“The attention of the king’s daughter to the wounded knight,” remarked Herbert, “reminds me strongly of the patriarchal habits described by Homer in his Odyssey6. The daughter of Nestor thinks it no disgrace or indelicacy to attend to the bath of the wandering Telemachus, and Helen herself seems to have performed a like office for his father.”
“The tales of chivalry are replete7 with instances of these simple manners,” rejoined Lathom; “the king’s daughter, the fair virgin8 princess, is ever the kind attendant on the honored guest, prepares his bath after the fatigues10 of the day, and ministers to his wounds by her medicinal skill.”
“Your old monk11’s tales,” said Thompson, “have no little merit, as illustrations of the manners and habits of the middle ages.”
“Indeed, the light is curious that is thrown by these 150tales on the habits of the middle ages,” answered Lathom; “in these vivid and strongly delineated fictions, I seem to fight, to tilt12, to make love and war, to perform penances13, and to witness miracles with the actors themselves.”
“We cannot but feel, however,” remarked Herbert, “that we are more inclined to laugh at the regulations of their chivalry, than to appreciate them. The absurd penances with which imaginable crimes were visited in those days cannot but raise a smile, whilst the utter carelessness with which enormous sins were committed, excites extreme regret.”
Our evening’s entertainment?”
said Thompson.
“Some illustrations of witchcraft and sorcery; that most prevalent belief, from the middle ages, to the days of the sapient17 James the First.”
“Among all curious discoveries, this would be the most curious,” said Herbert: “to find a people in whom there never has existed a belief that human beings could be gifted with supernatural powers, for the purpose of accomplishing some good or evil object of their desire.”
“Wherever Christianity spread, witchcraft must be regarded as a recognized form in which the powers of evil contended with the Almighty19.”
“Of what sex is your witch?” asked Thompson.
“Oh, in this case, the good and the bad sorcerers are both of the male sex.”
“Your writer, therefore,” replied Thompson, “does not seem to have held the ungallant notions of Sprenger, that from the natural inferiority of their minds, and wickedness of their hearts, the Devil always preferred women for his agents. But to the story.”
“Well, then, as the old chronicler would say, here begins the tale of
151
“THE KNIGHT AND THE NECROMANCER.”
Among the knights20 that graced the court of the Emperor Titus, there was one whom all men agreed in calling the GOOD KNIGHT. For some years he had been married to one whose beauty was her fairest portion, for she loved not the knight, her husband, but delighted in the company of others, and would gladly have devised his death, that she might marry another courtier.
The good knight could not fail of discovering the wickedness of his wife. Ofttimes did he remonstrate21 with her; but to all he said, she turned a deaf ear, and would not return the affection he felt, for one so unworthy of his love.
“My dear wife,” said the good knight, “I go to the Holy Land, to perform a vow23: I leave you to your own discretion24.”
“Know,” said she to him, when he arrived at the house, “my husband has sailed for the Holy Land; we live together; ay, and for all our lives, if you will but compass his death; for I love him not.”
“There is danger,” replied the necromancer; 152“but, for the sake of thee and thy love, I will endeavor to perform your wishes.”
Then took he wax and herbs, gathered at dead of night in secret places, and unguents made of unknown ingredients, and moulded a figure of the good knight, inscribing27 it with his name, placing it before him, against the wall of the lady’s chamber28.
The good knight commenced his pilgrimage towards the Holy Land, and wist not what the lady and her lover were plotting against him and his dear life. As he descended29 towards the vessel30 in which he was to embark25, he observed a man of some age, and of lofty and commanding stature31, regarding him with interest. A long robe covered him, and its hood32 drawn33 over the face, concealed34, in a great degree, the features of the wearer. At last the old man approached the knight.
“Good friend,” said he, “I have a secret to communicate to thee.”
“Say on, good father,” rejoined the knight, “what wouldest thou with me?”
“I would preserve thee from death.”
“Nay, father, that is in God’s hands; I fight not against his will.”
“To-day, then, thou diest; unless thou obeyest my commands:—and, listen, the lover of thy unfaithful wife is thy murderer.”
153“Good sir,” replied the knight, “I perceive thou art a wise man; what shall I do to escape this sudden death?”
“Follow, and obey me.”
Many and winding35 were the streets through which the good knight followed his mysterious guide. At last they reached a dark, dismal-looking house, apparently36 without any inhabitant. The guide pressed his foot on the doorstep, and the door slowly opened, closing again as the knight followed the old man into the house. All was darkness, but the guide seized the knight’s hand and led him up the tottering38 staircase to a large room, in which were many strange books and figures of men and animals, interspersed39 with symbolic40 emblems41 of triangles and circles, whose meaning was known to that aged42 man alone. In the midst of the room was a table, on which burned a lamp without a wick or a reservoir of oil, for it fed on a vapor43 that was lighter44 than air, and was invisible to the eye. The old man spoke45 some words, to the knight unknown; in a moment the floor clave asunder46, and a bath, on whose sides the same mystic symbols were written as on the walls of the room, arose from beneath.
“Prepare to bathe,” said the old man, opening a book on the table, and taking a bright mirror from a casket.
154No sooner had the knight entered the bath than the old man gave him a mirror and bid him look into it.
“What seest thou?” asked he of the knight.
“I see my own chamber; my wife is there, and Maleficus, the greatest sorcerer in Rome.”
“What does the sorcerer?”
“He kneads wax and other ingredients; he hath made a figure of me, and written under it my name; even now he fastens it against the wall of my chamber.”
“Look again,” said the old man; “what does he?”
“Look on: as you love your life, when that arrow leaves the string, plunge48 beneath the water till you hear me call.”
“He shoots!” exclaimed the knight as he dived beneath the water.
“Come out; look again at the mirror; what seest thou?”
“An arrow is sticking in the wall, by the side of the figure. The sorcerer seems angry; he draws out the arrow, and prepares to shoot again from a nearer place.”
“As you value your life, do as before.”
155“What seest thou now?” asked the old man.
“Maleficus has again missed the image; he makes great lamentations; he says to my wife: ‘If I miss the third time, I die’; he goes nearer to the image, and prepares to shoot.”
“Plunge!” cried the old man; and then, after a time: “Raise thyself, and look again; why laughest thou?”
“To see the reward of the wicked; the arrow has missed, rebounded51 from the wall, and pierced the sorcerer; he faints, he dies, my wife stands over his body, and weeps; she digs a hole under the bed, and buries the body.”
“Arise, sir knight: resume your apparel, and give God thanks for your great deliverance.”
A year and more elapsed before the good knight returned from his pilgrimage. His wife welcomed him with smiles and every appearance of pleasure. For a few days the knight concealed his knowledge of his wife’s conduct. At length he summoned all his and her kinsfolk, and they feasted in commemoration of his return from his dangerous pilgrimage.
“Brother,” said the knight during the feast, “how is it that I neither hear nor see aught of Maleficus, the great magician?”
“He disappeared, we know not whither, the 156very day that you departed for your pilgrimage.”
“And where did he die?” asked the knight, with a look at his wife.
“We know not that he is dead,” replied the guests.
“If not dead, why did you bury him?” rejoined the knight.
“Bury him! what meanest thou, my lord? I bury him!”
“Yes, you bury him,” said the knight, calmly.
“Brothers, he is mad,” exclaimed the lady, turning pale and trembling.
“Woman,” replied the knight, rising, and seizing the lady by the wrist, “woman, I am not mad. Hear ye all: this woman loved Maleficus; she called him here the day I sailed; she devised with him my death; but God struck him with that death he would have prepared for me, and now he lies buried in my chamber. Come, let us see this great wonder.”
The hiding-place of the body was opened, and the remains53 found where the knight had said; then did he declare before the judges and the people the great crimes of his wife; and the judges condemned54 her to death at the stake, 157and bade the executioner scatter55 her ashes to the four winds of heaven.
“Few practices were more prevalent among the witches than that which your tale illustrates56, of effecting the death of an enemy through the medium of an enchanted57 image of the person intended to be affected,” said Herbert.
“As old Ben Jonson sings:
“‘With pictures full,
Of wax and wool,
Their livers I stick,
With needles quick.’”
“Yes,” said Herbert; “it was a very approved method to melt a waxen image before the fire, under the idea that the person by it represented would pine away, as the figure melted; or to stick pins and needles into the heart or less vital parts of the waxen resemblance, with the hopes of affecting, by disease and pain, the portions of the human being thus represented and treated.”
“In one of the old ballad58 romances in which Alexander is celebrated59, we find a full account of the wondrous60 puppets of a king and magician named Nectabanus. I will read you the old verses.
“‘Barons were whilhome wise and good,
That this art well understood;
And one there was, Nectabanus,
When king or earl came on him to war,
Quick he looked on the star;
Of wax, made him puppets,
And made them fight with bats (clubs);
And so he learned Je vous dis,
With charms and with conjurisons:
Thus he assayed the regions,
In very manner of battail;
By clear candle in the night,
He made each one with other fight.’”
158“No bad way,” said Thompson, “of testing the advantage of that royal and national luxury—war.”
“The rhymer makes his charms successful, especially in the case of one King Philip, a great and powerful prince, who brought nine-and-twenty great lords to battle against Nectabanus. Once put into his charmed basin, the magician saw the end of the battle, the defeat and death of his enemy.”
“The old Romans had as much fear of the waxen image, as good King James,” remarked Herbert; “and were as firm believers in the feats65 of Canidia over the enchanted model, as the Scottish King in the modelling of his national wiches, and the secret cavern66 on the hill, where Satan and his imps67 manufacture devils’ arrows to shoot at the enemies of the witches.”
“‘Sympathia Magica works wondrous charms,’ says Scott; and so before him dreamt the Arabian philosophers, and the royal witch-finder, who founds his arguments against waxen images on the doctrine68 of sympathy,” said Thompson.
“It is worth remarking,” said Herbert, “how witchcraft degenerated69, not in its powers, but in its persons of the supposed witches. Joan of Arc, the wife of the protector Somerset, the mistress of Richard III., were in early days deemed worthy22 of being punished as witches. In later days, the charge was confined to the oldest, the ugliest, and generally the poorest crone in the neighborhood.”
“With the fashion of political-witchcraft, the custom of charging persons of rank with the crime, died away,” replied Lathom. “Instead of torturing images, or raising spirits for the sake of crowns and thrones, the witches became content to tease a neighbor’s child, or render a farmer’s cow barren. The last instance of such a charge against a person of rank, is the case of the Countess of Essex. The charges of sorcery, however, 159formed but a small portion of the accusations71 against the countess.”
“We are forgetting the moral,” said Thompson.
“It is short and plain,” answered Lathom, “and intended to be illustrative of the advantage of the confession72 of sins. The good knight is the soul of man, and his wicked wife the flesh of his body. The pilgrimage represents our good deeds. The wise magician, a prudent73 priest. Maleficus stands as the representative of the Devil, and the image is human pride and vanity; add to these the bath of confession, and the mirror of the sacred writings, by which the arrows of sin are warded74 off, and the allegory is complete.”
“Does your storehouse afford another magical tale?” asked Thompson.
“Many more; I will read one that is short, but curious, from its being founded on a generally received legend of the monk Gerbert, afterwards Pope Sylvester. I will call it, for want of a better name,
“THE CLERK AND THE IMAGE.”
In the city of Rome stood an image: its posture75 was erect76, with the right hand extended; on the middle finger of the outstretched hand was written: “Strike here.” Years and years had the image stood there, and no one knew the secret of the inscription77. Many wise men from every land came and looked at the statue, and many were the solutions of the mystery attempted by them; each man was satisfied with his own conclusion, but no one else agreed with him.
160Among the many that attempted to unravel80 the mystery of the figure was a certain priest. As he looked at the image, he noticed that when the sun shone on the figure, the shadow of the outstretched finger was discernible on the ground at some distance from the statue. He marked the spot, and waited until the night was come; at midnight, he began to dig where the shadow ceased; for three feet he found nothing but earth and stones; he renewed his labor81, and felt his spade strike against something hard; he continued his work with greater zeal82, and found a trap-door, which he soon cleared, and proceeded to raise.
Below the door, a flight of marble steps descended into the earth, and a bright light streamed upward from below. Casting down his spade, the priest descended; at the foot of the stairs he entered a vast hall; a number of men, habited in costly83 apparel, and sitting in solemn silence, occupied the centre; around, and on every side, were riches innumerable: piles of gold and enamelled vases; rich and glittering robes, and heaps of jewels of the brightest hue84.
The hall was lighted by one jewel alone; a carbuncle so bright, so dazzling, that the priest could hardly bear to gaze upon it, where it stood in a corner of the hall. At the opposite 161end of the hall stood an armed archer85; his bow was strung, and the arrow fitted to the string, and he seemed to take aim at the carbuncle; his brow blazed with reflected light, and on it was written: “I am, that I am; my shaft86 is inevitable87: yon glittering jewel cannot escape its stroke.”
Beyond the great hall appeared another chamber, into which the priest, amazed at what he saw, entered. It was fitted as a bedchamber, couches of every kind ornamented88 it, and many beautiful women, arrayed in robes as costly as those worn in the great hall, occupied the chamber. Here too all was mute; the beautiful damsels sat in silence.
Still the priest went onward89. There were rooms after rooms, stables filled with horses and asses90, and granaries stored with abundant forage91. He placed his hand on the horses, they were cold, lifeless stone. Servants stood round about, their lips were closed—all was silent as the grave; and yet what was there wanting—what but life?
“I have seen to-day what no man wall believe,” said the priest, as he re-entered the great hall; “let me take something whereby to prove the credit of my story.”
As he thus spake to himself, he saw some vases and jewel-handed knives on a marble 162table beside him; he raised his hand, he clasped them, he placed them in the bosom92 of his garment—all was dark.
The archer had shot with his arrow; the carbuncle was broken into a thousand pieces—a thick darkness covered the place; hour after hour he wandered about the halls and passages—all was dark—all was cold—all was desolate93; the stairs seemed to have fled, he found no opening, and he laid him down and died a miserable94 death, amid those piles of gold and jewels, his only companions the lifeless images of stone. His secret died with him.
“Spenser in his Fairy Queen seems to have had some such tale as this in his mind, in his scene in the House of Riches,” remarked Herbert.
“You allude95 to the fiend watching Sir Gouyon, and hoping that he will be tempted78 to snatch some of the treasures of the subterraneous palace, so freely displayed to his view.”
“Sir Gouyon fares better than your priest,” replied Herbert; he resists the temptation, and escapes the threatened doom96; as the poet says:
“‘Thereat the fiend his gnashing teeth did grate,
For well he weened, that so glorious bait
Had he so done, he had him snatched away,
More light than Culver in the falcon’s fist.’”
“Pope Sylvester, I presume,” said Thompson, “was a clever mechanician, and a good astronomer98, as far as knowledge extended in his day.”
“Precisely so, and hence all the wondrous tales of 163his magic,” rejoined Lathom. “Born in France, and naturally of an acquisitive mind, he proceeded to Spain, to gain in the Saracenic university of Seville some little of the Eastern sciences. Arithmetic and astronomy, or, as Malmesbury calls the last, astrology, were then flourishing in Spain, and when introduced by him into his native country, soon gained for him the reputation of a magician.”
“Friar Bacon experienced in this country,” remarked Herbert, “that a knowledge of mechanics sufficient to create automatons99, of acoustics100 to regulate the transmission of sounds through long, concealed pipes, and of astronomy to attempt some predictions of the weather from planetary movements, was quite enough to ensure him the name of magician among our rude ancestors.”
“One of the magic arts attributed to Gerbert,” remarked Lathom, “clearly indicates, that a knowledge of mechanism101 was the source of this reputation in his case. Malmesbury tells us that Gerbert framed a bridge, beyond which were golden horses of gigantic size, with riders of gold, richly glittering with jewels and embroidery102. A party attempted to pass the bridge, in order to steal the treasures on the further side. As the first stept on the bridge, it rose gradually in the air, and stood perpendicularly103 on one end. A brazen104 man rose from beneath, and as he struck the water with a mace105 of brass106, the sky was overshadowed, and all was thick darkness.”
“Setting aside the darkness,” said Thompson, “the result of accident, or an addition of the chroniclers, a little clever mechanism will account for the movable bridge of Gerbert.”
“The same explanation applies to the ever-burning lamp of the Rosicrucians, held in the hand of a figure armed with a mace, with which he dashes the lamp to atoms, on the entrance of any person into the secret vault107.”
164“Most undoubtedly108, Herbert,” said Thompson; “for in this instance, the legend describes the figure as raising his hand at the first step of the intruder, preparing to strike as he draws nearer and nearer, and at last, when almost within reach, the secret springs on which he is walking dash down the armed hand of the figure, and the lamp and the secret perish in darkness.”
“The tales of natural magic,” said Herbert, “remind me of the legends of one of the Jameses of Scotland, in the subterraneous cavern of Halidon Hill.”
“I hardly know to what legend you allude,” replied Lathom.
“The one in which the king enters a long hall, where a hundred knights stand on either side, each with his armor on, and his horse ready caparisoned by his side. At the end of the hall stand a bugle109 and a sword. All is silence; the knights stand as statues, and their warhorses do not seem to breathe. The whole charm depends upon which is performed first, the bugle blown, or the sword drawn from its scabbard. The king seizes the bugle; the effect is that the whole melts into darkness, and the charm is gone.”
“As you have led the way to traditions of the northern part of our island,” said Lathom, “one form, if not the original one of the legend, which Scott has worked up in his Marmion, will not be out of place. I allude to the encounter of Marmion with De Wilton, under the guise110 of the spectral111 champion of the Pictish camp.”
“Your old monk’s book would have been a treasure to Sir Walter Scott,” said Herbert.
“That he would duly have appreciated its contents, no one can doubt,” replied Lathom, “but he was so well read in the later forms of the legends, which he would have found in its pages, that though apparently unknown to him, he required but little of its aid. Our writer would wish his readers to see in this legend an allegory 165of the discomfiture112 of the Devil armed with pride, by the Christian18 armed with faith. I will call it by the name of
“THE DEMON KNIGHT OF THE VANDAL CAMP.”
On the borders of the diocese of Ely, stands an old castle, now crumbling113 into ruins, below which is a place called by the people Wandlesbury; commemorating114 by this name the camp of the Vandals, which they pitched hard by this castle, after laying waste the country and cruelly slaughtering115 the inhabitants. The camp was on the summit of a hill, on a round plain; round about it ran a trench116 which
“The Vandal race
——long since in blood did trace;
The space within was green and fair,
The spot the village children knew,
For there the wild flowers earliest grew;
But wo betide the wandering wight,
That treads its circle in the night!
The breadth across, a bow-shot clear,
Gives ample space for full career:
Opposed to the four points of heaven,
By four deep gaps was entrance given.”
Wo indeed to the adventurous118 man who dared to go armed into that camp, and call upon an adversary119 to meet him! Even as he called, another 166knight rode into the camp, armed at all points, and met the challenger in combat. The encounter was always fatal to one of the combatants.
The knight Albert sat in the hall of the castle of Wandlesbury, and shared the hospitality of the lord. At night, after supper, the household closed round the great fire, and each man in his turn told his tale of arms, love, or sorcery. The demon knight of the Vandal camp figured in many a tale, and Albert hastened to prove the truth of the legend. It was in vain that the lord of the castle endeavored to dissuade120 his guest from seeking the phantom121 knight. Armed at all points, the English knight sallied from the castle gate; and his trusty squire122, a youth of noble blood, rode by his master’s side.
Some hours passed: the hall was sadly silent during the knight’s absence, for they all feared the worst for him; anon, a horn was heard at the gate, the warder hastened to open the doors, and the knight rode into the castle court; his squire followed him close, and he led by the bridle123 a horse of perfect form and figure, of enormous size, and coal-black.
The knight hastened to the hall; all clustered round him to hear his tale; but the good lord of the castle bade them first release him of his armor, and bring in refreshment124. One by one 167the pieces of his armor were taken off, and neither wound nor bruise125 appeared; at last they proceeded to take off one of his cuishes; it was filled with blood, and even then a few drops were seen to ooze126 from a slight wound in the thigh127. His wound dressed, his fatigue9 refreshed with good wine and meat, the lord of the castle requested the knight’s account of his meeting with the demon champion.
“My lord,” replied the English knight, “you know how, in despite of your earnest remonstrances128, I rode from your castle gate. The moon was bright and clear, and I soon reached the entrance of the Vandal camp; without a pause I rode in and blew my bugle.
‘Methought an answer met my ear,—
Yet was the blast so low and drear,
So hollow and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.’
I waited for a moment in doubt.
‘Then sudden in the ring I view,
In form distinct of shape and hue,
A mounted champion rise.’
Without a word the demon prepared for the charge; I raised my shield, couched my lance, and rushed to the attaint; we both staggered with the charge; our lances broke in half, but the points glided129 harmlessly from our armor. 168I still pressed on, and my adversary’s horse stumbled and fell; the demon was rolled on the ground. In a moment I was by his side, and seized his horse’s rein130; the demon seemed to revive; he saw my action, snatched a portion of his broken lance, and darted131 it at me as a javelin132. It struck me on my thigh, but in my eagerness I felt it not. In a moment
‘He seem’d to vanish from my sight:
The moonbeam droop’d, and deepest night
Sunk down upon the heath.’
Had I not that dark black horse as a witness of the combat, I should begin to doubt whether I had met the demon.”
“Let us see the demon’s steed,” said the old lord, after he had thanked the knight for his relation of the adventure; “even now the dawn is about to break, and we must seek some little rest before day shines out.”
In the court-yard they found the black steed; his eye lustrous133, his neck proudly arched, his coat of shining black, and a glittering war saddle on his back. The first streaks134 of the dawn began to appear as they entered the castle yard; the black steed grew restless, and tried to break from the hands of the groom135; he champed his bit, snorted as in pain and anger, and struck the ground with his feet, until the 169sparks flew. The cock crowed—the black steed had disappeared.
Every year, on the self-same night, at that self-same hour, did the wound of the English knight burst out afresh, and torment136 him with severe anguish137; to his dying day he bore this memorial of his encounter with the demon champion of the Vandal camp.
“You have made good use of Scott’s version of the tale in Marmion,” said Thompson, “to whom I should think your version of the story was hardly known.”
“No; if I remember rightly, he gives the old Durham tale of Ralph Bulmer as its immediate138 source, and the strange tale of the Bohemian knights as related by Heywood, in his Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels.”
“The introduction to the story recalls the custom so adroitly139 used by Chaucer to introduce his Canterbury tales,” remarked Herbert; “tale-telling round the fire.”
“When there was neither juggler140 nor minstrel present,” replied Lathom, “it seems to have been the custom of our ancestors to entertain themselves by relating or hearing a series of adventures.”
“So that Chaucer’s plan, at first sight so ingenious an invention, is in truth an equally ingenious adaptation of an ancient fashion.”
“But to return to our demonology,” said Lathom; “what notion was more common than that spirits could assume the human form, and live on earth, and mingle141 as mortals in social life? This belief we find illustrated142 by the author or authors of the Gesta.”
“The stay, however, of these spirits is generally but a lease of life for so many years,” remarked Herbert.
“Generally; but not in the case which my author gravely lays down as true, under the title of
170
“THE SEDUCTIONS OF THE EVIL ONE.”
It often happens that the devils are permitted to transform themselves into angels of light, or to assume the human form, in order to foster in human hearts whatever is wicked. So did it happen in France, when Valentine was bishop143 of Arles.
On the very borders of his diocese stood a knight’s castle, with lofty and strong battlements. The knight had travelled in many lands, and seen many nations that none others had looked upon or heard of. He was a good man, and a constant attendant on the services of the Church. His wife was very fair to look upon; her figure was light and tall; her face delicately white, and her eyes ever bright, and sparkling with almost unearthly brilliancy. Attracted by cries of distress144, whilst on one of his distant pilgrimages, he had hastened into a dark wood, where he discovered this fair lady, almost denuded145 of her garments, bound to a tree, and being beaten with rods by two men of fierce countenances146 and powerful frames.
His sword flashed in the air as the knight rode against the men; with one blow he struck down the nearest of the lady’s torturers; with the second he pierced the breast of the other monster; 171whilst with a third stroke of his trenchant147 blade he cut in pieces the cords that bound the lady to the tree.
The lady’s tale was simple: she was the daughter of a powerful prince of a far-off land; had been seized by those in whose hands the knight discovered her; carried for days and months over seas and lands, and at last bound to the tree, and scourged148 because she would not yield to the desires of her tormentors. She knew not where her father’s kingdom lay, and its name was unknown even to the knight, though he had travelled far and often.
After a time, the knight married the lady of the wood; happy were they by their union, for he loved her dearly, and the lady seemed to return his love. One thing alone grieved the good knight. Every day that she came to the service of the Church, she stayed no longer than the beginning of the consecration149 of the elements of the Sacrament. Often and often had the good knight remonstrated150 with his wife on her conduct, and sought from her some reason for her action. There was ever some excuse, but it was always unsatisfactory.
One holiday the knight and the lady were at church. The priest was proceeding151 to the celebration of the Sacrament, and the lady rose as usual.
172“Nay,” said the knight, forcibly arresting his wife’s departure; “nay, not for this once.”
The lady struggled, her eyes gleamed with redoubled brilliancy, and her whole body seemed wrung152 with violent pain.
“In the name of God, depart not,” said the knight.
That holy name was all-powerful. The bodily form of the lady melted away, and was seen no more; whilst, with a cry of anguish and of terror, an evil spirit of monstrous153 form rose from the ground, clave the chapel154 roof asunder, and disappeared in the air.
“Such stories might be multiplied by hundreds,” said Herbert. “Every country has its good and evil angels that live among men and assume their forms.”
“It illustrates the curious fact,” remarked Lathom, “that the earliest accusations of sorcery in Christian ages are connected with relapses from the faith of Christ. The Anglo-Saxon laws against witchcraft are levelled against those who still adhered to the heathen practices of their ancestors, or sought to combine the pure faith of the Bible with the superstitions155 of their ancestral idolatry.”
“Was not such the fact in the south of Europe?” said Herbert; “the still lingering worship of the gods and goddesses of the woods was visited as sorcery. The demons156 do but occupy their places under forms, and with opinions, gradually adapted to the religious opinions of the age.”
“Many a secret meeting for the worship of God has been made the foundation of the mysteries of a witch’s 173Sabbath,” said Lathom; “sorcery was a common charge against the early Christians157 when they met in their secret caves and hiding-places; it was an equally current accusation70 centuries afterwards, when the Albigenses and Waldenses held their religious assemblages in secret, for fear of the power of that Church whose teaching they seceded158 from.”
“The same charges were made, in Sweden and Scotland, in the seventeenth century, against witches, as four centuries before, so little changed is superstition,” said Herbert.
“We must beat a truce,” said Lathom, “and be content to leave the rest of our illustrations of natural magic, witchcraft, and demoniacal agency, until our next meeting.”
“Good-night, then,” said Thompson; “remember, the witches’ time of night approaches—
And so is the cat-a-mountain,
And the frog peeps out of the fountain.’”
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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necromancer
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| n. 巫师 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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5
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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6
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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7
replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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8
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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9
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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10
fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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11
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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12
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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13
penances
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| n.（赎罪的）苦行，苦修( penance的名词复数 ) | |
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14
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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15
viands
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| n.食品，食物 | |
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16
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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17
sapient
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| adj.有见识的，有智慧的 | |
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18
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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19
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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20
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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21
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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22
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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23
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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24
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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25
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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26
embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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27
inscribing
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的现在分词 ) | |
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28
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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29
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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30
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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31
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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32
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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33
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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34
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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35
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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36
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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37
owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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38
tottering
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|
| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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39
interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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40
symbolic
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|
| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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41
emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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42
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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43
vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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44
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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45
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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46
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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47
effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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48
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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49
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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50
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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51
rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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52
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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53
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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54
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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55
scatter
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|
| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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56
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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57
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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58
ballad
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|
| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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59
celebrated
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|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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60
wondrous
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|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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61
malicious
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|
| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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62
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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63
assay
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| n.试验，测定 | |
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64
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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65
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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66
cavern
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|
| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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67
imps
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|
| n.（故事中的）小恶魔( imp的名词复数 )；小魔鬼；小淘气；顽童 | |
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68
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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69
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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71
accusations
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|
| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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72
confession
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|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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73
prudent
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|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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74
warded
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| 有锁孔的，有钥匙榫槽的 | |
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75
posture
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|
| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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76
erect
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|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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77
inscription
|
|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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78
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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79
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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80
unravel
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| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
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81
labor
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|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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82
zeal
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|
| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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83
costly
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|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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84
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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85
archer
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|
| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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86
shaft
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|
| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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87
inevitable
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|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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88
ornamented
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|
| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
onward
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|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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90
asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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91
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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92
bosom
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|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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93
desolate
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|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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94
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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95
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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96
doom
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|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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97
prey
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|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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98
astronomer
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| n.天文学家 | |
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99
automatons
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| n.自动机，机器人( automaton的名词复数 ) | |
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100
acoustics
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| n.声学，(复)音响效果，音响装置 | |
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101
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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102
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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103
perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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104
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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105
mace
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| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
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106
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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107
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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108
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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109
bugle
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|
| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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110
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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111
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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112
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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113
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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114
commemorating
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|
| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的现在分词 ) | |
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115
slaughtering
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
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116
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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117
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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118
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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119
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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120
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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121
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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122
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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123
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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124
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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125
bruise
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|
| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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126
ooze
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|
| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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127
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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128
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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129
glided
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|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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130
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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131
darted
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|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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132
javelin
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|
| n.标枪，投枪 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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134
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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135
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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136
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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137
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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138
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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139
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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140
juggler
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| n. 变戏法者, 行骗者 | |
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141
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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142
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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143
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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144
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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145
denuded
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| adj.[医]变光的，裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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146
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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147
trenchant
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| adj.尖刻的，清晰的 | |
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148
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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149
consecration
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| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
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150
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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151
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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152
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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153
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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154
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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155
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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156
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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157
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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158
seceded
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| v.脱离，退出( secede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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160
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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