“Your stories about sorcerers and sorcery, Lathom,” said Herbert, “have made me consider a little as to the amount of truth on which such fictions may have been founded.”
“Perhaps you believe in witches, magicians, and all that tribe, that gather deadly herbs by moonlight, and ride through the air on broomsticks,” said Thompson, with a smile.
“May not Herbert fairly ask you,” said Lathom, “whether there is any antecedent improbability in mortal beings obtaining, from the spirit of evil, a temporary superhuman power; or in the idea of Satan awarding the riches and honors of this world to those who will fall down and worship him?”
“Selden’s apology for the law against witches in his time shows a lurking4 belief,” remarked Herbert. “‘If,’ says that sour old lawyer, ‘one man believes that by 204turning his hat thrice and crying “buz,” he could take away a fellow-creature’s life, this were a just law made by the state, that whosoever should do so, should forfeit5 his life.’”
“He must have believed, or his logical mind would have seen, that a law waging war with intentions which are incapable6 of fulfilment, is both wrong and mischievous7.”
“Well,” said Herbert, “as good a lawyer as Selden and a better man, did not fear to profess8 his belief in witchcraft, and to give his judicial9 countenance10 to trials for sorcery:—Sir Matthew Hale was ever ready to admit his belief in witches and witchcraft.”
“To the lawyers you may add the learned antiquary and physician, Sir Thomas Brown, the author of the ‘Religio Medici.’”
“But surely, Lathom, all this belief, as well as the practice of witch-tormenting, ceased about 1682,” said Thompson.
“The belief in witchcraft has never yet been extinct, and the practice of witch-burning lasted forty years after that, at least in Scotland. The act of James, so minutely describing witches and their acts, and so strenuously11 inciting12 the people to burn them, remained on the statute-book until the ninth year of George the Second; and as late as 1722 the hereditary13 sheriff of Sutherlandshire condemned14 a poor woman to death as a witch.”
“I believe I can carry down the belief at least a few years later than the date even of the last witch execution,” remarked Herbert.
“Among the poor and uneducated, undoubtedly15?”
“Nay16, Thompson, with them it remains17 even now; I speak not only of the educated, but of that class of men which is most conversant18 with evidence, and most addicted19 to discredit20 fictitious21 stories.”
“What, the lawyers?”
205“Even so,” replied Lathom; “in 1730, William Forbes, in his ‘Institutes of the Law of Scotland,’ published in that year, makes this remark: ‘Nothing seems plainer to me, than that there have been witches, and that, perhaps, such are now actually existing; which I intend, God willing, to clear in a larger work concerning the criminal law.’”
“Did this large work appear?” said Thompson.
“I should think not; at least, it is not known.”
“The old Jesuit from whom you got your version of The Ungrateful Man, has a story illustrative of a kind of witchcraft that all will admit to have been very prevalent in every age,” said Thompson.
“What, will you believe in witchcraft in any form?”
“At all events, in one form—the witchcraft of love; my instance is the story of Semiramis and Ninus. I will read it you from the same version that Lathom used for his tale of Vitalis and Massaccio.”
THE QUEEN SEMIRAMIS.
“Of all my wives,” said King Ninus to Semiramis, “it is you I love the best. None have charms and graces like you, and for you I would willingly resign them all.”
“Let the king consider well what he says,” replied Semiramis. “What if I were to take him at his word?”
“So, then, if I asked it,” said Semiramis, “you would banish23 all your other wives, and 206love me alone? I should be alone your consort24, the partaker of your power, and queen of Assyria?”
“Queen of Assyria! Are you not so already,” said Ninus, “since you reign25, by your beauty, over its king?”
“No—no,” answered his lovely mistress; “I am at present only a slave whom you love. I reign not; I merely charm. When I give an order, you are consulted before I am obeyed.”
“And to reign, then, you think so great a pleasure?”
“Yes, to one who has never experienced it.”
“And do you wish, then, to experience it? Would you like to reign a few days in my place?”
“Take care, O king! do not offer too much.”
“No, I repeat it,” said the captivated monarch. “Would you like, for one whole day, to be sovereign mistress of Assyria? If you would, I consent to it.”
“And all which I command, then, shall be executed?”
“Yes, I will resign to you, for one entire day, my power and my golden sceptre.”
“And when shall this be?”
“To-morrow if you like.”
“I do,” said Semiramis; and let her head fall upon the shoulder of the king, like a beautiful 207woman asking pardon for some caprice which has been yielded to.
The next morning, Semiramis called her women, and commanded them to dress her magnificently. On her head she wore a crown of precious stones, and appeared thus before Ninus. Ninus, enchanted27 with her beauty, ordered the officers of the palace to assemble in the state chamber28, and his golden sceptre to be brought from the treasury29. He then entered the chamber, leading Semiramis by the hand. All prostrated30 themselves before the aspect of the king, who conducted Semiramis to the throne, and seated her upon it. Then ordering the whole assembly to rise, he announced to the court that they were to obey, during the whole day, Semiramis as himself. So saying, he took up the golden sceptre, and placing it in the hands of Semiramis—“Queen,” said he, “I commit to you the emblem31 of sovereign power; take it, and command with sovereign authority. All here are your slaves, and I myself am nothing more than your servant for the whole of this day. Whoever shall be remiss32 in executing your orders, let him be punished as if he had disobeyed the commands of the king.”
Having thus spoken, the king knelt down before Semiramis, who gave him, with a smile, her hand to kiss. The courtiers then passed in 208succession, each making oath to execute blindly the orders of Semiramis. When the ceremony was finished, the king made her his compliments, and asked her how she had managed to go through it with so grave and majestical an air.
“Whilst they were promising34 to obey me,” said Semiramis, “I was thinking what I should command each of them to do. I have but one day of power, and I will employ it well.”
The king laughed at this reply. Semiramis appeared more piquante and amiable35 than ever. “Let us see,” said he, “how you will continue your part. By what orders will you begin?”
“Let the secretary of the king approach my throne,” said Semiramis, in a loud voice.
The secretary approached; two slaves placed a little table before him.
“Write,” said Semiramis: “‘Under penalty of death, the governor of the citadel36 of Babylon is ordered to yield up the command of the citadel to him who shall bear to him this order.’ Fold this order, seal it with the king’s seal, and give it to me. Write now: ‘Under penalty of death, the governor of the slaves of the palace is ordered to resign the command of the slaves into the hands of the person who shall present to him this order.’ Fold, seal it with the king’s seal, and deliver to me this decree. Write 209again: ‘Under penalty of death, the general of the army encamped under the walls of Babylon is ordered to resign the command of the army to him who shall be the bearer of this order.’ Fold, seal, and deliver to me this decree.”
She took the three orders, thus dictated37, and put them in her bosom38. The whole court was struck with consternation39; the king himself was surprised.
“Listen,” said Semiramis. “In two hours hence let all the officers of the state come and offer me presents, as is the custom on the accession of new princes, and let a festival be prepared for this evening. Now, let all depart. Let my faithful servant Ninus alone remain. I have to consult him upon affairs of state.”
When all the rest had gone out—“You see,” said Semiramis, “that I know how to play the queen.”
Ninus laughed.
“My beautiful queen,” said he, “you play your part with astonishment40. But, if your servant may dare question you, what would you do with the orders you have dictated?”
“I should be no longer queen were I obliged to give an account of my actions. Nevertheless, this was my motive41. I have a vengeance42 to execute against the three officers whom these orders menace.”
210“Vengeance—and wherefore?”
“The first, the governor of the citadel, is one-eyed, and frightens me every time I meet him; the second, the chief of the slaves, I hate, because he threatens me with rivals; the third, the general of the army, deprives me too often of your company,—you are constantly in the camp.”
This reply, in which caprice and flattery were mingled43, enchanted Ninus. “Good,” said he, laughing. “Here are the three first officers of the empire dismissed for very sufficient reasons.”
The gentlemen of the court now came to present their gifts to the queen. Some gave precious stones; others, of a lower rank, flowers and fruits; and the slaves, having nothing to give, gave nothing but homage44. Among these last, there were three young brothers, who had come from the Caucasus with Semiramis, and had rescued the caravan45 in which the women were, from an enormous tiger. When they passed before the throne—
“And you,” said she to the three brothers, “have you no present to make to your queen?”
“No other,” replied the first, Zopire, “than my life to defend her.”
“None other,” replied the second, Artaban, “than my sabre against her enemies.”
“None other,” replied the third, Assar, 211“than the respect and admiration46 which her presence inspires.”
“Slaves,” said Semiramis, “it is you who have made me the most valuable present of the whole court, and I will not be ungrateful. You who have offered me your sword against my enemies, take this order, carry it to the general of the army encamped under the walls of Babylon, give it to him, and see what he will do for you. You who have offered me your life for my defence, take this order to the governor of the citadel, and see what he will do for you; and you who offer me the respect and admiration which my presence inspires, take this order, give it to the commandant of the slaves of the palace, and see what will be the result.”
Never had Semiramis displayed so much gayety, so much folly47, and so much grace, and never was Ninus so captivated. Nor were her charms lessened48 in his eyes, when a slave not having executed promptly49 an insignificant50 order, she commanded his head to be struck off, which was immediately done.
Without bestowing51 a thought on this trivial matter, Ninus continued to converse52 with Semiramis till the evening and the fête arrived. When she entered the saloon which had been prepared for the occasion, a slave brought her a plate, in which was the head of the decapitated eunuch.—“’Tis 212well,” said she, after having examined it. “Place it on a stake in the court of the palace, that all may see it, and be you there on the spot to proclaim to every one, that the man to whom this head belonged lived three hours ago, but that having disobeyed my will, his head was separated from his body.”
The fête was magnificent; a sumptuous53 banquet was prepared in the gardens, and Semiramis received the homage of all with a grace and majesty54 perfectly55 regal; she continually turned to and conversed56 with Ninus, rendering57 him the most distinguished58 honor. “You are,” said she, “a foreign king, come to visit me in my palace. I must make your visit agreeable to you.”
Shortly after the banquet was served, Semiramis confounded and reversed all ranks. Ninus was placed at the bottom of the table. He was the first to laugh at this caprice; and the court, following his example, allowed themselves to be placed, without murmuring, according to the will of the queen. She seated near herself the three brothers from the Caucasus.
“Are my orders executed?” she demanded of them.
“Yes,” replied they.
The fête was very gay. A slave having, by the force of habit, served the king first, Semiramis 213had him beaten with rods. His cries mingled with the laughter of the guests. Every one was inclined to merriment. It was a comedy, in which each played his part. Towards the end of the repast, when wine had added to the general gayety, Semiramis rose from her elevated seat, and said: “My lords, the treasurer59 of the empire has read me a list of those who this morning have brought me their gifts of congratulation on my joyful60 accession to the throne. One grandee61 alone of the court has failed to bring his gift.”
“It is yourself, my lord—you who speak; what have you given to the queen this morning?”
Ninus rose, and came with a smiling countenance to whisper something into the ear of the queen. “The queen is insulted by her servant!” exclaimed Semiramis.
“I embrace your knees to obtain my pardon, beautiful queen,” said he; “pardon me, pardon me”; and he added in a lower tone, “I wish this fête were finished.”
“You wish, then, that I should abdicate63?” said Semiramis. “But no—I have still two hours to reign”; and at the same time she withdrew her hand, which the king was covering with kisses. “I pardon not,” said she, with a 214loud voice, “such an insult on the part of a slave. Slave, prepare thyself to die.”
“Silly child that thou art,” said Ninus, still on his knees, “yet will I give way to thy folly; but patience, thy reign will soon be over.”
“You will not then be angry,” said she, in a whisper, “at some thing I am going to order at this moment.”
“No,” said he.
“Slaves!” said she aloud, “seize this man—seize this Ninus!”
Ninus, smiling, put himself into the hands of the slaves.
“Take him out of the saloon, lead him into the court of the seraglio, prepare every thing for his death, and wait my orders.”
The slaves obeyed, and Ninus followed them, laughing, into the court of the seraglio. They passed by the head of the disobeying eunuch. Then Semiramis placed herself on a balcony. Ninus had suffered his hands to be tied.
“Hasten,” said the queen, “hasten, Zopire, to the fortress64; you to the camp, Artaban; Assar, do you secure all the gates of the palace.”
The orders were given in a whisper, and executed immediately.
“Beautiful queen,” said Ninus, laughing, “this comedy wants but its conclusion; pray, let it be a prompt one.”
They struck; Ninus had hardly time to utter a cry; when his head fell upon the pavement, the smile was still upon his lips.
“Now, I am queen of Assyria,” exclaimed Semiramis; “and perish every one, like the eunuch and Ninus, who dare disobey my orders.”
“The discovery of the sword by Sir Guido, in your tale of the Crusader,” said Herbert, “reminds me of the elfin swords so common among the Scandinavian heroes.”
“Such as the enchanted sword taken by a pirate from the tomb of a Norwegian monarch,” suggested Lathom.
“Rather, perhaps, of those manufactured by the elves under compulsion, or from gratitude66 to some earthly warrior67; the famous sword Tyrfing, the weapon of the Scandinavian monarch Suafurlami, was one of these. This is the story as given by Scott, in the second volume of his Scottish Minstrelsy: ‘The Scandinavian king, returning from hunting, bewildered himself among the mountains; about sunset he beheld68 a large rock, and two dwarfs69 sitting before the mouth of a cavern70. The king drew his sword, and intercepted71 their retreat by springing between them and their recess72, and imposed upon them the following condition of safety:—That they should make him a falchion, with a baldric and scabbard of pure gold, and a blade which would divide stones and iron as a garment, and which would render the wielder73 of it ever victorious74 in battle. The elves complied with his demand, and Suafurlami pursued his way home. Returning at the time appointed, the dwarfs delivered to him the famous sword Tyrfing; then standing75 in the entrance 216to the cavern, spoke33 thus: “This sword, O king, shall destroy a man every time it is brandished76; but it shall perform three atrocious deeds, and shall be thy bane.” The king rushed forward with the charmed sword, and buried both its edges in the rock, but the dwarfs escaped into their recesses77. This enchanted sword emitted rays like the sun, dazzling all against whom it was brandished; it divided steel like water, and was never unsheathed without slaying78 a man.’”
“The supernatural skill in the fabrication of arms attributed to the Northern elves,” remarked Lathom, “seems to indicate some traces of historical truth. The Fins79, who inhabited Scandinavia when Odin and his Asiatics invaded the country, retired80 to the mountains to avoid the tyranny of the new people. Far better acquainted than the invaders81 could have been with the mines of their country, a superior knowledge in the manufacture of arms may be fairly awarded to them. And thus, in time, the oppressed Fins would come to be the dwarfish82 armorers of Scandinavian mythology83.”
“As theory is the fashion,” said Thompson, “what say you to a geological foundation to many of your mythological84 wonders? Were not the great dragons of stone suddenly released from their rocky beds—the long serpents guarding treasures in deep pits—the closely coiled snake of the cavern—were not many of these the gigantic antediluvian85 relics86 of our caves? Has not many an ichthyosaurus, in his earthly bed, been transformed into a deputy fiend, or even into the father of evil himself, keeping watch over some hoard87 of ill-gotten wealth; whilst the strange form of the huge pterodactyl, with its wings and claws, has been metamorphosed into the dragon of Wantley and his compeers?”
“Your theory, Thompson,” rejoined Herbert, “may not be so baseless as you regard it. The entire series of 217the heathen mythology has been of old, and still is, in Germany, regarded as a mere26 mystical delineation88 of the phenomena89 of nature. The elements are said to have suggested the nature of the gods and their origin; the specific phenomena of nature may have suggested the various forms under which the divine race appears and acts. It was a very common practice among the astronomers90 of the days of Galileo, and even to a later period, to conceal91 their discoveries in enigmas. May we not, with some little appearance of reason, regard the fables92 of our ancestors, the knights93, the dragons, the giants, the magicians and their followers95, as in some respect an esoteric teaching of the philosophy of physics, a mystical setting forth96 of natural phenomena?”
“The love of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors for philosophical97 enigmas, as they may be called, was undoubtedly very great,” rejoined Lathom. “I remember one given by Mr. Wright, in his introduction to Anglo-Saxon literature. It was in these words:
“‘I saw tread over the turf
Ten in all,
Six brothers
And their sister with them,
They had a living soul:
They hanged their skins,
Openly and manifestly,
On the wall of the hall:
To any one of them all
It was none the worse,
Nor his side the sorer:
Although they should thus,
Bite, with their mouths,
The rough leaves;
Clothing is renewed
To those, who, before coming forth,
Lying in their track,
To depart over the earth.’”
218“I shall not attempt to guess such an enigma,” said Thompson.
“Its solution is the butterfly; the various transformations102 through which it passes from the grub until it rises with its beautiful wings, are intended to be described. But come, as we are on enigmas, what say you to this: ‘We are a family of seventeen, all sisters; six others claim to belong to our race, but we account them illegitimate. We are born of iron, or of the feather that bears the bird heavenward; by iron we die. Our fathers were three brothers, our mother’s nature is uncertain. We teach him who desires to learn, and quickly and silently give words to him who requires them of us.’”
“I see the solution,” said Herbert, “but yet cannot work it out; it is, doubtless, the alphabet, in that day confined to seventeen true and six false letters; what puzzles me is the iron, and the natures of the mother and the father.”
“The iron,” said Lathom, “is the style used in writing; the sharp point for marking, and the broad end to rub out with; the uncertainty103 of the mother’s race arises from the pen being either of reed, or quill104, or even of iron; the three brothers are the thumb and two fingers employed in writing.”
“The ‘uncertain mother’ is peculiarly applicable to these times,” said Thompson, with a smile, “when you may vary your pen from goose to swan, and from swan to crow; or choose between steel pens of every size and shape, and delicate nibs105 of gold tipped with rubies106.”
“Come, we must leave our theories and enigmas, and return to our old story-tellers,” said Herbert. “What tale is in preparation for us?”
“A little more demonology, as we have it in the story of
219
“CELESTINUS AND THE MILLER’S HORSE.”
Alexander had an only son, named Celestinus, who was very dear to him; desirous of having him well instructed, he sent for a certain sage107, and proffered108 his son to him for a pupil, promising a bountiful remuneration for his labor109. The sage agreed, and took the boy home with him. Celestinus was a diligent110 scholar, and made great and satisfactory progress under the tuition of the philosopher.
One day, as the tutor and pupil were walking together through a meadow, their attention was directed to a horse grievously afflicted111 with the mange. He lay on the ground in the middle of the field, and on either side of him two sheep were feeding, tied together by a rope which chanced to hang over the horse’s back; irritated by the rubbing of the cord, the poor horse rose, and naturally drew with him the two sheep. The weight of the sheep made the rope press more and more upon his poor back, and galled112 him dreadfully. Unable to endure the pain, the horse ran towards his master’s home; the faster he ran, the more the sheep knocked against his flanks, and by their weight ground the cord into the sores on his back; with every 220struggle of the horse and his living burdens, the cord sank deeper into the wound.
On went the horse maddened with pain; at last he reached the hut of his master, the miller, and dashed in with his burdens through the open door. No one was within, but a fire of logs burned brightly on the hearth113; plunging114 and striking with his hoofs115, the horse scattered117 the burning logs about the house; the flames caught the building, and soon surrounded the poor animal. Unable to move from the terror of the flames, there died the poor horse and the unlucky sheep, amid the ruins of the miller’s hut.
“My son,” said the tutor, when from afar he saw the end of the accident, “you have seen the beginning, the middle, and the end of this incident; when you return to your study, make me some verses upon it, and show me wherefore the house was burned. If you fail, beware of the punishment.”
It was all in vain that Celestinus tried to coin a verse or two on such a curious subject. He felt more than usually unpoetical; and as for assigning a cause for the fire, he so puzzled himself with his own arguments, as at last to begin to doubt whether there was any cause at all. At length he left his room, and tried what a walk would do towards making him able to poetize.
221“My son,” said a venerable-looking man that met him on his solitary118 ramble119, “what makes you so sorrowful?”
“Pray do not trouble yourself,” replied the youth; “it is quite useless to tell you of my trouble; you cannot help me.”
“Nay, but my son—how can we decide until we hear the cause?”
“Well, then, good father, I have got to make some verses on a mangy horse and two sheep, and I do not know how.”
“And to decide wherefore the hut, the horse, and the sheep were burnt.”
“Why, father, how do you know that?” exclaimed Celestinus.
“Though human to look at, I am not of this world,” replied the old man; “come, make a contract with me, henceforth to serve me, and care not for your master; and I will make you such a copy of verses as never were yet seen. Come, choose; you know the alternative—the philosopher flogs sharply.”
Celestinus hesitated a long time, but at last, through fear, he agreed to the Devil’s proposal.
“Now, then, my son,” said the Devil, “write what I tell you. Are you ready to begin?”
A mangy horse lay in a field,
A sheep on either side;
222Across his back a rope was hung,
To which the sheep were tied.
Teas’d by the rope, up rose the horse,
With him the sheep up swung,
On either flank, thus weighted well,
Clogg’d by his living load, he seeks
Yon miller’s hut to gain;
The rope wears deeper, and his pace
Is quicken’d with the pain.
He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logs
That on the hearthstone burn;
Wide flies the fire, above, around,
The rafters catch the flame;
Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load,
Are roasted in the same.
His careful watch to keep,
He had not burnt his house, or horse,
Nor roasted both his sheep.
223Delighted with the verses, Celestinus hastened to his master on his return home. The philosopher read them with astonishment.
“Boy,” said he, “whence did you steal these verses?”
“I did not steal them, sir.”
“Come, come, boy—they are clearly not your own; tell me who made them for you.”
“I dare not, master,” replied the boy.
“Dare not, why dare not? Come boy, tell me the truth, or abide125 a worse punishment than would have awaited you had you not brought me any verses.”
Terrified at his master’s threats, Celestinus revealed his interview with the Devil in a human form, and his contract of service with him. Deeply grieved at the occurrence, the preceptor ceased not to talk with his pupil, until he had persuaded him, humbly126 and heartily127, on his knees, to confess to God his grievous sin in his compact with the Devil. His confederacy with the Evil One thus renounced128, Celestinus became a good and holy man, and, after a well-spent life, resigned his soul to God.
“Pray, Lathom, what moral did your old monk129 intend to draw from this diabolical130 poetry?” asked Thompson.
“His application is very recondite131; the preceptor is a prelate of the Church; the mangy horse, a sinner covered with sins; the two sheep represent two preachers bound 224by the cord of charity; the miller’s house is the world, and the fire, detraction132. I must admit that the application, in this case, is far less valuable or intelligible133 than the story itself.”
“In an old book of moral advice,” said Herbert, “I found a description of three madmen, that reminded me much of the five kinds described by St. Peter, as related by your old writer. The first carried a fagot of wood, and because it was already too heavy for him, he added more wood to it, in the hopes of thereby134 making it lighter135.”
“And he,” rejoined Lathom, “was a sinner, daily adding new sins to old, because unable to bear the weight of his original errors.”
“The very same. The second madman drew water from a deep well with a sieve136; his labor was incessant137, and his progress just as slow. Can you explain the nature of his sin?”
“I can read the explanation,” rejoined Lathom, “for I have this moment found out the source of your extract in my old monk’s book. This madman was the man who does good, but does it sinfully, and therefore it is of no benefit. The third madman was far worse: he carried a beam in his chariot; and wishing to enter his court-yard, and finding the gate so narrow that it would not admit the beam, he whipped his horse until it tumbled both itself and its master into a deep well. The beam was worldly vanities, with which their possessor sought to enter into heaven, but by which he was cast down into hell.”
“The belief in witchcraft,” began Herbert, “is very well illustrated138 by a late publication of the Camden Society of London.”
“Nay, nay, Reginald, no more of witches now,” rejoined Lathom; “the subject deserves far more time, attention, and illustration than we can now afford it, 225and must be adjourned139 for the present. Let me conclude this evening with the tale of
“THE EMPEROR CONRAD AND THE COUNT’S SON.”
During the reign of the Emperor Conrad, there lived a certain count of the name of Leopold, who had risen to high commands by his bravery and his knowledge. Every one regarded the count with favor, and loved him for his kindness to suitors, and his prowess against the enemies of the emperor. Conrad alone looked on his servant with an evil eye; for he envied his reputation, and would have taken to himself the glories he had acquired, and ascribed to himself those victories which Leopold had won.
The count, unable to endure the evil looks and hard words of the emperor, and fearful that in time his present anger would be turned into bitter hatred140, suddenly left the court of Rome, and fled with his wife into the forest of the Apennines. There he toiled141 all day, and labored142 diligently143 to support himself and his spouse144. There he knew not what the fear of impending145 evil was; he had no one to envy him, no one to covet146 his position or his property.
It was a bright sunny day, and the meridian147 226sun glared with unwonted fierceness, even through the thick trees of the forest, and rendered the air close and heavy from lack of a breeze to move even the highest leaves of the loftiest pines. The emperor pursued the chase with ardor148; urged on by the exhilarating cry of the hounds, he thought not of the denseness149 of the forest, or the tangled150 nature of its winding151 ways, until at last, tired and thirsty, he checked his horse in a dark, close glade152, and looked around for some hut where he might obtain rest and refreshment153.
Many were the paths which the emperor and his attendants followed before they reached the cottage where Leopold lived in solitude154; the count recognized the sovereign, but Conrad knew not his old servant, nor was he recognized by any of the hunting train; refreshments155, such as the homely156 store could furnish, were soon placed before the emperor. It was now nigh to evening; already the glades157 of the forest were growing dark, and the devious158 paths more and more difficult to track out, even to the experienced eye of a woodman. It was useless to attempt to escape from the forest before the next morning. The attendants soon formed for themselves sylvan159 beds on the soft grass, and beneath the broad-spreading trees, their cloaks for coverlids, and the green mossy grass for 227their beds. The emperor fared better. One low tressel bed Leopold had in the lower room of his hut; this he resigned to the emperor.
Fatigued160 with his hard day’s riding, Conrad soon fell asleep; how long he slept he knew not; but when all was dark and still, both within and without the hut, a voice broke upon his ear.
“Take—take—take,” said the voice.
Conrad rose and listened. “What,” said he to himself, as he thought on the words, “what am I to take? Take—take—take: what can the voice mean?”
As he reflected on the singularity of the words, the emperor again fell asleep; again a voice awoke him from his slumbers161.
“Restore—restore—restore,” said the mysterious voice.
“What means all this mystery?” exclaimed the emperor. “First I was to take, take, take, and there is nothing for me to take; and now I am to restore. What can I restore, when I have taken nothing?”
Again the emperor slept, and again the voice seemed to speak to him.
“Fly—fly—fly,” said the voice this time, “for a child is now born, who shall become thy son-in-law.”
It was early dawn when Conrad heard the 228voice the third time. He immediately arose, and inquired of his squires162 if they had heard a noise, and what had happened in the night.
“Naught,” replied they, “my lord, but that a son was born to the poor woodman whilst you slept.”
“Hah!” exclaimed Conrad, “a son—to mount—to horse—we will away.”
The emperor and his train had hardly found their way out of the wood, when Conrad called two of his knights to him.
“Go,” said he, “to the woodman’s hut, take away the new-born child, kill it; and bring its heart to me, that I may know that you have performed my commands.”
With sorrowful hearts the two knights returned towards the woodman’s cottage. The babe was nestled in its mother’s breast, and smiled on them as they seized it. Vain was the resistance of its mother, for she was alone; Leopold had gone into the wood, to his daily labor.
“I cannot strike the poor babe,” said one knight94 to the other, as they left the hut in the forest, “do you play the butcher.”
“Not I,” replied the other; “I can strike down my adversary163 in fair fight, but not this poor babe.”
At this moment a hare sprang across the path 229so close to the foremost of the knights, that he raised his hunting pole and struck it down.
“Comrade,” said the other knight, “I perceive how we may make the emperor believe that we have obeyed his commands, and yet not take this poor babe’s life—open the hare, take out its heart. As for the babe, we will place it on yonder high branch, where the wild beasts cannot get at it, until we have done our message to the emperor, then will I return and take this poor babe to my home, for I am childless.”
Leaving the babe, the two knights went on their message to the emperor; but before they could return, a good duke rode by the tree where the babe was, and took compassion164 on it, and carried the child to his own house, where it was nurtured165 as his own son. As for the child, he grew up a man of fine form, the joy of his adopted parents, eloquent166 in speech, and a general favorite at the emperor’s court. For a time, Conrad was as pleased with the attainments167 of the young Henry, as he had been with those of his poor father; but time brought with it envy, and he soon hated the youth, as he had before the unfortunate count. A dreadful suspicion haunted Conrad’s mind that he had been deceived by his knights, and that the youthful favorite of the people was the woodman’s child, against whom he had been warned by the secret 230voice. The most cruel thoughts entered his mind, and he determined168, this time, not to be deceived by his agents.
“Henry,” said he to the young count, “I have a letter of the utmost importance that I wish to be delivered to my wife; to you I commit it, for you I can trust; haste, then, prepare for your journey, whilst I write the letter.”
Henry retired to his apartments to prepare for his ride he chose his best riding suit, and his strongest horse, desirous in every way to do honor to the emperor’s mission. Conrad went to his private room to prepare the letter.
“As soon as this letter reaches you,” he wrote, “I command you to cause the bearer thereof to be put to death. See that this be done, as you value my love.”
Henry received the letter, and prepared to commence his journey. As it happened, his horse cast one of its shoes, and he was compelled to wait until another could be forged. Unwilling169 that the emperor should know of the delay, the young man wandered into the royal chapel170, and seating himself in one of the royal stalls, fell asleep.
There was a prying171, crafty172 priest in the chapel, who had heard the message given to the young count, and wished very much to discover the secret of the message. Seeing the 231young man asleep, he silently approached the youth, and extracting the letter from the little silken bag in which it was enclosed, opened its folds, and read, with astonishment, the proposed wickedness.
“Poor youth,” murmured the priest, “thou little thinkest on what errand you are riding. But, come, I will deceive this cruel emperor,” continued he, as he erased173 the passage in which Henry’s death was commanded, and inserted these words: “Give him our daughter in marriage.”
The letter altered and replaced, his horse reshod, Henry set out on his journey, and soon arrived at the city where the queen dwelt. Presenting his letter to the queen, he was greatly surprised when she hailed him as her son-in-law, by virtue174 of the royal commands, and bade the priests and nobles of her court to assist in rendering the celebration of the nuptials175 as gorgeous as befitted the occasion.
It was in vain that Conrad raged against the deceit thus practised on him; one by one the wonderful facts of the young man’s deliverance were revealed to him, and he could not but recognize in them all the hand of a protecting Providence176. Deeply penitent177 for his many offences against God and man, he confirmed the marriage of his daughter, recalled the old 232count from his forest hut, and proclaimed the young Henry heir to his empire.
“There is a great family likeness178 between this tale of yours, and the German story of The Giant with the Golden Hair.”
“In what respect?”
“In the manner in which the fortunate youth obtains the princess as his wife. In that legend, a king discovers the babe after a manner very similar to that in which Henry is found by Conrad, and—warned that the child is to be his son-in-law—he sends him on a message to his queen, with a letter of the same import as in your tale. Fatigued with his journey, the youth arrived at a robber’s cottage, falls asleep, and during his rest the thieves alter the letter, as the priest does that borne by Henry. The effect is, of course, similar.”
“But what of the golden-haired giant?” asked Herbert.
“He does not appear until the second part of the legend, and this is doubtless added on from some other tradition. You will find the whole story in Grimm’s most amusing collection of German popular stories.”
“With this tale, then, we conclude our evening’s amusement.”
“I am afraid it must be so, Herbert,” rejoined Lathom; “I should not like to be left without material for to-morrow, our last meeting; and between this and then I am unable to prepare any more tales.”
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1
witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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enigmas
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| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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inciting
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| 刺激的，煽动的 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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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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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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19
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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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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28
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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30
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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31
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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32
remiss
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| adj.不小心的，马虎 | |
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33
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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34
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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39
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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40
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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41
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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42
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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43
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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47
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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51
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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52
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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53
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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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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55
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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56
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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59
treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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60
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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grandee
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| n.贵族；大公 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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abdicate
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| v.让位，辞职，放弃 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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69
dwarfs
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| n.侏儒，矮子（dwarf的复数形式）vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的第三人称单数形式） | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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72
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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73
wielder
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| 行使者 | |
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74
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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79
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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82
dwarfish
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| a.像侏儒的，矮小的 | |
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83
mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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84
mythological
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| adj.神话的 | |
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85
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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86
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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92
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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93
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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94
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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95
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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98
bereaved
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| adj.刚刚丧失亲人的v.使失去（希望、生命等）( bereave的过去式和过去分词)；（尤指死亡）使丧失（亲人、朋友等）；使孤寂；抢走（财物） | |
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99
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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100
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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101
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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102
transformations
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| n.变化( transformation的名词复数 )；转换；转换；变换 | |
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103
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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104
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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105
nibs
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| 上司，大人物； 钢笔尖，鹅毛管笔笔尖( nib的名词复数 )； 可可豆的碎粒； 小瑕疵 | |
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106
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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107
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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108
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
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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110
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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111
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
galled
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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113
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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114
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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115
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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117
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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118
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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119
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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120
withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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121
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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122
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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123
spurn
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| v.拒绝，摈弃；n.轻视的拒绝；踢开 | |
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124
deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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126
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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127
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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128
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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129
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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130
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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131
recondite
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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132
detraction
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| n.减损；诽谤 | |
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133
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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134
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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135
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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136
sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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137
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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138
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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adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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141
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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143
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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144
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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145
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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146
covet
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| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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147
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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148
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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149
denseness
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| 稠密，密集，浓厚； 稠度 | |
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150
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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151
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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152
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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153
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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154
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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155
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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156
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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157
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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158
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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159
sylvan
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| adj.森林的 | |
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160
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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161
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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162
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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163
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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164
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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165
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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166
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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167
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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168
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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169
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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170
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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171
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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172
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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173
erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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174
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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175
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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176
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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177
penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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178
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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