet, be sure that he so accuses, and thus endeavors to make the bystanders believe that his accusation61 is true.”
“It is well,” replied the emperor; “go, good Malitius, we will remember your advice.”
Then went the steward unto Fulgentius, and spoke62 kindly to him, and professed63, as a friend and a near relative, to warn him how nearly he was about to lose the good wishes of Martin, and perhaps forfeit64 his succession to the throne.
“Fulgentius, my dear relative,” said he with a fawning65 smile, “thy breath is sadly displeasing66 to the emperor, and he talks of removing you from near attendance on his person.”
“Oh! good sir,” replied the youth, “can this be true?”
“Alas! I fear it is so. I have experienced it myself; but be sure it is merely temporary ill health, it will soon pass off.”
“And before then I shall have lost my uncle’s good opinion. What shall I do, Malitius?”
“There is but one thing,” replied the steward; “when you hand the cup to the emperor, turn 84away your head from him; then will he not be incommoded by your breath, and will see that you do your best to please him.”
“Thanks, good Malitius. Your advice has made me feel happy.”
“Thy happiness be thy ruin,” muttered Malitius to himself as he turned away.
That day Fulgentius attended on his uncle at dinner; and as he handed to him the cup he held it far off, and turned away his face, lest he should distress the emperor.
“Wretch!” cried the emperor, at the same time striking Fulgentius on the breast; “now know I that it is true what I have heard of thee; go, go from my sight, thou varlet, I thought to have made thee a king; but now see my face no more.”
Sorely wept Fulgentius as he passed from the hall, amid the jeers67 and scoffs68 of his former companions; for he was now disgraced, and they cared not for him.
“Malitius,” said the emperor, “let thy son supply the place of this ingrate69. Come, my good lord, counsel me how I may rid myself of this varlet, that disgraces me before the world.”
“Sire, this would I propose; some miles from this city your workmen burn lime in a vast forge in the forest; send to them this night, and bid them cast into their furnace whoever first 85comes to them to-morrow morning, and asks of them ‘Have you performed the emperor’s will?’ Call also Fulgentius to thee, and bid him early on the morrow go to the lime-burners, and ask them whether they have fulfilled your commands; then will they cast him into the fire, and his evil words will perish with him.”
And the emperor did so. He bade Fulgentius be at the kilns70 before sunrise; and that night sent a horseman to the lime-burners, bidding them burn the first man that on the morrow should inquire of them whether they had performed the emperor’s will.
Long before sunrise Fulgentius rose from his sleepless72 couch, and hastened to perform his uncle’s commands, hoping by this means to regain73 the good-will of the emperor. As he went on his way with a heavy heart, and drew near to the wood within the depths of which the lime-burners dwelt, the sound of the matin bell of a neighboring chapel74 arrested his steps. The tones of the bell seemed to bring peace to his troubled mind, and he turned from the path towards the way-side chapel, and offered up his prayers and thanksgivings to his God. But as the service was ending, the fatigue13 he had undergone disposed him to rest himself; so he sat himself down in the porch of the chapel and fell asleep.
86“Poor child,” said the good priest as he passed through the porch, “thou lookest wearied and careworn75; sleep on, no one shall disturb thee.” When he awoke the sun was going down in the heaven.
Malitius was as sleepless during the night as the poor youth, and his anxiety drove him early from his bed, and suffered him not to be at peace all the day. Now when it was noon the steward could no longer remain in the palace, but he hastened to the lime-kilns, and demanded of the lime-burners “whether they had performed the emperor’s will.”
With these words, the men seized Malitius, and hurried with him in their arms to the mouth of the kiln71.
“Mercy, mercy, good sirs,” cried the steward, “it is Fulgentius you should burn; not me.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed the lime-burners; “we know neither thee nor Fulgentius; thou art the first man that has come here this day and asked us: ‘Whether we have done the emperor’s will’; so peace, man, peace. Ha! ha! his will is done.”
So Malitius died in the fire.
It was past noon when Fulgentius awoke, and the sun was going down in its course.
87“Alas! alas!” he said, “I have delayed to perform my lord’s will.”
And he hastened through the wood, and came to the lime-kilns.
“What wantest thou, boy?” asked the chief of the lime-burners.
“Tell me, tell me, sirs,” asked Fulgentius, anxiously, “hast thou performed the command of the emperor?”
“Ay, my lad, right well; come, look into the furnace—and see, his bones yet burn.”
“His bones; whose bones, sirs?” asked Fulgentius, aghast with fear.
Then they told him all that had been commanded them, and how Malitius coming first to the lime-kilns had been cast into the fire and burnt.
“Thanks be to God,” said the youth, devoutly77 kneeling, “who hath saved me from this terrible death.” With these words he bade the burners farewell, and returned to his uncle’s palace.
“Ha!” said the emperor, when Fulgentius bowed himself before his uncle’s throne, “thou here, sir varlet; hast thou not been to my lime-burners?”
“Verily, my lord, I have been there and performed thy commandment; but before I came your will had been performed.”
88“Performed,” rejoined the emperor, “how performed? Malitius; is he not here?”
“No, my lord, he is burnt in the lime-kiln,” replied the youth; “he came first to the kiln, and the burners obeyed your commands, and he is dead, and I have escaped. But, O my dear uncle, how couldst thou contrive52 such a death for thy poor nephew?” and he wept bitterly.
Then did they each declare to the other the deceits of the wicked steward; and the emperor raised up the youth, and acknowledged him before all his people as his very true and good nephew, his heir and successor to the throne; rendering78 thanks to God who had preserved the uncle from so deadly a sin against his relative, and the nephew from so horrible a death.
“The German poet has been equally successful in his amendments79 with Parnell,” said Herbert.
“In none more so,” said Thompson, “than in substituting in the place of the unpleasant bodily affection, the more courtly failing of jealousy80 excited in the mind of the knight by the malice81 of the huntsman Robert.”
“Was it then from this old book, or from some similar tradition of his own country, that Schiller obtained his incidents?” asked Herbert.
“It is impossible to determine; it is said that Schiller learnt his plot from an Alsatian legend that he heard at Manheim; and yet the similarity of the incident renders it more than probable that the poet was acquainted with this form of the tale. The story as it appears in the monks83’ books, and the tradition of Alsatia, most probably 89started from the same original, which, being immediately written down by the monk82, we now have in its original form. The tradition went on from mouth to mouth, and became gradually varied84 to suit the popular feelings.”
“Your instances of conversion2, Lathom,” said Thompson, “remind me of Washington Irving’s vision in the library of the British Museum, when all the old writers leapt down from their shelves and despoiled85 the moderns of the patchwork86 garments, made of the shreds87 of countless88 writers, and left them plucked of their borrowed plumes.”
“Nay,” replied Lathom, “rather of those few who had borrowed gems89 from the writers of old, and by new setting and repolishing so improved their original lustre90 that the former owner was eager to tender his thanks to his modern adapter, who had renewed his long-lost glories.”
“I am afraid your old monks would have had as many to pluck of their borrowed plumes as to compliment on their ingenuity91 as working jewellers,” said Thompson.
“The process of recovery would be curious in some cases,” said Herbert: “the modern adapter would have to settle with Lydgate or Gower; the old poet would resign his title to the middle-age monk or chronicler; and he perhaps be finally stripped of his gem7 by some Eastern fabler92.”
“Be sure that Shakspeare, Parnell, and Schiller would meet with more thanks than reproaches,” was Lathom’s reply, as he closed his book for that evening.
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1
conversions
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| 变换( conversion的名词复数 )； （宗教、信仰等）彻底改变； （尤指为居住而）改建的房屋； 橄榄球（触地得分后再把球射中球门的）附加得分 | |
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conversion
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| n.转化，转换，转变 | |
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hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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purloined
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| v.偷窃( purloin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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parsimonious
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| adj.吝啬的，质量低劣的 | |
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covetous
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| adj.贪婪的，贪心的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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abstemious
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| adj.有节制的，节俭的 | |
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inebriety
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| n.醉，陶醉 | |
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reigning
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| adj.统治的，起支配作用的 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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acceded
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| v.（正式）加入( accede的过去式和过去分词 )；答应；（通过财产的添附而）增加；开始任职 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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inflames
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的第三人称单数 ) | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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affixes
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| v.附加( affix的第三人称单数 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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60
lessens
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| 变少( lessen的第三人称单数 )； 减少（某事物） | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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62
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scoffs
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ingrate
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| n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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kilns
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| n.窑( kiln的名词复数 )；烧窑工人 | |
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kiln
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| n.（砖、石灰等）窑，炉；v.烧窑 | |
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sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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amendments
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| （法律、文件的）改动( amendment的名词复数 )； 修正案； 修改； （美国宪法的）修正案 | |
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80
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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87
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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fabler
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| 寓言家，虚构情节者 | |
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